This may seem weird, but I consider myself to be a street walker.

Now, the official term for a “streetwalker” unfortunately has a negative connotation — and a horrible history connected to it.

I hate to admit that normally, and historically, the term refers to a woman being a “lady of the night” or a prostitute.

Good ol’ Merriam-Webster (MW) doesn’t help me out at all, but at least it defines the term with a delicate tone. MW defines a streetwalker as “one who solicits in the streets.”

The Britannica Dictionary digs the derogatory dagger in even deeper for me by expand- ing on the horrible definition.

It states a streetwalker is a prostitute who “finds customers by walking around in the streets.”

A “streetwalker” has been a figure of speech since the 1800s, while the derogatory word “prostitute” dates way back to the 1500s.

That’s NOT what I’m referring to at all when I proudly label myself a street walker, folks.

I’m really going out on a limb on this one to make a crystal clear distinction between the two terms.
“Street walking,” in my world and context, refers to the many beautiful moments I’ve had in my life — while being out on the open road.

I’ve spent so many years cruising busy streets, giant cities, quaint neighborhoods and small towns all over the country.

Whether I was on foot or driving, there have been so many adventures and memories associated with being physically out on the street.

To get even more cheesier about it, I believe my time here (so far) as a proud “street walker” has been filled with roaring laughter and heart-wrenching tears, all while witnessing beautiful sunrises and moving sunsets.

This street walking thing got its start by wandering around a place called Wood Duck Lake in Coarsegold with my siblings.

After moving around California all our lives, our mother finally found permanent housing for the four of us — and we were notorious for wandering around the community.

I’ll never forget sneaking out of the house with them at night. We wandered around Indian Lakes, embraced the cool night air and stared at the stars.

We were just a small entourage of loner kids, prowling the streets and roaming around like we owned the place.

My connection to that as I grew up developed into some sort of notion about achieving freedom, and I took that behavior with me everywhere I went.

Now I find myself in Mariposa County, and I intend to learn about the area by doing what I’ve always done.

To my embarrassment, I tried to share my connection to some of the roads I’ve been on in order to relate with others when I first started writing for the Mariposa Gazette.

I think, on some level, I probably seemed super weird for doing that.

For example, the Tower District in Fresno is honestly one of my favorite hiding places. It’s still a location where I go to write and escape.

From an outside perspective, that section of Fresno is considered a scary place. I understand it’s changed a lot, become weathered and I know it’s not for everyone.

But, for me, that small section of Fresno is a vibe. In all my wandering, I’ve developed a nasty habit of finding the beauty in things, even when it comes down to a run down street.

One might say I also find the beauty hidden deep within the depths of people, but that’s another story for a different day.

My point is, I’m not scared of the streets and I don’t overlook, ignore or turn away from the flaws that can be seen.

I embrace it all, and oddly, I even notice the textures of the space around me while street walking.

I look at the bus stops and all the hidden paths. I even notice the piping along the street, which is usually concealed by trees.

My feelings on this are weirdly infinite. I understand now it’s about being connected to your space, being present and it’s also about accepting flaws.

Truthfully, I feel more present now than I’ve ever been, and now that I (kind of) know what I’m doing in the world, I’m going to do my best to re-claim the term of being a “street walker” and flip it into something that’s a bit more positive.

I’m really ready to roam around Mariposa and Yosemite too, just as I’ve roamed around Sonoma County, Third Street Promenade, downtown San Francisco, Colorado, Washington, D.C. and what’s been described to me as the “hood” of Los Angeles.

In my opinion, there’s nothing profound about anything I’m writing about today, but for some reason, it’s taken me months to write this one out.

Note: This editorial was originally published in “The Mariposa Gazette” on 07-13-2023.