Reading "Walking Mornings," the thing that struck me the most was the sort of aimlessness it projected. Not that the essay was aimless, but the story it told. Kind of.

I think what I found most interesting in his essay was--Alright. So. Take a man whose work is fiction, creating a disconnected digital something out of nothing. He gets tired of this and feels disconnected himself. He has his sabbatical, goes off, wanders around bits of Europe, does a little research up in Germany, which he deems rather unimportant and leaves unelaborated, but spends most of his time engaged in somewhat casual research and exploration and creation of the self, or of roads to reaccess a self that seems to have gotten somewhat lost or misplaced.