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Sometimes, Finn likes to walk.
Sometimes, he needs the time to go by himself for the day and take nothing but some snacks. Not even his phone. It makes his friends worry a bit but it’s always worth it.
It’s a sort of quiet malaise that sneaks over him until he takes the time for himself. It was hard at first. But it helps him keep his head on straight. There are trails north of the home he bought. Poe offers to go with him. So do Rey and Rose and Jannah, and sometimes he invites them along. Or he could go walking in the neighborhood but there’s a kind of quiet he can only find out there. When he mood takes him, only the woods will do. It reminds him of his time at the Home, the meager escapes he was able to grab hold of and the space he was able to make for himself.
That’s sort of what this is, if he’s honest; what this walking is. Still making a space for himself.
Out on the trails, it’s just Finn. People passing by don’t know who he is and they don’t usually spare him more than a glance or a smile. They don’t know him and they don’t care and he likes it that way. Could be considered callous if he thinks about it one way but that’s not how it feels. He’s alone, but in a comfortable way. Finally his own. It took a long time to get used to that alone-ness. Living with intense scrutiny and a single purpose did a number on his head, that much is certain. For as long as he can remember, there’s always been someone and he’s always had to share. His things, his space, his time and even himself—and usually he’s happy to do it. But walking alone, just breathing the air and listening to the sounds around him, letting his mind wander wherever it may without direction, that’s…well, that’s different, isn’t it?
It’s a strange feeling—just existing. It shouldn’t be anymore but it still is. This is the kind of thing he thinks about as he wanders through the woods. The Home and the Order and all its members always preached purpose—everyone had a job, a designation, a reason for being, and if he deviated from that reason, punishment waited. Once he escaped, he still wasn’t quite his own. Whether the people around him or his own mind, it still felt as though he was a prisoner in a way. What was the point of his life if there was no express purpose?
It took him so long to learn existence is purpose enough. So to just be, to exist on his own terms and have what feels like no purpose is somewhat daunting. But finding the way is…peaceful now.
Each of his friends helped him find his peace in their own way. Each built him up high enough to reach that plane so he could stand on his own. Finn wouldn’t be out walking like this, alone and content, without them. Between that and the trees, the age of the forest around him or the breadth of the sky, it makes him feel very…small. In a good way. Like nothing outside himself really matters and simultaneously everything does. Ten years ago, the prospect, the juxtaposition would’ve scared him but these days it feels almost good, in a way. He is important as much as he is no one. He is loved and he is no more than a whisper in the record of time. The ripples of his choices will be felt by those closest to him and spread until the meaning is moved and the choice is forgotten and all that is left is the lesson of his action remembered by a precious few.
He takes a deep breath and turns his face to the sky, pausing in his walk for just a moment simply to feel the sun.
It makes him want to do good.
To live for himself as much as anyone else. Give and receive. Or, at times like this, to simply be.
What a feeling it is to truly exist.