If you have a burning question about yourself, the answer might be all around you – that’s the theory behind Street Wisdom

“The street is an invisible university, if you know how to look.” I am intrigued. This is the promise of Street Wisdom, a walking group with a twist, who offer something pretty ambitious, if not downright mystical. It’s free to take part, the website advises, and all I’ll need are warm clothes and a question I want answering. Feeling curious and a bit confused, I book myself in to the next event.

A week later, I join seven other people seeking exercise and answers, on a hill in the Dorset coastal town of Lyme Regis. Leading the session is the founder Chris Baréz-Brown, a long-haired, twinkly eyed cross between Richard Branson and a wizard. I greet him, and get straight to the point. What is this all about?

“People come to Street Wisdom with a specific question they want answering,” he replies. “It could be about work, love, taking risks – almost anything. Our theory is that if you learn to pay attention to the world around you, you’ll find answers everywhere.”

Sounds a little cosmic. In fact, Chris explains, “much of the work complements Buddhist techniques of mindfulness. Street Wisdom offers a slightly more urban, modern version of being fully present.”

Our first session is dedicated to “tuning up”. Chris instructs us to wander the seafront, armed with instructions like “slow right down” and “notice what attracts you”. We don’t take notes – this is simply about shifting our attention. Amazingly, these simple exercises do start to nudge me into a more receptive frame of mind. It’s not easy though. “See the beauty in everything,” Chris tells me, minutes before I confront a clump of plastic Tesco bags snagged on a bench. Remember American Beauty, I think to myself.

“Do you all have a question?” Chris asks, once we’ve gathered together again. We’ve come prepared, and offer them up. The best ones to ask are personally important, though not metaphysically huge. So not “What is the meaning of life”, but not “Did I defrost the lasagne?” either. Some of the questions are very personal, and not for sharing here. Gwyn and Deborah are seeking the courage to make, or stick with, career changes. Someone else tells me: “I feel like I’m at a turning point in my life, but I’m stuck.”

Mine relates to productivity: I work at home, about a foot away from a hundred distractions (including my fridge). How can I procrastinate less, I want to know, and work harder?

“Very good question,” replies Chris. But he doesn’t tell me where to look for answers – I have to find them for myself. So finally we get to it. Street Wisdom is a solo activity for the most. We wander the streets alone, our respective questions turning over in our heads. Some in the group take to it immediately, peering at walls, picking things up from the ground, making mental connections.

I stare at a leafless tree for about five minutes, unsure what I’m waiting for. Perhaps for the wind to whisper “Time is money” as it whips through the leafless branches? That doesn’t happen. “Don’t force it”, is Chris’s advice. I try not to fixate on results, and pay attention to sights that attract me: a weir at the bottom of a tiny lane, the calm water above suddenly breaking free. I explore a Saxon lane dating back to 774, and notice a passageway leading to a hidden garden. I think about the 200m-year-old rocks that line the coast here. The streets of Lyme are incredibly beautiful, and it’s a pleasure to wander through them, looking hard and thoughtfully at small details I’d normally ignore.

The third and final step is a debrief, a chance for us to share our stories of what the street has taught us. I’m looking forward to it – I’m knackered from walking, and we’re reconvening in a pub. I skirt the seawall, heading for the meeting point. The light is beautiful, almost silver as it hits the water. Do I actually want to work harder, I suddenly think, or do I just feel like I should? Today wouldn’t count as work, yet it’s been deeply restorative.

My eye is suddenly drawn to a strange plaque set into the seafront. “Relax and absolve yourself of striving,” is all it says. It’s not a quotation, or a dedication. The thought stops me in my tracks. It seems like a bizarre coincidence, but I think I’ve got my answer. I don’t know if that’s mystical, but it’s pretty neat.

To find out more about Street Wisdom, visit streetwisdom.org