Just because I walk alone doesn’t mean I’m lost

In my twenties, I started taking walking seriously. It became my daily therapy. My me time.

The first time I climbed Scafell Pike, in the UK, I stood at the top England’s tallest mountain and closed my eyes. I exhaled my worries and my headspace instantly cleared. It was so emotional. I bounced back down the Corridor Route, feeling like a new woman. I experienced a sense of freedom.

Something strange, wonderful and, if I’m honest, almost scary happens on those walks. When negative thoughts start seeping back into my head and heart, I don’t just shoo them away. I pull on my trusty old boots, head to the hills and walk through the isolation and pain. Here I’m at my most vulnerable yet powerful.

Walking has saved me on more than one occasion. Sometimes I sob uncontrollably as I put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes I smile at the jumble of bittersweet memories that pour through my body. Sometimes unexpected ideas appear for things I want to write, or places I long to go.

My walks are my time of reckoning. I use the strength I’ve developed from personal challenges to tackle each obstacle on my journey.

Grief, for all that is lost to me, lifts as nature works her magic. I still let go of my tears at the peak of each mountain I climb, and afterwards become lighter and happy.

We’ve just entered the season of autumn: reminding us that our bodies, minds, and surroundings are always developing. It focuses on the impermanence of life, emphasizing how vital it is to embrace the present. By doing so, we can savour what we have before it is gone.

The colours around me are glorious and a good match for the song in my heart.

Out there is something much bigger than myself.

Now when I’m walking, I’m never alone. Even on a solo walk, I’m with the birds, the sheep or the white horses of the sea. I’m with me…