One Hundred Twenty Nine: 2263.4km

I’ve been thinking…

I might write a book.

Like, actually write a book.

This conclusion has come to me after the countless hours upon hours upon kilometres upon miles upon hours of walking and processing my thoughts.

I think the smallest seed of this idea was planted back in Redding, when I was asked, “What are you dreaming about, Naomi?”

The atmosphere set my mood: pensive, thought provoking, ideas swirling and wafting away and developing once more.

There was mystery in the thick fog.

It blanketed the earth, quietening all sounds beyond the crunch of my shoes to a reverent hush.

With all distractions limited to the dull ache I’ve become accustomed to through this seemingly endless walk, and the constant recognition of how beautiful this land is, my mind was free to wander.

So, my dreams?

Well, twenty five days ago, I didn’t have an answer, but the question sparked the idea that I should have something I’m dreaming for.

It got me thinking about the journey I’ve been on throughout life; the paths I have walked down, the doors I’ve opened and closed, the person all those cumulative experiences have made me to be.

Those thoughts led me to thankfulness. I’ve said it plenty, and it’s absolutely not a secret: I’m living a pretty stellar existence.

Those thoughts led me to my hopes and desires I have yet to see fulfilled…

I’ve written about it, I’ve spoken about it, I’ve cried about it, I’ve laughed about it, I’ve dreamt about it, I’ve sometimes suppressed it too: I want to find my soulmate. I want make these memories with someone! I want a hand to hold, I want someone I can cook dinner for. I want to board a plane with my best friend in the whole wide world and be able to laugh about our exploits with our grandchildren one day.

But I don’t want to just wait for that day, or for him.

I remembered an entry I wrote way back at the start of this walk:

It reminded me that although my path hasn’t converged with whoever that soulmate might be, I can walk alone. My step is sure, my head held high, my gaze fixed on the limitless possibilities over the horizon. One day my path will join another’s, and I’ll leave a trail of wild, beautiful, magical footsteps right up to that point.

What a privilege to play a part in someone else’s life, and not just wait passively for someone to play a part in mine.

I’m proud of myself. I haven’t felt sorry for what I’m missing; I’ve leapt in and made the most of what I’ve got. I reckon I’ve done a fairly good job of it, too.

And I thought,

“Maybe it’s time to share this with the world.”

My ideas might be little, but they might also hold that one key that will unlock something and make all the difference in someone else’s life. And although it feels crazy vulnerable and putting myself out there, exposed, if my story can impact even ONE life for the better, why would I hold back?!

I pulled out my phone, and started jotting down some notes.

They’re absolutely not ready for public eyes just yet, but you can all be sure this is something I will keep working on in the background.

Also, that fog turned into rain.

That’s all for today, folks.

My thoughts are on overdrive.

As are my legs.

We heard there’s a wooden cabin up ahead, somewhere, with a fireplace that is kept stoked and rafters to dry out tents and sleeping bags and shoes and all of the wet gear that isn’t currently giving us a break.

All this thinking has slowed me down, and I’m going to have to hot foot it if I want to arrive before dark.

2 thoughts on “One Hundred Twenty Nine: 2263.4km

  1. brontiderob says:

    “We heard there’s a wooden cabin up ahead, somewhere, with a fireplace that is kept stoked and rafters to dry out tents and sleeping bags and shoes and all of the wet gear” … sounds like heaven. Fair winds, Rob


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