I Walk

I’ve been called brave, ambious, and gung ho by friends, family and overly curious strangers at the supermarket. I feel as though I’m none of these things. I’m on the brink of 30, with a dwindling bank account, and fewer and fewer jobs prospects living in a foreign country in the middle of a pandemic. Maybe that’s bravery? That precarious line between being stubborn enough to go through with plans no matter the hurdles while being stupid enough to close your eyes and plug your ears when common sense screams “This is a mistake!”.

I spent the majority of my 20s running away from adulting with the great excuse of pursuing higher education. Not to say that’s not a reputable challenge! But when your greatest fear is failing to adapt passed the stage of highschool insecurities as all your friends get promoted, married and give birth, I at least can wave my master’s degree like a white flag. While I could go in-depth about my struggles throughout my adolescence riddled with self esteem issues and identity crisis, I’d prefer to share how jumping ship and swimming up stream has and continues to be my best coping mechanism.

As the new year gets further away from the dumpster fire that was 2020, I am have found myself getting further and further away from comforts that have sustained me through the first lockdown. A year ago I spent my time as a recently graduated, unemployed, living in my friend’s basement and mourning the death of my father, sitting on my butt watching the world go by. I would plunk myself outside on a patio chair with a paint brush or book and sit for hours as the sun drifted across the sky until the tree line cutoff my view of dusk. I’d then wander back inside, find myself a drink, plop down on my friend’s couch and turn on the tv to see how the rest of the world got on.

During this time (like most of my life) I was stuck in limbo waiting for my much anticipated United Kingdom work visa to be finalized. It had already been delayed months thanks to COVID, and I already sold or donated pretty much all my worldly possessions. I had a 60L backpack, well organized documents, and daily flight price alert on my phone in preparation. I’ve already run away once to Europe for months with just a carry on bag when the ink on my dad’s death certificate was still drying, so hopping on a plane to parts unknown has never scared me... It’s the restlessness and unfocused future that haunts me. Fresh starts give me life!

Well I made it. Not at all close to actually finding a job in my field of museum studies, but to the UK! Won’t bore you with the specifics of where I’ve stayed for the first few months... I will say I volunteered my time in exchange for rent at a terrible hostel in the English Riveria, that was closer to a halfway house or crack den than a travellers paradise. What it did provide me with was the desire to get the hell out of there, even if it was just for the day. So what could a poor Canadian woman do in the middle of a pandemic? Walk. I walked, jogged, hiked any way I could find.

For hours I’d appreciate all the new sights and sounds away from the stressful hellhole I found myself in. I trekked through cityscape, sandy beaches, shaded forests and charming village. Photographing my favourite scenes and sharing my world with the click of a button. When three months came and gone and new year reached closer, I decided I needed to find myself a new base as I continued to apply and be rejected for jobs. Reaching out to other volunteer opportunities the first to get back to me was another hostel in Ireland. Perfect. December 28, 2020 I took four buses, two trains, one plane, and a taxi to finally reach where I am currently typing this.

Still living the lockdown life. Stranded in a small coastal Irish town pinching my pennies, when it’s very tempting to spend them all on coffee and beer. So what do I do? Walk. Been here a month today and I’ve clocked more than 250km. My left foot is more blister than limb and I stare out the window like a sad dog when it’s raining. While I’ve always been an outdoors enthusiast, growing up on farms, building treehouses in the woods and camping with my dog, walking is a new thing. Not that I haven’t taken a stroll before, I can honestly say I haven’t regularly taken 5-7 hour strolls multiple times a week.

Why do I do it? Sure, my amateur photography skills are getting a workout as my legs get a legit one. However, there must be more to this whole poor wayfaring stranger life I have become accustom to. Why walk the same two hour hike just to discover new backroads weaving between hours long stretches of hills, stone walls and sheep herds? The thing with Ireland is, it’s always hills, stone walls and sheep herds. The novelty of finding ruins has somewhat warn off, but not enough to stop me from ripping my pants on thorn bushes and barbed wire fences so I can be disappointed when all I find inside are beer cans and plastic litter. You never know, that child who dreamed of being Indian Jones is still inside hoping to find buried treasure or a coin or two.

Walking gives me time. Hours to just pause the storm in my mind and focus on stepping one foot infront of the other. Can’t check emails, I’m in the middle of nowhere! Can’t find jobs I’m not qualified for, I have no computer! Can’t talk to anyone and detail my zero progress, I’m admiring the ocean hundreds of feet up! Walking has given me relief outside of everyday struggle. Months ago sitting on that sun drenched deck comfortably turning pages as I worked on my tan, gave my brain room for self loathing and dread. Never feeling worthy enough for what I had, yet having nothing at all to show.

That’s where I am. My 2021 New Year’s resolution has given me resolution. Everyone wants to improve their health whether it’s physical or mental. 2020 gave everyone reason to seek betterment. Stuck at home and stuck in your head, feeling like days are slugging by yet no milestones are degligating the weeks as they bleed into months. All you want to do is get out. Out of your pyjamas, out of your lack of routine, out of inconsistent diet regimes, and the never ending social media streams. So, I did. Thousands of kilometres over sea, then hundreds by foot.

My fresh start is packing a light lunch, making sure my batteries are charged, and having no route as I step out to the Irish countryside. As I look forward to the hours of sore knees, aching shoulders and rugged landscape, I know this is my way of pausing. Pausing my life so I can enjoy the life around me. Smiling when I pass a friendly pony and feed it my apple or spot a fox darting into the underbrush. Little surprises and simple pleasures are worth the pain. Walking helps me prioritize what matters and how lucky I am.

Maybe I am brave. Without fear and anxiety there would be no courage. Honestly though, that complement still feels hollow. I’ll never see my forest for the trees. I’ll just keep wandering until my feet give out and I’m forced to crawl so my worry won’t catch me. Keep calm and carry on. But as I keeping clocking more miles and my friends and family continue to love me from afair, I know I’m getting better. That I deserve their words and I deserve my achievements. That what I do is admirable and my resolutions respectable. As I walk coasts at low tide, rock hopping and puddle skipping. Jumping across broken bridges and climb crumbling walls. Seeing much of my small world with sweat on my brow is a great way to start the year. And while I hope to be in a place to call home this time next year, I can’t wait to get to know that home the best way I can... one step at a time.