THIS BLOG POST is a little out of character, perhaps, but given recent events in the divided nation that I’ve chosen to call home, I wanted to share a short extract from the epilogue of my second book, On Sacred Ground. A few lessons learned. They feel, well, especially relevant right now.
(Please note: if you haven’t read the Earth beneath My Feet or On Sacred Ground, I don’t believe that what follows gives away too many spoilers. But my sincere apologies if this totally ruins both books.)
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From The Walk’s hardest moments I learnt that life isn’t always comfortable, that it doesn’t always go to plan, that change is inevitable, and security an illusion. But I also learnt that storms pass, that life’s snowy wildernesses with their hidden lakes can be navigated if care is taken, and that changing direction can be an essential part of moving forward. I learnt that life’s anxious situations and uphill struggles serve a purpose: for the self-knowledge they can teach and the strength they can build. And from everything I went without—much of it previously taken for granted—I learnt true value. Hot water from a tap still astonishes me. A smile will always remain a prized gift.
From being judged with contempt and disgust; from being turned away; from passing by brightly lit windows and feeling cut off; from the panic attacks of loneliness; from receiving help when help was truly needed —from all this I learnt how much a single act of kindness could mean. I learnt that the world can be improved one encounter at a time. This has become something I try my absolute damnedest to practice every single day.
From The Walk’s failures I learnt that I don’t always live up to my own lofty ideals. But I also learnt that I can try again, that each morning I get yet another chance to be the very best version of myself I can possibly be. Yet Another Chance has become an empowering daily mantra.
From 7,000 miles of motion I learnt the true value of stillness. From stillness I learnt how to pay attention, and from paying attention I learnt that there is no such thing as ordinary, that extraordinary is always present, often hiding in plain view. And from learning that there is no ordinary I finally learnt to see past expectations and fully appreciate where I am and what I have. It took far longer than it should have, but I finally learnt gratitude, a state of mind so powerful that its benefits cannot be overstated.
From starting when I hadn’t the means to finish, and from overcoming challenges that I wanted to retreat from, I learnt to trust my instincts and never let anyone—most of all myself—tell me that something is impossible. I learnt to follow my own path through life, even when it runs contrary to how others live—and to how others argue I should live. I learnt that I have unlimited choices, and that even when events occur that are beyond my control—life’s inevitable blizzards—I can still choose how I react to them. Choosing control, instead of choosing to passively let the winds of fate blow me wherever they will, has profoundly altered life’s journey.
From wandering far I learnt how to find my way home. I learnt that home isn’t a place at all but a state of mind, a state of being. I learnt I could find home wherever I was: in the suburbs, at work, in a stranger’s smile, in clouds sailing by overhead, and of course in the wild. Before The Walk, whenever I returned to the wild, it would take weeks before I fully sloughed off civilisation and felt connected. But afterwards, the connection remained whether I was in the wild or not. I brought it back to civilisation with me.
As it turns out, most of what I learnt on The Walk doesn’t only apply to mountains and the wilderness—it applies everywhere.
Of course, I also learnt that I’m only human, that I’m forgetful, flawed and make mistakes, that tangled forests will often set me back, and that some lessons will have to be relearned over and over. Moving forward is a never-ending journey.
Perhaps the greatest lesson learnt, however, will never need relearning: the Padjelanta Happiness. To have experienced it the way I did is to know it is possible, and knowing it is possible underpins life. I may never physically return to Padjelanta, but what I found there I still carry inside. Because of it, I’m still travelling in freedom and optimism, still beginning each new day as though it is a blank slate, still open to detours, still chomping at the bit to get going and find out what lies ahead.
It is why the journey will never end.
