that’s a wrap / post-walk intentions

Anddd that’s a wrap on Walk 2.0!

It’s a gift to take on such a big project, learn, learn, learn the hard way, and then take another run at it.

In the final week of this walk, I reflected on how content I felt this time compared to last time and all of the ways this walk was so different than the last. I was better nourished, less scared, more disciplined, and more open to the open road. Most significantly: I believed in myself.

But as content as I felt in the final weeks, it’s a thing amongst thru-hikers to be unsettled in the post-walk period. Life on the trail is so routine: wake up, eat, pack up your 20-some belongings, walk, eat, walk, eat, scope out your sleeping quarters, set up the abode, sleep, repeat. In amongst the routine is complete freedom: I can wake, walk, and wander whenever, wherever I want. And, it’s full of stimulation: every day is a new day, new terrain, new sights, sounds, smells, new people to meet, new hurdles to hop, new locales to learn about. What more could a cat want?!

Life at home … well, for one, can we please #revolutionnow for the 4 day work week?! We need more time to ourselves, more time to rest, more time for community, more time for creativity, more autonomy in our own schedules. Or, at least I do.

But as much as the pace of life is (much!) more predetermined in the “real world,” with its work and family and community obligations, I get to take another run at this post-walk period, too. I get to come at it with the knowledge that there are some things that help (meditation! alone time!) and some things that don’t (working full time with a part time job! overcommitting!)

So I traded in my tiny green tent (18 sq ft) for a big blue tent (450 sq ft) to transition back to “real life” with a 5-day yurt retreat, separated from “civilization” by a short but significant 2k walk.

It was a dream. I read, slept, stretched, piled firewood, wrote, caught up on paperwork, watched the fire, and set intentions for the coming months, which are sure to be quicksand as I work toward a future business, a book, and Walk 3.0. And at the end of the five days, a bit to my surprise, I was ready to reengage with the outside/inside world.

On my walk out, I startled and was startled by the biggest coyote I’ve ever seen.

We met just past the apple tree, where the lane bends and dips over a hill. I thought to grab my phone and take a picture, but, separated by only a few metres, I drew my bear spray instead.

Coyote moved with leisure, disappearing in five or six casual steps into the soon-to-be-harvested corn field. I often see and hear coyotes as I walk and sleep beneath my nylon walls, but this very close encounter left my heart racing.

“Go on, get!” I shouted, even though Coyote had already got. “This is my path,” I called out, asserting my dominance as I have been taught by many well-meaning men on my very long walk. And then, more true to myself, and as I have been taught by others who are more concerned with well-doing than well-meaning, I added, “We can share this path… but you have to be gentle!”

My terms, clearly stated, though I clutched the bear spray for insurance and spun my head around every now and again all the same.

Coyote is wise and wily, playful and adaptable. In the coming months, I will be, too.

🐺✨🐆