Meandering and Meaning
There are a great many gates on the Cotswold Way. Some are wooden, some are metal. Some swing open easily, some require a bit of negotiation. The mechanisms differ, meaning that I'm often thankful I have a brain that can figure things out with a degree in engineering. And there are a few that aren't really gates at all. They are obstacles disguised as access.
About two and a half miles into today's ten-mile route, I realized I was completely alone.
The first miles had been almost entirely uphill. Looking back, I could see the trail stretching away behind me. No one. Looking ahead, I could see the path continuing into the distance. Still no one. So I stepped off the trail and lay down in the grass. Wildflowers brushed against my bare arms. The breeze moved through the taller grasses. Above me was an enormous English sky. And I simply stayed there until my body was ready to continue, for no reason other than the simple realization that I wanted to.
The gates continued to appear, one after another. Each asking for a slightly different kind of attention, each requiring me to slow down, look carefully, and figure out how to proceed.
Yesterday, I pushed myself hard. The climbs were steep, the trail muddy, and by the time I reached my room, every muscle in my body had something to say about it. And when I woke this morning, achy and stretching before an early start, it occurred to me quite vividly that I've spent much of my life not taking care of myself. Literally not caring for myself.
Throughout my life, I cared for children, students, family, a husband, and responsibilities and deadlines and expectations and all the countless things that seem urgent when they first arrive. But caring for myself is something I have only begun to learn. I think that is part of what this walk is.
I ventured off path so many times today that I'm convinced I added two or more miles onto today's total miles walked (over 13). The little wooden acorns signs are easy to miss. And while I did not meet a single person during the first seven miles of today's walk, I think I met myself more fully than I ever had before.
The older I get, the less I believe that meaning arrives in dramatic revelations. More often, it arrives while lying in the grass when no one is watching. Or while choosing to walk a little slower because your body asked you to. Or while standing before a gate and realizing that what looks like an obstacle is actually an invitation to pay attention. Perhaps that is what all these miles are teaching me.
After three days of walking, I am beginning to suspect that life works much the same way.
We move through landscapes until we encounter something we must figure out. something we must pass through. Sometimes the view on the other side looks exactly the same. But other times the entire landscape changes.
This morning, I walked more slowly. I choose a more slow-paced song to walk to, and the lyrics I heard over and over today were:
Are you happy?
. . .
There's a pink light in my apartment.
It comes mid-morning as a reminder
that at the right time,
in the right surroundings,
I will be lovely.
I will be lovely. This isn't about how far I can walk or how fast. It's more about how gently I can honor myself.
Notice things, my darlings.
~ Shannon ᭄᭡ ͏ ͏ ͏
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