Weekend. A two-day trip. I will see how far I can come today, it does not matter that much. I can stop wherever and whenever I want.

I do not think.

I walk

and walk and walk.

Raindrops fall. I only notice them by the dark dots that form in the dust around my feet. With my gaze downwards, my concentration at no more than the step that I am taking, at the same time my thoughts anyplace but here.

Now I remember how freedom feels. With everything here with me to survive the night (either in my backpack or my van), to be able to decide at any time: left or right, stop, or just continue. The freedom to determine my own rhythm and direction. A freedom that can apparently lead to surprises.

I store my sleeping bag in the drawers of my house. It is unused. The food I have carried around all day can be saved for the next time. My bivy did not even get the chance to get wet. After almost 35 kilometers, nearly 3000 positive altimeters and 13 hours, the next step would have passed my bed. I fall asleep between the four walls of my tiny house on wheels.

To become aware of my own rhythm and to resist the temptation to go faster than I actually can; it often feels too slow, as if I can not keep up with the world. But if I can yield the discipline, it allows me to continue steadily. Sometimes forced to stop: I learn that the rhythm needs to be adjusted. And it has to be adjusted until I will find mine.

Step by step by step. Left, right, stop, or in one go to the end.

 

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