In 2012, I had walked 800 km on the Camino de Santiago in Spain … a life‑changing experience. Thirteen years later, I felt the pull to walk again. Not as far this time, but still far enough to step out of my daily life and into something bigger.
I chose the South Downs Way, a 100‑mile trail through gently rolling hills from Winchester to Eastbourne in South England. The map made it look manageable, and I thought, I should be able to pull this off. It turned out the map didn’t show the most important parts … the lessons :-).
On the very first morning, a massive railway signalling failure meant the early start I’d planned was not happening. By the time I reached Winchester, it was already past noon. My plan was shot. And so began my first lesson … adapt early and often.
This walk wasn’t the Camino, with cafes every few kilometres and fellow walkers to swap tips with. On my first day, I met only three other hikers and there were no regular pit stops. But I learned to plan differently, carrying extra food, keeping a close eye on water, and even knocking on farm doors to refill my bottles (people were so kind!). I realised the ability to adapt my plans was as essential as my boots.
From Winchester, the landscape opened up into hills, fields, and the quiet beauty of the summer sky. Setting out, I felt grateful for my preparation. This time, I had invested in proper boots fitted by a specialist, a lightweight tent, a good sleeping mat, and a cooker that could boil water in three minutes. I wore layered clothing that breathed well but kept me warm. I felt whilst good preparation won’t lessen the hills, it enables us to climb them.
But even with the best gear, the miles were tough. I’d lost half a day at the start, and with a business trip scheduled right after I came back, I had 5.5 days to cover 170 km, including detours to villages for supplies. On day two, I began to calculate what I needed to accomplish. If I cover this distance today, I’ll have that much tomorrow and then …
The calculations became a burden on top of the physical load, with my pack much heavier than the Camino due to the tent, mat, stove, and food. Late on the morning of Day 2 my mental distance calculation movie became ridiculous and really bothered me. So, by lunchtime, I made a deliberate choice to stop calculating. Just breathe and walk. Step by step, breath by breath, I gently let the natural rhythm take over.
My pack was still heavy, but my mind was lighter. Focusing on my breathing and gentle walking, I began to settle in without thinking about the destination and the pressure to get there.
Wild camping is technically not allowed in England, but if you arrive late, leave early, and are respectful, it’s often quietly accepted. Still, it felt a bit risky, and there was the constant tension between wanting to rest early, needing to find a discreet spot, and the necessity of pitching the tent late. That’s when I created another rule. I simply decided that all will be fine.
I would fully trust the universe to provide the right spots at the right time. Sounds very strange, I know, but it worked. Every night when I needed a place to camp, I seemed to find beautiful, hidden pitches, sometimes with beautiful views and sunsets worth every step.
The more I camped, the more I realised we are naturals in nature. At first, pitching in fields with cows or sheep felt awkward. But by relaxing into the stillness, I became part of it. Watching a mouse scurry near my tent and hearing the quiet grazing of sheep brought peace and a sense of belonging. I felt safer there than I ever expected.
Of course, the beauty of nature didn’t remove the challenge. I still needed to average 30 km a day. By the end of day two, I was far behind with a total of 44km covered. But instead of panicking, I began to listen to my body as my guide. On day three, I pushed nearly 35 km, fuelled by coffee, chocolate, and loud singing along to my iTunes library. That night, I had to skip dinner …simply too tired. From then on, I shaped my days around a minimum of three long breaks, gentle walking into the evenings, stopping when I found the right place to camp, and simply giving my body a good rest. It worked, even though it was a strain!
My companion on the trail was the audiobook, Backpacking with the Saints. Its author pairs wilderness walking with the wisdom of spiritual thinkers. One key lesson stayed with me. It’s not about achievement. It’s about love. On the Camino, there had been a certificate waiting at the end. Here, nothing. No cheering crowd. But as I finished, I felt full … full of love for nature, the land, the people in my life, and the kindness of strangers. All we need is love.
Walking through the South Downs farmland, I noticed the ground was thick with stones. How could anything grow here? Yet farmers had learned to work with what they had … thin soil over chalk … to produce wheat, barley, and pasture. It was a quiet reminder that growth doesn’t need perfect soil … just persistence. Have a look for yourself.
The long solitary days gave me time to reflect on my life since the Camino. I’ve enjoyed eleven years as a self‑employed coach, more than a decade married to my wonderful wife … living together with our cat Rosie … a strong circle of friends, and a new vibrant home in London.
This was my first full week without a computer in over a decade and my first week entirely cleared of client work. It felt indulgent. Certainly a little daunting, but entirely worth it. It reminded me that nothing good happens unless you do it. Sometimes we have to step away and give ourselves something to nourish our soul. Sometimes we have to take care of ourselves.
For me, these summer days on the South Downs … the barley fields, the sheep, the sunsets, the stillness, the solitude, the beautiful skies … will stay vivid for years. They were more than just a walk. They were a reminder of what really matters.
Here is my question to you this month:
What is your next adventure you undertake just for yourself?
Not to prove anything, not to tick a box, but to nourish yourself, feel alive, present, and full of love.
Cheerio
Joerg
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