After a tussle with a tricky hillside, in a struggle to get my pack off my back, I broke my (grandmother’s) chain.

Before I started this walk, I wondered with a friend whether adornments such as this one would matter to me as much when I was away from all the extra nonsense of the world. And when the chains snapped, I cursed the hillside.

This mattered to me. But I had to keep going.

Also I am in the process of reclaiming my curls. This morning I waded into the lake (we just met and we fell in love, me and the lake) and after this swim and coffee and writing morning, I will buy a comb and I will wash my hair.

I am thinking that I will start to look like someone I recognize.

Even without my chain.

All of this in an effort to

I am not so sure

I have lots of time to think these days and I cannot know precisely into what size slices of the pie chart my thoughts can be categorized but in difficult sections and when I am exhausted, my focus is pulled forward, to where my feet and breaths land. I also, in those moments, often think,

“Why am I doing this?”

But after my subconscious feels like we have things under control, my mind inevitably wanders. And usually, I jump far too quickly to,

“What next?”

It turns out I have quite a lot of

“are we there yet?”

buried inside me.

And while it is literal and to some extent practical, it also feels quite indicative of a greater condition —

When I pass the stranger ahead of me or lose the one behind me, finally winning the race no one else knew they were running, the higher parts of my Self respond to the lower parts of myself:

“And then what?”

(In all honesty, my higher Self usually tosses in an aggressive, yet playful, “motherfucker?” at the end)

(She’s got a real mouth on her, that one)

As in

What happens when you get there?

Because once not too long ago I rushed and pushed a gorgeous 20km+ day, starting at 6:46am, only to arrive to my campsite to battle sandflies inside my tent for 6 hours until I could manage to fall asleep to the sound of the undead buggers in between the outer and inner layers of my tent.

The incessant hum haunts me still.

And so now,

It is difficult to explain how I somehow wish to be out there, climbing that hill, exhausting my muscles, knowing I have to get up and do it again the next day. If you ask me while I’m out there, it is the most challenging thing I have ever done.

If you ask me, while I am sitting here in this carpeted apartment, this is the most difficult place to be; here, I have too many choices.

On Maps:

Out there is seemingly endless space but I follow one map. And while the trails are oftentimes overgrown, the map tells me where to be and so long as I keep my phone charged, I can read the map and so long as I pay attention, I can keep going forward.

Is there a map for the life to which I intend to return?

Of course there is, silly —

I can hear this voice that does not always sound like mine, inputting what sounds like doubt through the base of my skull. I have decided that the voice is this little doubt monkey which has latched onto my back and as the long days grow longer, she quiets down, like she is being plucked, hair by hair, with each of my steps. It feels like I am saying, “Fine. You can stay but just watch me. You’ll see.”

It’s just that I cannot help but wonder whether the voice is a doubt monkey or something with more intelligence; I cannot tell whether She is challenging me to prove her wrong or directing me to a different journey.

Is she taunting,

you can’t

or lovingly whispering,

you don’t need to

?

Anyway

I want to do something that always feels like an absolute yes.

Hah!

Don’t we all????

Where are my absolute certainties? Do I have any?

Signs from Wānaka:

Chilean Willie Wonka at the lake

The morning sunshine on my back

The last bloom on the Magnolia out front ❤

The water didn’t even feel cold!!!

Lessons from the steep climbs:

Pride is the devil. There is no gold medal at the end of it. If you are doing it for what you get, you will always, forever, every time feel robbed.

Take your breaks. (!!!) (very much still learning!)

Breathe.

Take care of your knees.

Wear sunscreen.

Buy the trekking poles.

Choose what south-bounder advice you hold onto, and what you let slide over top your sweaty little head.

If you are lucky, every day will be challenging.

*There will always be a map. (K)Not all maps are made for you. In fact, all except one are not for you — your one has yet to be made.

And so then what?

Motherfucker?

xx

Until You Know Better

Trust the process (green with vomit emoji)

Get your curls back

Take your time