As a kid, confined to the car on those relentless road trips to visit relatives, I would fantasize hiking up the mountains or biking through the orchards we zoomed past. I longed to leap out the car door and escape into the landscape. That restlessness remains.
Walking means freedom. It’s primal, stretching the physical limits of heart and feet to become less cerebral creature and more wild animal. I love the remarkably simple, positively monotonous rhythm of my own footsteps; a soothing mantra that quiets the concerns of a spinning mind.
Nature is so nourishing. Even with a warm house and all the luxuries, I still desire the occasional night’s sleep under the moon, the deliciously woodsy scent of a campfire, and a very long walk in the dirt.