Off the highway the broken path began. The first crossroad
came earlier than expected as I managed my way over a broken bridge holding my
breath, hoping it wouldn’t be it’s moment of collapse. And then the uphill
battle began. My black yoga leggings, a size too large kept cinching low just
as my fake ray bans slid down my nose in sweaty drips.
On any other day, roaming around the landscape, the walk
would have been enjoyable. But with inappropriate clothing for a hot day, a 20 kg
pack strapped to my back, and an uncomfortable side bag weighed down with my
“essential” technology gadgets, the ascent was frustrating.
I had to remind myself that easy paths lead to ordinary destinations.
I had to remind myself that this is what I asked for, somewhere
extreme, somewhere extraordinary.
I’d just finished spending the past two weeks in pure
luxury, traveling to Australia and New Zealand with my parents. After being
separated from them for ten months, my Mom and Dad had decided it was time to
visit their nomadic daughter across the globe.
For me, it was a sudden change in perspective and pace, as
I’d spent the prior four months backpacking and volunteering through Southeast
Asia. I was used to sleeping in open-aired huts, friends beds, and hostel
dormitories. With them, I’d find home in studio apartments, queen size
mattresses, and flat screen TVS. I was used to public transportation, in the
form of buses, trucks, and tuk tuks. With them, I’d be graced with airplanes,
private cars, and yachts.
Although sudden, I so easily adapted to this opposite
spectrum of life. Yes, I’m a backpacker, but I was definitely born a princess.
Just as easily as I can eat a $1 toastie from 7-11, I can also prepare gourmet
sandwiches with hummus and deli meat and tomato and cheese and onion and salt
and pepper. I can sit in hundred(s) dollar seats watching professional tennis
players like Venus Williams. I can snap tourist photos from the top of a double
decker bus. I can take tours of the Sydney Opera House and absorb the history
of a spectacular monument. I can order dinner without cringing at the prices-
yes appetizer, yes dessert.
I could so easily transition into royalty, but in reversing the order
and greeting the rugged life once again, I just wanted to give up.
Still, my only option was to move forward. I couldn’t let
myself be that pathetic girl who admitted defeat by leaving my pack at the
roadside shop. This walk was going to happen whether it took me until
nightfall.
As negative thoughts rambled in my monkey mind, I held my
breath and let out a deep exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Within
minutes of mindful breathing, I recognized what was missing from this
‘disaster’ was a pure appreciation of the present moment.
Ok, I said, I’m twenty-four years old. I’m in New Zealand. I’m walking
to a sustainable community.
And just like that, I began to trust the process. Doubt passed. Calm
entered.
No, my pack did not miraculously become lighter. Actually,
it became heavier as I decided moving my side bag into the backpack would make
my stride a little less cumbersome. No, the heat did not retreat. No, the
ascent did not level out.
The conditions of the journey remained the same. It was
simply my intention of the journey that had changed. And it made all the
difference.
An hour later I’d arrived. I had withstood some falls. I had
enjoyed some roadside plum snacks. I had made it.
Strangers embraced me with hugs as I watched a pregnant lady
walk barefoot with her belly exposed. One of my first introductions was to the
composting toilet, where our human shit would transform into food for the soil.
I would be living in the “Love Caravan” and I was allowed to eat whatever I
could harvest from the garden.
I had arrived to Hippieville, Wilderland they called it. I
was exhausted.
I unpacked my bag pleased that I wouldn’t be carrying it around,
at least not for a while. I looked out over the bushland and on to the estuary.
And I smiled.
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