Next step: At the brow of the hill, take the path to the left until you reach the gate at the far edge of the paddock.
The instructions seem obvious until I notice multiple paths and realize that my initial assumption that the “brow” is “somewhere near the top” is not nearly precise enough.
I am out in the middle of a field, walking the public footpaths in Kent, England, and delighting in what feels like admittance to a secret world. These footpaths are centuries old, from times when walking was the only way to get to market or to town. While the original structures and communities that they linked may no longer exist, the time-trodden trails do. Thrillingly, each one is designated as a public right of way. So no matter what has been built up since - farmlands, private backyards, Downton Abbey-like estates, or century-old cemeteries, these footpaths are maintained and remain open to anyone who wishes to pass.
I’ve just set out from the village pub (whose little plaque tells me it was established in the 1300s - how cool is that?) and made my first successful climb over the fence and through a paddock full of bored-looking sheep, past a thatched cottage (just like the fairy tales!). I feel like a character in a novel as I discover the unseen backyards of England.
But this newest instruction about “the brow”, besides the tiniest sketch of a map, is unfamiliar to me and I am unsure of my next step.
Hmmm…
Wavering and stuck in a moment, I am at a standstill, incapable of choosing any path for fear that it will be the wrong one. Finally, it occurs to me that my default choice of indecision is highly impractical, with nothing to be gained by standing alone on a hill and having a personal debate about which path to take.
I am learning that my preference for ‘the right answer” stops me in my tracks, literally. Instead, with no way of knowing if I am choosing the right direction, the way forward requires action and I put one foot in front of the other, patiently allowing the appearance of the next landmark to give me the sign that I am headed in the right direction.
I’m now realizing that this reflects my decision-making patterns as I navigate mid-life. How many times have I been in this very position - unsure of what to order, how to choose the next retreat location, how to apologize after the argument- in each scenario wanting desperately to do “the right thing” and stuck in an uncomfortable limbo of indecision?
The walk is teaching me that these excruciating moments of perfectionism don't serve my end goal. Standing and worrying keeps me rooted in this spot. Walking and worrying destroy my enjoyment of the day. I’ve come to realize that the amount of worrying has never correlated with making the right choice or recovering after a wrong turn. The best I can do is choose a way forward, retrace my step if needed, and enjoy the view as I pass the next milestone along the way.
Wayfinding has become a scavenger hunt where each twist and turn through a secret, preserved part of England leads me to the greatest find - myself.
I fall back into a rhythm of one foot in front of the other, I get lost in my own thoughts and observe the increased ease I am feeling in making a non-perfect decision. Maybe navigating this next part of my life will be the same.
My quest ends back at the village pub where I gladly accept a celebratory pint and marvel at my new sense of bravery.
As for the brow? You’ll just have to join me to find out!
~Tania