Seven of Staffs

I had a terrible morning today. I had planned a walk I was genuinely excited about, and somehow, before I even reached the trail, several people had tried to convince me not to do it alone. One person suggested I wait for a group. Someone else thought I should take a shorter route. Another seemed genuinely surprised that I was even considering going by myself.

By the time I left, I was frustrated and questioning a decision I had felt completely comfortable with the night before. I checked everything again. The trail was open. The weather was good. I had enough water and knew the distance. Nothing had actually changed. Still, I could hear everyone's warnings in my head as I started walking.

It ruined the first few miles. Every time the trail became steep or disappeared briefly around a bend, I wondered whether I had been foolish. I hated that feeling. This was supposed to be a walk I had chosen for myself, and somehow I had brought half the village's opinions along with me.

Then, little by little, I did settle into the trail. My breathing found its rhythm. My legs felt strong beneath me. The mountains opened ahead, and I remembered why I had wanted to come here in the first place. Somewhere along the way, everyone else's voices finally became quiet enough for me to hear my own again.

I am glad people cared enough to warn me. I know they were trying to help. But I am also glad I went.

Tonight my legs are tired, my boots are filthy, and I'm grateful I didn't listen to them. The trail was beautiful and peaceful, once I finally stopped hearing everyone else's voices in my head. I knew I could do this!

I wish I hadn't let them make me doubt myself for the first few miles. But maybe that's part of what I'm taking home from today too. I listened. I checked. And then I trusted myself and kept walking.