Where the Light Slows
And walking along the Cotswold Way
I’ve lugged this Diet Coke for 6 miles. Past sheep farms, through a brief reflection at an ancient church, and on a tiny, terrifying “path,” beside a highway. It’s time to pause.
My legs stretch out in the grass. I sip. I relax. The vast sky and rolling hills in front of me look like the pastoral landscapes of every children’s picture book. A dog thunders onto the page, but he’s friendly, and his human stops to chat. I explain I’m walking part of the Cotswold Way. This is my third day.
“Are you walking alone?” She asks.
Every person I meet along the trail asks this question.
“Yes,” I smile, and then add the same bizarre extra info I feel compelled to say: “but it feels super safe. The days are long and there’s so much sunlight.”
She nods, the dog scampers away, and they are off.
Despite being blessed with a terrible sense of direction and not being particularly fit, for some reason, this long distance English walk always felt doable.
What bolstered my confidence? The light.
I planned the walk for early May, knowing loads of daylight hours would free me to take my time. To move slow.
A truly bold idea. I’m so used to hurrying, all the time. Daylight’s abundance not only made me feel calm, it made me feel safe. And, until I was walking through those hills, I didn’t realize how much I needed that protection.
***
Exactly one month before my trip, I lost my job. When the news hit, so did a naive sense of confidence. I’ve been through divorce and cancer1 in the last year, surely I can handle another tough twist.
Turns out that, yes, I am a crisis management veteran. However, my abrupt job loss initiated a new vulnerability. Ever since April 1, I’ve felt exposed. I feel like I’m on a suspension bridge with no rails, and the other side is an empty drop.
My job’s stability always provided comfort; it was a weighted blanket when my personal life felt upside down. I worked part time during chemotherapy because I knew my ego needed the pride and purpose I derive from work.
Now, I feel a lot like I did when I graduated, 15 years ago: major life changes, no clear job path, all in a tumultuous economic environment. Who am I without this career? I’m desperate to feel in charge, to chart my path. I want to get off this bridge and hurry forward, but I’m scared.
**
Prior to my flight to England, my longest hike was 7 miles. My route involves hikes nearly twice as long, and on the plane, I question my planning.
You’ve got this, my usually all-too-quiet inner confidence says. There’s plenty of sunlight hours. Go slow. Enjoy.
And for the first time, in a long time, alone on those green hills, that is what I do. I move forward, gently. I rest on benches. I snack on a flapjack and chat with sheep. I read the trail’s guest book. I’m in no rush, there’s plenty of daylight to get to the inn.
Each morning, I have to remind myself to go slow. By nature, I bolt. I bound up the escarpment, until my heavy breathing reminds me there is no urgency. No deadline, no pressure, no fight, no flight. Just feeling the air, talking out loud (to myself), and taking about 1,000 pictures of green grass.
When I realize I’m actively grinning while walking — a subconscious goofy smile is plastered on my face — the previous month’s stress is clear. I have not felt this confident doing anything in a long time. The mass layoffs were designed to mentally wreck employees. I’ve committed enormous emotional energy to not give Russ and Elon’s Cruelty Crew the satisfaction of breaking, but I’ve been whittled. The threatening directives, the upending of grants, each day’s tension — it’s worn on me.
Feeling my calves (and other parts of my legs? I don’t know what these muscles are called, but I felt them?) stretch on the incline, I feel strong. I do think about job stress, but from this distance, and with the sun literally on my back, I feel strong and secure. Go slow, I remind myself. You’re safe, there’s still so much light.
As
lenz wrote in her incredible memoir:“Chiaroscuro is an art term that refers to the extreme contrast of light and dark that renders images on the page three-dimensional. It’s that contrast that gives them life. The darkness always has light — you just have to find it.”
Back home from England, as I navigate reality, I’m ever aware of this contrast. I try to hold on to the slower pace. There is still so much light. I take more evening hikes —have you ever seen trees at golden hour? Life is still bananas, but I know the light is there. The days are long, indeed.
My wonderful writing group reflected on Light this month. I loved reading
, , and ’ reflections ❤️
I KNOW. A triple whammy in 14 months.
What a year you’ve had! It sounds like you had this trip planned for exactly the right time—love these reflections on your walk!
ALL OF THIS!! Fay, someday we can plan our own walk. Let’s pick a country now ;)