The Long Walk Home

I went for a walk. Not the longest, not the shortest. Just a walk inspired by the predictability of the sameness that seemed to have seeped into life like a loving predator just waiting to pounce. The sameness of a somewhat numb reality many feel every day. So I decided to take matters into my own hands and attempt to buck the trend and do something about this overwhelming feeling. I decided to undertake a little adventure and circumnavigate the island of Bali.

This was a personal choice. I was not chasing any particular truths that are often wrongly associated with this kind of venture or with a decision or action that people find hard to understand. I wasn’t searching for any beautiful discoveries, knowing that they would find me if necessary.

The simple truth is that I desperately wanted to move forward; in a time where the world wholeheartedly seems to be investing in the fight to get back to the place that led us to this moment.

This personal undertaking wasn’t about being seen or heard.

It wasn’t about making friends, empowering people, justifying my beliefs and existence. It wasn’t about receiving likes, hearts, comments, followings, or popularity.

No, the decision to walk around Bali was just a selfish act. Nothing more than a simple walk for me and me alone. Accompanied only by my excitement, my fears, my mind, my reality. Just trying to simply enjoy the open road ahead and the baggage I left behind - one step at a time.

The decision to walk was easy. The prep for the walk was not difficult, but the actual walk? Well, let’s just say at times it was somewhat mentally and physically testing. But as it turns out, it quickly became the exact kind of test I was looking for.

It was not a test you could pass or fail. It was just a test of moving forward into the unknown. I knew I was on my own. I just couldn’t comprehend that this feeling surging through me could exist even after this little adventure passed once I returned to a reality that had not changed, that in fact, had just embedded itself deeper in its own limiting beliefs.

I guess I should have known, for it was exactly what I was trying to leave behind. But as it turned out, arriving home could have been the biggest test of all.

The thought that dawned on me relatively early on this little adventure was that when you take the time to walk through a large region of any country, you’re actually walking through people’s lives — in all their rich glory, accompanied by all their complex issues.

But I can say without a shadow of a doubt that although I received many strange looks along the way, I was welcomed with open hearts, memorable smiles, and kind offerings. The people I met didn’t really understand why I would do such a thing. And the truth is neither did I in the beginning. But slowly and surely, that awareness greeted me as the isolated miles slid by.

The island of Bali is a stunning place. Nothing short of breathtaking at times. A truly world-renowned destination. I am sure you have seen countless images of pristine beaches, unforgettable sunsets, waterfalls to die for, forests of bamboo that seem to sing to you as you pass, active volcanoes with explosive pasts, beautiful rice terraces that reflect your own insignificance, and of course, an endless sea of cultural smiles for the world to envy.

But the truth is, this was not what I was looking for - this was never my journey, as I feel all these beautiful scenes seem to bypass the very thing I find most interesting in life. The exotic nature of the day-to-day. A stunning lifestyle that remains largely unseen in a world where travelers rush past with a fixed gaze to their next exotic destination for their next likeable memory.

This day-to-day existence I searched for and immersed myself in seems to go largely unnoticed. Until the moment you decide to pull on a backpack, lace up your shoes, and slowly wander through all this island has to offer.

I was never chasing a highlights portfolio that in some way projected that I understand what beauty is. No, I was searching for the ever so precious slices of real life lived between the highlights, missed by the passing cars, a mystery to all who peer into the endless empty void of a life lived online.

Without a doubt, I was lucky enough to stand silently in front of many iconic sights. Yet it didn’t take long to discover that the reality of a walk like this means that you’re guaranteed to experience a hell of a lot more. Experiences that will leave a lasting impression strong enough to make you stop and consider your own actions, thoughts, and way of life.

Memorable visions that at first glance may appear insignificant, yet have the power to break your heart, lift your soul, make you laugh, or bring tears to your eyes.

Like the endless sea of shuttered warungs that litter the roadside, standing like decaying monuments to past glory, haunted by the energy of lost livelihoods. Like one-star hotels with soiled sheets that were at their best decades before. Like rooms shared with families of cockroaches keen to make your acquaintance. Or like the moment you realise that all of your toes are taped to help ease the pain of the current crop of blisters.

Like the moment when you accept that you smell so bad, it’s time to change your clothing, only to open your bag and discover that everything inside it smells like you. Like the moment you discover you may just have an instant noodle addiction, as that is all there is to eat in places hit by economic hardship. Or the moment when you finish a ten-hour uphill walk only to discover that the view you were promised sits shrouded in an unmovable cloud and a heavy downpour.

It’s hard to sum up the emotions and encounters I experienced. There were good days, there were great days, and then there were days where I just felt broken - both mentally and physically. My response to these moments was a little predictable and comfortably assuring.

When the down days and doubting moments arrived, I would stand in the middle of the road, look back to where I had come from, look forward to the unknown while gently reminding myself that I chose this. No matter what the situation: good, bad, or indifferent, I chose it. The smile that seems lost just moments before would slowly return along with the excitement of the unknown and the humbling joy of knowing that the position I find myself in is a position of privilege - a position I chose.

I ran through the rain, bathed in the rivers, rested in the fields, and pondered under the shade of the trees that had experienced more than I ever will. Yes, it was a privilege that I chose.

Reflecting on the beauty of the walk, I believe I experienced a wealth of what Bali has to offer. Yet I am left with the lingering feeling that there is still far more for me to discover.

When exploring these lonely yet comforting memories softened by the passing of time, it dawned on me that all of these beautiful experiences (both the big and small) combine to create the texture of my journey.

A texture, which has helped this tiny sliver of my life to become far more than a postcard memory. Allowing it to emerge as a moment in time, defined by the texture of the journey itself. A profoundly personal and treasured memory where Bali’s iconic and unknown merged into one, leaving a littered past of fleeting yet unforgettable memories.

As I walked immersed in every step, I didn’t notice things changing. But rest assured, they were. I don’t remember the exact moment I realised I was no longer looking down as I walked. Instead, my body had relaxed, allowing my gaze to become fixed on the horizon and all the possibilities it had to offer.

Somewhere on an unknown road, I discovered the ability to really watch my thoughts come and go without feeling the need to attach myself to them. They were just a passing moment in time, coming and going with an almost comical consistency.

After a while, the pain of walking shifted. At first, it was physical, then it became mental, and finally, it became a companion - like a close friend there to remind me that I was doing exactly what I had chosen to do. Things had and still were changing. Not for the better, not for the worse - they were just changing. Where these changes would lead was and in many ways still is a mysteriously unknown destination.

As the largely unplanned miles slowly passed by underfoot, I stumbled across many spectacular and humbling encounters. I spent time with a man who explained that he plants flowers on unused land as an offering to the land that sustains us all. I sat and watched a young girl play in a bucket of water with the untold joy that assured me this was her very own Olympic swimming pool.

I was offered money to cover the local bus fare by a stranger who had little to give but was more than willing to share. At the side of a busy road, I was served coffee by a blind lady who refused my tip. She wasn’t interested in charity, as she was stronger and prouder than most.

I experienced the vulnerable honesty of a man who admitted that I was the first customer to stay in his homestay in over a year. I sat and watched him clean and prepare the room with great pride, yet also watch that pride disappear when he told me he had no food to offer.

I witnessed boys become warriors as they battled on beachside volleyball courts, supported by village elders re-living their youth. I sat mesmerised in the glow of the setting sun, watching local boys from a nearby village engage in high speed, high stakes motorbike racing on a track that stretched across pristine beaches. I became a regular fan on the sparse sidelines at countless football matches, played with barefoot passion on any available pitch for the pure joy of the game.

I saw children at play, picking through the ruins of our discarded success in search of a toy, a possession, just something to call their own and hoping to find the hope they were yet to comprehend.

I listen to countless stories that all had a similar heart-breaking tone. Conveyed passionately by the future of Indonesia, the youth of today. “I had a job. I had a career. Now I sell products that nobody wants at makeshift stalls that dot the roadside, unseen by the speeding cars passing by”. These spirited youth seemed like the forgotten poster children for a future that may never arrive.

It was like walking a roller coaster of emotion, an ocean of reality where the future dreams were lost behind blank stares and trying smiles. A kind country of people just trying to work out if they will survive, if they will have enough to feed their families.

It hurt, yet it was hopeful. The people I spent time with and listened to had lived tough lives just like their parents and their parents before them. They knew how to go without better than most. They knew that the hunger would hopefully pass, that the pain would become bearable, and hopefully life as they knew, would return.

I have to be honest. At times it seemed easier to walk away, to run from the pain of their reality. But after only a few days, I realised that a similar fate, a similar story awaited me just down the road. I knew that I would sit and listen, knowing full well that I didn’t have the answers they were seeking.

The island as a whole felt very quiet, like some strange force had ravaged its soul, leaving destruction that no-one saw coming; while the island’s population sits in hope without knowing where to begin, how to rebuild what had been lost to a storm beyond their control.

The effects of the current world climate have hurt us all. Knowing this before beginning, the reality of the situation was far more oppressive than I had been prepared for.

I walked through village after village that would have once been vibrant with the hustle and bustle of daily life, but now appeared like ghost towns from a B-grade movie. The few shops and hotels that remain open were surrounded by the reality of hardship, standing out as the remaining pillars of hope in the fight for survival.

This became my normal, my every day, my expected. But then I entered Canggu, and to tell you the truth, it felt like entering New York City for the first time. After weeks of walking through what was, in reality, an economic wasteland. The contrast could not have been more confronting.

It was busy. It was as if nothing had ever changed, and maybe that’s a good thing. Perhaps that’s the right way to tackle what is going on. But as I passed through, I started to wonder, how did all these people end up here? Happily existing in this tiny corner of crowded chaos.

What made this the chosen spot of so-called normality? Who was the person that decided this would be the place, and who are all these people that followed?

I was consumed by an overwhelming and strange feeling as I passed through. A feeling that I couldn’t shake, even as I left the busy streets behind. I found myself attempting to understand that while the rest of the island suffered, this tiny pocket of Bali was prospering. It was like drifting through a social experiment where there was no long-term winner.

I have to admit that I wondered if the people that had decided to gather here chose the familiar noise of perceived success and relevance over the quiet, introspective embodiment that cloaked the rest of the island?

I wondered: was feeling like it is business as usual more important than learning from the state of current affairs? Did the sense of isolated freedom fill the intrepid followers with a nauseating fear that makes them gather in the safe knowledge of what has always been?

The road and a journey of this style can be a lonely place, which I did desire. But even knowing this was of little help whenever this pleasant stroll turned into a mental and physical battle.

In these familiar moments, I would take the time to discover that my mind had once again wandered off onto its own indulgent path. As time passed, I found a beautiful way to escape the wrath of my own mind and in turn, learned some wonderful lessons.

I slowly learned that the key to getting through these moments was to re-engage with my now, my current environment, and the people and textures that surrounded me. In essence, just being present to the stories and experiences my now had to offer.

Which often meant nothing more than just smiling, sitting, listening, and understanding. Nothing more, nothing less. The people I sat with and listened to were not expecting someone to come along and solve their problems. They understood better than many that what was happening in this mixed-up world was bigger than them, bigger than me, bigger than us.

They just needed someone, anyone, to take a moment and listen. This simple act was the gift that helped me through every moment when my mind was clouded with doubt - every moment when I thought I had little left to give and needed just a little help to get through.

The further I traveled, the more I left behind like a snake shedding its skin. But the skin I was shredding was the negative thoughts, opinions, and attitudes that had accompanied me for what now seems like a lifetime. A lifetime where the opinions and attitudes had become the narrow view of the world that lay before.

This so-called shedding seemed to happen gradually. Until one day, I just felt different, very different. The things that used to bother me, make me react, make me feel as if I had to defend another point of view were simply gone. As if they just vanished, as if they just left me like an unwanted habit that no longer serves the true me.

Well, maybe they didn’t exactly vanish, but that is what it felt like as these lifelong thoughts, rules, and expectations no longer had any meaning to me. Or rather, I no longer had any attachment to them.

I could still see them, and I could firmly remember the feeling that used to swell up inside me. But now, these feelings and reactions were replaced with a strange and unfamiliar kind of compassion. In that moment, I knew I didn’t need to be seen, I didn’t need to be heard, I didn’t need anything. I was free.

It is tough to explain, but I believe I may have just unearthed a ‘me’ that has been buried in the self-justification of life for what now feels like an eternity. A ‘me’ I don’t know yet, but a ‘me’ I want to befriend.

I have had a few people asked me what was the purpose of this little journey, what did I learn? I have to admit that the honest answer is I learned nothing at all, yet everything I needed.

There were no lightning bolt moments. The knowledge I discovered came slowly, from within. It was like watching tiny pieces of my puzzle fall into place. Step after step, one piece would join another, discarding the thoughts that had become irrelevant over time.

This slow change, gradual growth, the evolution of thought, if you like, allowed me to arrive at a couple of conclusions. Conclusions that right now work for me, but conclusions that I am sure will be tested in the very near future.

This long, self-indulgent undertaking allowed me the unique experience of distancing myself from the external noise that crowds many of our lives. The noise that masks itself as help, as sound advice, as good habits. The further away I walked from the floored reality I had built, the more space I found to consider the external noise in my life along with myself, my thoughts, my beliefs, my everything.

The unusual reality that started to emerge was that when you have that kind of space, and you’re willing to explore yourself, not just celebrate yourself, but look at your fragility, your beautiful mishaps, then a lot of what you believe quickly becomes inverted. Especially when you finally come to terms with the fact that you have been living deep inside a relevant feedback loop.

A fascinating delusion of knowing that we have bestowed upon ourselves, which appears to only be supported by never-ending relevant feedback loops. Supported by others looking for the same relevance, from the same knowledge, and around and around, we all go.

I had to ask myself the tough question. If I am living my life in a relevant feedback loop, is there any way to really know myself? Or am I just living a life based on what I need to project to receive the relevant feedback I desire?

The answer will be different for all.

Upon taking my last steps, I have also arrived at a final conclusion. A conclusion of such simplicity that it still makes me smile. We don’t actually learn anything in this life. We actually earn everything. Subsequently, if what we have earned is knowledge free from influence, then the newly earned knowledge has the potential to become learned. But only once we have had our own unique experiences with it.

Once it becomes part of our day-to-day while no one is watching, when there is no reward on offer, once it becomes part of our subconscious, then we have learned. Then, and only then, does the knowledge become more than just another’s repurposed thoughts.

The reason this conclusion makes me smile is the simple fact that it almost invites us all to get out of the courses, the classrooms, the centres, the learning establishments of great knowledge, and begin living life with a new appreciation that none of it really matters. Yet knowing that the texture of the journey can weave its way into the fabric of your being.