This is ENOUGH

A close friend asked me who I was without my cameras and writing. And the truth was, as hard as I tried, I could not answer this simple question. All I knew was that somewhere in the deep recesses of my primitive mind, I was starting to feel pressure, as if the walls were closing in, the sky lowering, and the ground opening up. I had now been home for three months following an amazing trek in the Himalayan mountains of Nepal. I was running, working out, walking and practising yoga daily, but

I still could not shake the growing feeling that time was relentlessly ticking by. Perhaps it’s a feeling that accompanies you as the years pass by quickly, or perhaps it’s a simple truth.

Whether self-imposed or not, the pressure of being static and the desire to experience the world on foot was steadily building like a furnace fire that had found new fuel. I didn’t know why, nor did I understand the need I was feeling, but I had an overwhelming desire to move, to outrun an imaginary ticking clock, counting down to an unknown yet looming ending.

A curious feeling of contrasts. I needed to move, grow, and experience, yet undertaking the very act I desired was selfish, indulgent and painful. Weighing up my desires, my head was asking why? Yet my heart was screaming, why not? In the end, it was simple; I had no choice. It was time to dust off my trusted equipment and pack my bags, the road was calling, and at that very moment, it was a calling I could not ignore.

The island of Lombok was the destination, and a short stroll of 450km circumnavigating the island felt like the right pace for a couple of immersive weeks on the road. So with a rough plan in place, I threw my bag over my shoulder and took my first steps towards yet another adventure on foot.

A few hours later, I excitedly stepped off the small boat that had transported me from Bali and took my first steps, fully aware of what lay ahead yet still in denial about how painful it could become. This was not my first rodeo; I had undertaken a few long walks in the past and was well-versed about what awaited me. Yet holding on tight to my mildly deluded mindset, I was hoping it would be plain sailing all the way this time.

That delusional dream was quickly dispersed as the first few kilometres passed underfoot. It was hot, damn hot, and although I had been living in the tropics for eight years, this aspect of the walk would become a relentless travel buddy. One that I would have to make friends with or one that would bring me undone.

The first day of walking was designed to be deliberately light, just 10 kilometres, a regular daily walk. The plan was to find my rhythm, a good pace that made the journey pleasurable. But as I ascended and descended the never-ending hills under the baking glare of the afternoon sun, I quickly realised that this would be more challenging than I expected; my delusional mind bubble had been well and truly burst.

As I dragged my sweaty and tired frame up the final hill to the evening's accommodation, the fact was not lost on me that I had basically lied to myself to get here. I knew I could do this, I had done more miles in the past, but I may have told myself it would be fun. Let's be honest if you knew that what lay ahead was only pain, would you ever take the first step? Or would you choose to sit at home talking about adventure, watching the clock count down?

I sat on the beach that evening, getting lost in the hypnotic motion of the gentle waves lapping against the shoreline as the final glimpse of a captivating sunset descended beyond the horizon, greeting another adventure in a distant land with the life-giving optimism needed, allowing them to rise and try again.

Even at this early stage of the walk, I had questions. The questions that seemed to be at the forefront of my mind were why am I doing this again, and what did I expect to learn? Why did I need to put myself in these physical and mental situations? And what was I looking for? What was there to learn from the experience?

For me, the why is not a tricky question to answer. You see, I need or crave fully immersive physical experiences that allow me to push beyond what I thought possible. I have a history of seeking out experiences that ensure my physical distress will allow all the baggage of life I feel upon my shoulders to dissipate underfoot.

It's an acquired taste that I consider a necessary evil when seeking personal growth. I can only speak for myself, but I know that comfortable and supportive situations tend to lead to similar outcomes. Minor changes that evaporate just as quickly as they materialise. Yet for me, experiences that require sacrifice, more often than not, lead to change that resonates deeply within. Embracing long-lasting change is an inevitable experience you can not escape on a physical journey such as this, as the answers you seek have a way of finding you at your most vulnerable.

As I strolled back to my humble accommodation, I considered the question of what and the lesson this journey would reveal. Experience has taught me that every adventure has a lesson to teach; in the end, it is up to your good self to find the space and the state of mind to absorb it.

Sadly as I walked over the next few days, this question would become a frustrating nemesis. It felt like I was pushing the experience to teach me something, anything. I was tense, growing frustrated. The why was clear; this is how I learnt. But what I was here to learn seemed to become more elusive with every step I took.

At this stage of the walk, I was travelling 30 kilometres a day, it was tough hot work, and the road seemed to stretch out like a relentless path to pain and frustration. In the middle of nowhere, I took a break and sat under the shade of a massive tree that seemed to be planted years before, awaiting a weary traveller to arrive. As I sat in the shade of that wise tree, the simple truth slowly dawned on me. My obsessive quest to find meaning had meant that I had forgotten to enjoy the journey.

OH MY GOD, what an amateur mistake. I was seeking a lesson so severely that I was caught in the complex stories of my mind. A place that enabled a dark shadow to follow my every step, almost ensuring that I would continue to focus on the bad, the negative, totally blind to my very surroundings and the small glimpses of abundant beauty that were seemingly hidden in plain sight.

As I raised my sore and sweaty body beneath the shade of that wise old tree, I made a small commitment. I would walk in a slower, more relaxed manner with my head held high; I would stop, converse and take in the good, bad and indifferent without judgement, and I would cease to search for the what; I would let it find me when it was good and ready.

The changes were instant, but they were not what I had been precisely hoping for. As I continued along the seemingly never-ending black top, I noticed the disconcerting feeling emanating from my feet, the very things I needed to ensure the remainder of this journey could be completed and would be enjoyable.

It was time for an inspection, but there would be no wise tree to shade me from the harsh heat this time. This time I would need to sit beside the road, pull out my blister kit and begin work. As soon as I pulled off my shoes and socks, the pain sources I felt were there to greet me: damn blisters in places I had never experienced before.

Needles were quickly inserted, and blisters were drained and taped over before I carefully shoved my now sore-as-hell feet back in their shoes and got on with what needed to be done. As I began walking again, I tried to find comfort in the fact that only every second step hurt; it was ok, and things would get better as the miles passed. Little did I know at the time how wrong I actually would be.

The pain in my feet had uninvitedly moved in for the duration of the walk. Great, but as I adjusted my walking style to ease the pressure, I started to develop some worrying heal-strike pain. It was only day three, and I had already reached the point of having to make a decision. Give in to the discomfort, or suck it up and move on. As I stood by the side of the road feeling a little sorry for myself, an older man passed by. He was carrying his farming tools on his shoulder, and I noticed that he walked with a limp, and there was my answer.

I fell in behind this older man as we both silently, step by step, journeyed through our lives and perceived issues. It was only a few hundred meters down the road before he turned left, and I lost sight of a man that had silently inspired me to keep moving forward. It was a small moment in time that will accompany me for the rest of my travels as I seek my truth and limits while continuing to push the experience of existence just as hard as I have to.

This unexpected moment instantly set a new and quietly determined tone for the rest of the walk. It would hopefully allow me to finally let go and get lost in every simple moment that I was experiencing. Little did I realise the true impact of this simple moment would have on the rest of the adventure and potentially the rest of my days. Somehow my perspective had changed without me being consciously aware. It was the strangest feeling. Just moments before, I was drowning in self-pity, and now I travelled along that lonely road with hope.

The physical pain persisted, but the mental shift allowed me to become curious, open and willing to see what was actually in front of me without the blinkered view of past perception. On a lonely walk that still had a long way to go, it felt like a small part of the insight I had been searching for had just revealed itself.

The days that followed on the road took a similar path. Wake early, eat, walk, sweat, attempt to find more food, walk, sweat, eat and collapse in bed. Things were moving forward well, yet with every hard-fought step earned; I was still waiting for the penny to drop into place with a blinding flash of light and the fan-fair accompaniment that such a moment would deserve. But as I forced myself to try and find meaning, to attempt to hear the message a journey usually supplied in abundance, it remained elusive.

Hot, sweaty and feeling beaten up by the kilometres I had travelled in the last few days, I sat fully clothed under a pipe that spewed out cold water on the concrete floor; it was a much-needed shower and clothes-washing time. As the cold water falling from above slowly lowered my core temperature, and my body relaxed, I began a mental review of the past few days.

I don’t know what it is about a cold shower or water falling onto my busy mind, but something about that particular situation always seems to create mental clarity. As my mind drifted, I slowly realised that I had met a few random strangers in the last few days, who all seemed to share a relatively rare quality.

Turning off the taps, I dried my tired body and sat alone with only my thoughts about this intriguing realisation in a sparse Kos (Indonesian boarding house) resembling a South American prison cell. My eyes closed as my mind wandered deeper as I recalled the last few days.

It didn’t take long for the pieces of the puzzle to start falling into place as the faces and memories of the people I had met started to come flooding back. These simple memories made me smile; I enjoyed the encounters and felt blessed to have met them. Suddenly, a simple fact dawned on me, all of these encounters that now consumed my thoughts shared one unique trait.

The people I met were happy; they all shared a calm I had rarely felt; they seemed assured in themselves like they had found some secret knowledge that allowed the worries of the world to pass them by. With this peaceful observation swirling around my overactive mind, it was time for bed; I had 33 kilometres to walk tomorrow and would need every ounce of energy I could muster.

Over the next few days, the thoughts I stumbled upon sitting on the floor in the shower raced through my mind like a hamster on a wheel, using all its energy only to arrive at the same place. You see, the people I talk of were not exceptional, yet their ease and comfort of living in their own skin had made them unforgettable. They didn't have a million followers; they didn't have fame or notoriety; they didn't have wealth beyond the normal; outwardly, they didn't have anything we all possess.

As the sun set, I checked into a small yet beautiful guest house - it was nothing special, but again I was greeted by a young couple who seemed to outwardly display everything I had been talking about. I sat down and enjoyed a coffee with the young owner of the property, and soon the conversation turned to the future and what plans he had for his little establishment. He looked towards his wife, who was caring for their young child, and then his eyes slowly took in the small property.

Silence sat between us like an unbreakable connection before he smiled and answered, "We have no plans. This is enough". And there was the simple truth revealed by a happy family after 300 hard fought kilometres. They had enough. He slowly sipped his coffee as his words raced around my head, trying to find a relevant experience of understanding. As he placed the old glass on the table, he looked at me and asked the same question, "What plans do you have for the future?"

My response was simple, "The only plan I had was to walk.” He nodded and smiled, "It looks like you also have enough.” We shook hands, and he left the empty dining area to be with his family as I sat there, more than a little stunned. The truth is I had never looked at life through his prism. Sure I may have had fleeting glimpses, but I can't remember a day live, viewing life through the lens of having enough.

The next few days on the road felt long and hard, the fact was the young man's simple words, and kind gesture had sent me down the rabbit hole, precisely the opposite of how they were meant to be received. Looking back at my distant past, it quickly became apparent that I had spent much of my life if not all of it, believing I needed more. And what was worse, thinking that I needed more of everything. More happiness, more money, more notoriety, more, more, more! I never stopped to see if I had enough, if what I wanted more of was worth having, or if I had enough already.

Over the next few days, the cars, motorcycles and trucks continued flying past me as I walked those lonely kilometres, unsure of what to feel. Sounds stupid, right, but it is the only way to describe my confusion. Like many, I had grown up in an environment of more. You gave more; you took more; you needed more; you deserved more.

Looking back on it, it was never-ending, and this perspective, viewed through the gaze of passing time, only seemed to lead to greater confusion.The concept of striving for more has seen me live a full and, from an external perspective, successful life. Yet here I was, walking over 400 kilometres around an island in the baking sun. Did wanting more inspire me to undertake these gruelling journeys? And if so, how could having enough be the answer that seemed to be descending upon me?

These and similar thoughts kept rushing through my mind at a breakneck speed until I paused at the side of the road at 37 kilometres into a 45-kilometre day. I was dog-tired, dehydrated, and everything hurt when a young man approached me and asked if I needed help. Until that moment in my life and especially on this journey, my immediate response was NO, I am ok. But on this occasion, without hesitation, I said YES, I need help.

The young man smiled and gestured for me to jump on the back of his bike for the last few kilometres of the day's journey. And as we travelled, the heavy skies above erupted, allowing a deluge of cool and refreshing rain to pound life back into my beaten body. The young man offered to stop, but I laughed and encouraged him to keep moving forward. I loved every moment of his help, and the rain felt like pure nourishment for a drought-ridden soul.

We arrived at the guest house, soaked to the core but smiling. I pulled some money out of my pocket and handed it to the young man; I was genuinely grateful for his help. With a smile, he refused to accept it. It was never about money; he just saw a fellow human who needed help and didn't think twice about offering it.

I placed the money back in my pocket and bid him farewell, and as he drove through the now-driving rain into the distance, the true meaning of what everyone I had met finally came into focus. The simple phrase "this is enough" has nothing to do with how you are perceived, how popular and wealthy you are, how many glittery toys you possess and how much influence you can wield. No, the phrase "this is enough” relates directly to your opinion of yourself, your heart, soul, mind, and very essence.

As always, a simple message with profound and lasting consequences. Just 10 minutes before, accepting help and jumping on the back of a bike would have meant I was not enough; I was a failure, and I hadn't achieved what I set out to. But as I stood in the rain with this subtle message resonating throughout my body, I knew that perhaps for the first time in my life, I was enough.

A very restful night's sleep followed as I decided that the walk was finished. It was time to lick my wounds, heal my physical body and enjoy the fact that my simple life was indeed enough.

Writing about this curiously challenging and rewarding journey still brings up mixed feelings. Was it a success? That is a question that will remain impossible to answer. But right now, in this very moment of enough, I know that the success of a journey such as this can not be measured by the miles that pass underfoot.

For me, the success of this journey can only be measured in the act of the undertaking. Being willing to put myself in an unknown environment and travel in a manner bound to break me was enough. The true meaning of success was being curious and conscious enough to hear the whispers of wisdom that only a lonely journey of hardship can ensure. This is the very pinnacle of success; this is enough.

This journey began with a desire, a challenge, and a goal. Yet it ended with the answer to my friend's question. Who am I without my cameras and writing? It turns out that I am just a simple man who likes to push the boundaries and explore the edges of a comfortable existence on an endless quest to find my limits and truths. It also turns out that I am a man who occasionally needs a helping hand.

The act of accepting help feels like it has been a long time coming, but thankfully, it has arrived.