For anyone who’s grown up in contemporary society (yes you, the  Neanderthal with the iPhone) it’s clear that speed has become the name of the game. There’s no such thing now as “taking it slow.” Speed has become inseparable from value, and fast is good, whether it’s business, sports, cars communication, or anything else.

That philosophy, however, has no place out here on the trail.
I began this journey with the idea that I’d outpace most of the people hiking the AT. And I did move quickly for the first couple weeks. But after a while something began to feel wrong.
When I pulled up an overview of my progress, 17 days of singleminded walking, this is the image I was greeted by:

From my perspective I felt like I was hurtling along, but from satellite perspective I was snail. There was a long way to go. Seeing the full scope of the road ahead reminded me that I hadn’t set off on this 2,100 mile hike with the intent to make it a race. Somewhere along the way my competitive nature had taken hold, with an almost insidious subtlety.

From day one there had been a sect of hikers that had been flying past me like cars in the left lane on the highway. And each time it happened my pride was hurt a little. Nobody likes to lose, least of all former collegiate athletes, and it felt like I was doing just that. So day by day I got faster and faster.

Soon enough I was the one passing people, pushing to cross imaginary finish lines marked one day by a weirdly colored rock and the next a bent tree. Needless to say, the victories were cheap. There were no prizes, medals, or ribbons. No cheers. My opponents didn’t even seem to care. They were just focused on their own next step, and I was already gone ahead, on down the path like a wayward breeze.

So there I was, making big miles, but not looking at anything except the ground. All the things I’d come looking for, trees, mountains, interesting people, fresh air and silence, they were all busy passing by me, the guy who only had time to focus on his pounding feet.

So now it’s time to slow down. To downshift, per se. To remember that I came to the woods, in the words of Thoreau, to “front the essential facts of life.” Not to get caught up in the vanity of winning an experience that shouldn’t be envisioned as a race.

I’m here to teach myself to enjoy the present and embrace step-by-step progress, to revel in the means — purposeful, moment by moment action — not the ends. Besides,what’s the point of starting anything if you’re already looking for the end.

Finding the right flow-                 The Nomad