The art of departure
I’m learning to let go of expectations and allow a cycling or walking adventure to take me where it will.
At its heart, departure is deceptively simple. When we left home for our family summer-holiday train journey to Sweden, we walked down to the station like we always do. Travelling light, we probably looked to other passengers as if we were just going out for the day. We boarded the local train, then an express to London to catch the Eurostar. Before long, we had emerged from the tunnel in France. Departing had become departed.
It should feel the same, really, for a long walk or bike ride. All you do is leave the house as if you were going on a short trip – just with more snacks and clothes. If you walk or ride from your front door, the first miles are familiar ground. Only gradually does that known world fall away until, at some point, you're beyond the extent of your usual routes. The departure creeps up on you gradually.
Matt
So why can leaving on an adventure feel like such a big deal? A date circled in the calendar far ahead, yet still last-minute nerves as you pack. A feeling of pressure or anxiety. Doubts as you close the door behind you, and maybe more doubts as you get further from home. I think all this stems from the fact that departing means taking a risk and trusting in luck.