A trail is a line that evolves

Last year I wrote about the trails we find ourselves on in life, and the ways in which they are shaped by both chance and choice. This is a companion piece of sorts, prompted by having recently completed a significant trail of my own.

Between March and mid-August this year, I lived in Barcelona - an adventure made possible by work, but driven more by a long-held desire to experience living in another country and culture for an extended period of time. I imagined I would travel quite widely in Spain during my time there. However, for this sojourn at least, my explorations naturally ended up being bounded within the rich and diverse region of Catalunya. Finding the travel bookstore of dreams and learning more about local hiking routes sparked the idea to walk the entirety of the Camí de Ronda - a trail which stretches more than 200 km along the Costa Brava. I walked the first leg on a day trip from Barcelona, and completed the rest as a series of multi-day hikes over a number of long weekends.

This was an ambitious, solo camino. No single day was the best or the worst; each brought its own challenges and delights. I hiked up and down mountains, through forests and seaside towns, and along beaches. At one point I had to take off my boots to cross a river mouth, and just barely avoided toppling over with my heavy backpack and being swept out to sea. I learned a lot about the terrain, and even more about myself.

On telic and atelic endeavours

I first encountered the concept of ‘telic’ and ‘atelic’ activities in Oliver Burkeman’s great newsletter on imperfectionism - an idea borrowed from the philosopher Kieran Setiya. Projects that are telic have a defined point of completion (from the Greek telos, meaning end, purpose or goal). Something like working towards and graduating from a degree or a course, planning and holding an event, or delivering a personal or professional project. You can see the boundaries, and you know when it is over.

In contrast, atelic activities are things done purely for the enjoyment of them, such as reading, listening to music, creating art, or spending time with family and friends. You could never finish any of these things. You won’t read all the books you have on your list. You’ll never have ‘enough’ time with the people you love the most. The meaning comes instead from being present in the doing of them, and appreciating their value.?

I have often found motivation in telic goals. A few years ago, I set myself a challenge of walking 2500 km over the course of a year. It was stretching enough that it would require me to do more regular exercise than I was used to, but not so much that it would be physically impossible. I did complete it, on the last day of the year, and found some satisfaction in doing so. But the achievement also felt somewhat hollow. The distance in itself held no inherent meaning for me, and at times my preoccupation with completing the goal led me to prioritise getting my daily km in over other things that were more important.

For me, the Camí de Ronda was a union of telic and atelic. It was a trail with a beginning and an end, albeit one with variations, loops and diversions. Following signs - most often the red and white stripes of the GR-92 - took me from the ‘gateway to the Costa Brava’ in Blanes, all the way to Portbou on the border between Spain and France. There was both pleasure in completing a meaningful personal goal, and true joy from the experience of the hike itself. It was driven by my love of exploration, and by my desire to ground myself in my new home.?

Rolling with the changes

A related lesson from the Camí de Ronda was about how to alter my course when I need to. I can get fixated on an idea about how something ‘should’ be, and frustrated when it doesn’t work out as I want or expect. This hike often required me to stop and ask myself why I needed things to be a certain way, and to accept that they couldn’t be. For example, some parts of the trail marked on my map were inaccessible - either no longer in use or closed for maintenance. This meant taking diversions and walking on roads that weren’t part of the official trail. It helped to reframe it as being about reaching my destination, rather than following a prescribed path. There are many ways to get to where we want to be, and risks in getting too attached to a single way of doing things.

A breakthrough came when I had to accept my own physical limitations, and make the decision to alter my course myself. This was a day where I accidentally took a diversion that added several km to an already long walking day. It was late by the time I reached the town of Roses, and I was running on empty, but I’d booked a place to stay that required walking a further 45 minutes. I so much wanted to complete the day on foot, but ultimately decided to take a taxi. It was a powerful choice to override the unhelpful voice in my head that said I was ‘cheating’ or ‘failing’, with one that encouraged me to take care of myself. It allowed me to enjoy the sunset at my destination, rather than arriving after dark.

Remembering to look up

For much of the walk, my eyes were firmly on my feet. Many stretches of the trail involved scrambling up and down steep hills covered with loose stones. One day I had to clamber between a number of small coves, taking care not to slip on wet boulders. And I was often looking for the next sign on the path to prevent myself from taking a wrong turn (not always successfully!). All of this kept me present and connected to what I was doing. Yet it also made it difficult at times to see the bigger picture, and remember why I was doing it.

On the penultimate day, one of my waypoints was a lighthouse - the Far de Cap de Creus, on the easternmost point of Spain. It had been a morning of looking down, being careful on uneven ground. It was already hot, and I felt a bit trudge-y. I paused to check the map, and when I looked up I suddenly caught a glimpse of the lighthouse, which had appeared on the horizon. I still had about an hour to walk until reaching it, mostly uphill, but seeing it gave me a boost of energy, and reminded me of what I was aiming for. It was a good reminder to keep a look out for the things which illuminate the path ahead (even if only briefly or partially), while also staying connected to the ground beneath my feet.?

Planning and walking those hikes gave some structure and purpose to a period of my life that felt very fluid and uncertain. Now that they are over, I miss them. Yet returning to the title of this piece, it feels less like an ending and more like an evolution. An opening up of what I know myself to be capable of, and inspiration to keep exploring and keep learning, always.

I work as a coach. You can find out more about my work at www.alexglennie.com - do get in touch if you’d like to learn more about how coaching can support you.