I have been inconsistently writing this blog about reinventing my life for quite a few years now. I’ve done a lot of looking back, and had trouble seeing forward. The good news now is that I can see a future. I’m not just re-inventing anymore, or pondering re-inventing, I am now rehabbing and rebuilding a new life with a new venture in real estate investing.

It’s hard to believe that it’s already mid February, and this spring’s thru-hikers and pilgrims are preparing for their hikes and pilgrimages. The toenail I lost on the Arizona Trail last fall is almost all grown back. And there is still a spot on my right big toe that is numb.

When I started hiking this trail more than a month ago I thought my days would look like this: hike from about 7 in the morning to 2 or 3 in the afternoon, think about my life and the state of world, maybe listen to a book I had downloaded on my phone, take a nap in the warm afternoon sun, do some writing, either on my phone or in the itty bitty journal I brought with me, post here on my blog,

I’ve been cold and wet, sad and happy, energetic and tired. This trail is amazing and I am happy.

I am again at a place in my life where I can’t see very far in the future. When I try to, I “future-trip” (as my friend Jill says, quoting Ram Dass) and go into a panic. It’s those times that I need to bring myself back to the moment. Walking the trails helps me do that.

“You are a child of canyon, no?” Alfredo asked me with his delightful Italian lilt. Alfredo has worked at the snack window at Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon for more than 30 years.

I stumble. I stop walking to catch my breath, lift my head, and look around. I am transported to an alternate reality where everything is heavy, moving in slow motion, but is also breathtakingly gorgeous. The valley below shimmers like gold sequins in the late afternoon sun.

When I read about people who have done it, follow their reports, and look at the map, I feel the sting of emotion welling in my chest and in my throat. That’s the pull, and that’s the best reason I know of right now.

As I walk by a napping turtle, she seems to whisper to me, “You’re tired, dear, I can tell. Go rest now. It’s good.”

I nearly trip over a large sea turtle resting in the sand. I look up. There are five of them, all very large, in a row along the beach! The sight of turtles never gets old, no matter how many times you get to see them. Whenever I see one of my watery reptile friends, she reminds me to take my time and rest when I need to.

The whale encounter lasted maybe 30 seconds at most, and happened a little over a year ago here in Maui when I was just learning to paddleboard. It was a moment that I will never forget. Paddleboarding with whales? I was hooked.

I have berated myself for being scattered and silly and boring in those times. Even irresponsible, and that is just plain unhelpful selftalk.

This is a beautiful place to be anchored, to be sure. But I wonder every time I see them, why are they not out to sea, taking in all that sailboats have to offer?

I have a confession. I have been holding in some low-grade anxiety that we will get used to life with no family gatherings.

Those beautiful white keys, shiny, soft, and smooth, were precious gems under my little fingers.

I never seem to be able to hit the trail with both boots and just go, like some. I generally start slow on a hike, and yesterday was no different. I needed time to adjust from the transition of sitting and driving to walking.

“Life is like a poem,” he might say, and then I would free write around that idea. I also tried out different ways to put together a personal essay, always looking for the meaning in the crisis that was happening in our lives.

It’s good to look back and see how far you’ve come.

Exactly one year ago today, I boarded a plane for Paris.