There are a few longer walks, punctuated by pubs, which I have been meaning to do for the 3 months since I moved to West Sussex. When the sun set yesterday, I had every intention of completing one today. Then this morning, when I finished my coffee and hung up my call with my mum, I couldn’t face a pub visit alone. It would remind me too much of S, who is not here with me, taking the walk at my side.

Instead I drove up to Marsh car park on Linch Road, where I had previously tried to go for a walk, became lost, and was soaked by an unexpected shower. I had given up on the second half of that walk at the time, so I headed out to finish it. A climb up through Woolbeding Common, suffering awfully from bracken and gorse, to Older Hill. 

I do not move with speed. I have my binoculars and my plant identification app, and I stop all the time. I stand under the trees, staring up, trying to spot the tiny birds calling among the leaves. I dedicated at least ten minutes to trying to catch a glimpse of goldcrests north of the lane. My RSPB book tells me they are the smallest British bird at only 6.5g, and that gets me interested when previously I have paid very little attention.

There is a lot I have learnt over these 3 months working in conservation and land management. I could recognise Woolbeding Common for what it was – heathland left to ruin. There are spaces where bracken has been cleared, so efforts are being made to give the other fauna space to breathe. There was heather breaking through at the base of 6 foot gorse and young deciduous trees. Bilberry was present in scraps of woodland. I would love to see the area reclaimed for heath species, but posters pinned near the car park show that not all locals support the National Trust’s approach.

I stopped on the Common and spent some time watching linnets in a tall silver birch, their distinctive call reaching all around me. The male’s rose blush plumage gave him the appearance of a reddened leaf among the foliage.

I used my illustrated book of West Sussex walks and the OS Maps app to navigate to the top of Older Hill. At this point, I had drained most of my battery, so took a simple route back down via the lane. It was on this return journey that I finally had a thought worth noting. I was waiting for a turn off the lane through woodland which I had taken in reverse on my way up. I kept expecting it, kept finding it was not there, and wondering if I had somehow missed it. I had to be patient, trust the map, and trust my memory of the map, knowing it would appear in time.

Footpaths like these have been present for many years; walked by many people. I was alone today, and saw no one else on this section of my walk, but I knew I was not the first to walk it and I wouldn’t be the last. I had an idea of the path in mind when I first saw the map, but it took much longer to reach it than I had expected. I told myself to trust that I would find it where it was supposed to be, and I did. Sometimes the way we want to follow is further away than we believe it should be. All we can do is keep going, and it will arrive.

The trust I have in myself is faltering but I keep offering it. I can accept that I can and do make mistakes, I can laugh at myself. I have built this strength over recent years, following the line between taking my life seriously and myself lightly. This is something which really bloomed with S because he loved me without putting me on a pedestal. I could be wrong, make foolish comments or mistakes, and we would laugh together. I was safe to be imperfect, safe to not know–to be learning–and there was no irritation or cruelty or arrogance. It has done me so much good, although I still have a long way to go.