A few people did tell me I was crazy … and in hindsight, I can see where they were coming from. I escaped serious injury by the skin of my teeth a couple of times and I lost two toenails … but it was the BEST thing I have ever done.

I’ve just completed an eight-day solo hike of the Great Ocean Walk in Victoria, Australia.

The word ‘solo’ seemed to confuse people a lot when I mentioned my plans.

“Do you mean ‘solo’ like you’re joining a group?” was a common question, as if the word ‘solo’ meant something else entirely.

‘No. I mean ‘solo’, like – I’m going by myself.”

“But… aren’t you scared?” “What if something goes wrong?” “Wow, you’re so brave… I would never…” and so on and so on.

The thing is, it’s not brave if you aren’t afraid. It’s all relative. I wasn’t afraid. I think people who scuba dive are brave. Heck, I think anyone who swims in the ocean is brave. The thought of being alone in a forest does not scare me.

While I live happily in suburbia on the Gold Coast, I am happiest when I am out in nature. I love hiking… I love walking long distances, but mostly I love the feeling of freedom that being in the wilderness gives me. This little hike (my Smart Watch tells me I walked 149.9km over those eight days), certainly gave me plenty of opportunity to breathe some fresh air and escape the relentless pace of my normal life. Don’t get me wrong, I know lots of people have done this walk. It’s not even that far in the grand scheme of things… many have hiked it much faster than I did it. But not too many complete their first multiday hike completely on their own… and not too many have just turned 50 and become recently single.

To be clear, it was not a midlife crisis. Far from it. It was a midlife moment of clarity. For me, it was the first time in my adult life, that I was finally doing the thing that I wanted to do. Till now, I have always gone along with whatever holiday wishes were expressed by my husband/partner or the needs and desires of my three children. Now that my children are all suddenly adults, I am coincidentally single for the first time since the age of 19.

Surprisingly, after surviving the intense early phase of grieving the loss of a very important relationship that was ‘supposed’ to last into our old age, I felt an almost imperceptible upwards shift in my posture and a lifting of my eyes to the horizon. As cringy as it sounds, a weight had lifted from my shoulders.

Remarkably to me, the fear of being alone turned out to be a false fear. Who knew, that solitude was what I craved.

Setting off on this trip, I had planned as well as I could. None of my friends or family are hikers, so I googled everything. I bought everything I thought I would need, but didn’t think I required any high-end items. Weight and functionality were considered, but so was budget. What if I didn’t really like multi-day hiking? I’d hate to spend so much money on something I’d not want to use again.

So, I compromised with everything. I got a decent tent, but it weighed 3.4kg. I got a very cheap self-inflating mattress, but it was huge and weighed over 2kg. I got a great backpack, but I hadn’t researched it enough (my bad), and it was too short for my torso, so the hip belt became a tummy belt… not ideal. But my biggest mistake was NOT buying dehydrated food, which meant that I had 7kg of food in my pack. Thank goodness I do intermittent fasting, otherwise, it could have ended up weighing a lot more.

When I set off, my pack weighed 25kg. I am not very strong so that is a lot. I called my pack Derek because it weighed as much as an eight-year-old boy, and it looked like a Derek. The only way I could get it onto my back was to heave it up onto something at chair height or higher, strap myself in, and do a squat lift to get myself upright. The trials and tribulations of carrying that pack became my main focus… that was until the constant need to scan for snakes took even more of my attention.  I certainly learned a few harsh lessons about what to pack and not to pack for next time.

My day-to-day account of the trip is the subject of another blog “Not too old: Solo trekking the Great Ocean Walk at 50”, but suffice it to say, there was never a dull moment.

From the moment I set off, I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. I was ridiculously happy in my own little world. It is hard to describe the feeling of being so completely at ease in my own company that I could hear my thoughts properly for the first time. Being the master of my own time was bliss. Choosing whether I wanted to go left or right was liberating. Making a mistake and feeling no sense of having disappointed or annoyed anyone was heaven.

I even discovered that my thoughts to myself are surprisingly kind when given space and time. Who knew? I even talked out loud quite often… “You’ve got this”, or “Well done… that was great” or “That didn’t go so great, but you got there”. And I heard the words almost as if someone else was saying them to me, and they registered somewhere inside me. The quiet and peaceful solitude, combined with the ability to be a master of my own body and time, was like balm to my soul.

Through pure chance, I started my hike one day after a group of 12 had begun theirs. I walked the first day alone. Two hikers turned up at the first campground after I arrived, so the first night was spent in their company; their tent not far from mine. They skipped the next camp in the sequence, and consequently, I was on my own until the sixth and seventh nights, when two other hikers caught up with me.

Apart from those three nights, I had the forest to myself.

I had never experienced such physical isolation before. I suspect it might have worried me, had I known it was coming. Surrounded by wilderness and knowing there was not another soul within at least 15km, was a little eerie at times. I was not immune to my potentially vulnerable position. If something had gone wrong, I had very limited phone coverage.

Consequently, I was mindful of my every move. My actions were careful and deliberate to avoid injury. I placed immense faith in my joints, muscles, and ligaments to carry me onward, despite the terrain. And they did. Despite my history of chronic back problems, my body did an amazing job. My feet were quite painful, and the pack was heavy on my shoulders and hips, but I was completely fine.

I had anticipated that my mind would be churning through the deep recesses of my mind as I walked. I’d assumed that I’d be gaining clarity and wisdom while hiking. It wasn’t like that at all.

It was much better. The mundane aspects of my daily tasks: preparing water, packing up camp, carrying my pack, avoiding accidents, constantly scanning for snakes, looking for track markers, setting up camp, preparing meals, keeping clean, and so on, took up so much of my attention, that there was little room for anything more complicated than that.

Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs (that famous theory of motivation) beautifully demonstrates how I was functioning almost exclusively at the lowest levels on that pyramid, striving to address my physiological and safety needs. As a result of this diverted attention, my mind did some profound healing of its own. Where I am usually a very thoughtful person … bordering on pathological overthinking if I’m honest … I let those higher levels of ‘love and belongingness’, ‘esteem’, and ‘self-actualization’ needs go. I didn’t ruminate on my relationships, my mistakes, or my unfulfilled dreams. I was just present in each moment as it arrived. I was so completely absorbed in what I was doing, my mind was able to rest.

My face relaxed into a smile. I smiled more broadly and for longer than I had ever smiled before.

I felt gratitude for my competent body; its efficiency and its strength. I felt awe at my ability to lie alone in my tent at night, with the wind bending the trees, and the wildlife rustling in the nearby bushes, unafraid. I remained still for long periods when arriving in camp, watching the clouds pass above me. I gave up the worry and the need to control everything and felt inspired by nature. I placed a lot of faith in my ability to ‘figure it out’.

Home now, and I feel like something has shifted inside me. I have finally deeply understood that to delight in solitude, is not a sign of ‘not fitting in’, or ‘not liking people’. It is the exact opposite. I love solitude but I also love people. These two things are not mutually exclusive. Solitude is not loneliness, and it is not abandonment. For me solitude is freedom. Freedom to listen properly to my own thoughts. Freedom to observe the world as my own senses perceive it. Freedom to take my time. To be me.

This short trip showed me that I can be as kind to myself as I can be to others. It confirmed my suspicion that I am capable and confident on my own, and that is so powerful.

I am so much stronger than I ever imagined.

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