Or the forest.
Or along a beach.
And that reason is that I am usually the one at the back of the pack.
This may come as a surprise.
Because this blog is full of hiking photos.
I hike often. I don’t shy away from hard trails.
Give me a hill or a forest or a coastal path and I’m off.
I love walking. I love exploring. I love the slow, steady march toward an end goal. I love when the city noise fades and the trees shade the way. I love the feeling of getting to the top of something challenging. I love pushing myself. And I love the photos I take along the way.
But I’m not the fastest hiker. I’m not going to win any races or break any world records. I don’t have my sights set on Everest or the Eiger north face.
I simply hike. Because I enjoy it. Because it mellows my anxious heart. Because the experiences I remember most vividly from my travels usually involve either hiking or food (or both).
You are allowed to have hobbies and not be a rockstar at them. You’re allowed to love hiking and be at the back of the pack. You’re allowed to love cycling and watch as your partner literally cycles circles around you (yes, that’s happened).
It’s okay to love cooking and not be a world-class chef. It’s okay to write whole books just for yourself or your friends. It’s okay to blog just so you can go back and read your own stories later.
I think it’s easy to get caught up in the idea, especially if you’re type A, that everything you do has to be the most exceptional version of the thing. It’s easy to think you can’t start a thing unless you know you’ll become great at it. It’s easy to be embarrassed when your dog comes sprinting back down the trail every few minutes to check on you.
But take it from this middling hiker: There’s a lot of joy to be found in the things we aren’t best at.