Long Walk

On Saturday, my mate Clive and I went for a walk.  This phrase has a different meaning here - we didn't just go for a little stroll in the park, we hiked.  We slogged through a vile, squidgy mixture of mud and cow shit.  We panted our way up long, steep inclines.  We stopped at a few pubs, as you do, for refreshment and sustenance.

We have, by sections, been walking a trail called the North Downs Way, which runs about 150 miles from Farnham, west of London, out to Dover on the east coast.  While passing through a number of towns is unavoidable over such a long distance, much of it has been out in the open countryside, and it has provided me a view of this country which I'd never have acquired living in London.  On this section, we passed the 79 mile marker, a not insignificant accomplishment for an aging fattie like me.

Once outside of London, people are generally friendlier, the pace of life is generally a bit slower, and the landscape becomes almost unimaginably varied.  Deep silent pine forests end without warning on open, gently rolling fields, which in turn suddenly become steep slopes, the chalk rock slick underfoot at the first sign of damp.  The beauty of walking is that you never know what's around the next corner.  Sometimes, it's a 3,000 year old stone monument, sometimes a Norman church or a tiny pretty village.  A 13th century pub called the 'Dirty Habit'.  Eventually, this walk will bring us a glimpse of the sea and Dover's famous chalk cliffs.  Other times, it shows us the back of a petrol station, or an overgrown car lot, or a back street in a dirty little town populated by drunken chavs.  But regardless of what it brings, the road ahead always brings something new, something different from where you are now.

It was about midway through this 18km walk that we got to talking about birthdays, and it was at that point that I realized that I'm about 4 months shy of my 40th.  This should hardly have been a revelation; I know when my birthday is, I know in what year I was born, I can do math, albeit with that certain lack of precision common to those who spend their time thinking in shades of grey.  (Odd - in writing that, I remembered that I had a dream about slide rules last night.  I wonder what that means?).

I'm shocked.  How can I be almost 40?  When did this happen?  I can remember my grandparents in their 40's (I have a very young family).

From the standpoint of life and living, this milestone 14,610 days from the date of my birth is no more significant than any other day.  Life, like a walk, is made up of a progression of individual moments, each coming on the heels of the last, and each of these moments, whether today or ten years from now, should be anticipated and celebrated equally.

Today is my 14,463rd day.  Now where are my presents?