Over the past decade, my sons have been leaving home for longer stretches, but they've remained connected through our walking adventures. It's become a cherished ritual that's forged a new kind of family bond.
The Camino de Santiago was our first joint venture as adults, and while it marked an emotional shift in our roles, we still walked together as equals β or at least, as much as four grown-ups with varying opinions could manage. We hiked the Larapinta trail, the Three Capes track, and the K'gari Great Walk, each time finding a new rhythm to our interactions.
These long walks allow us to reconnect without the intrusion of daily distractions like phones. I don't need to ask about their work or relationships; instead, I watch them navigate challenging terrain, adapt to changing circumstances, and persist in the face of adversity. And it's rewarding to see that they've grown into capable individuals who can carry more weight than me β not just physically, but also emotionally.
There's an impermanence to these journeys, a knowledge that our time together is limited. Yet instead of resisting this reality, the walks have come to accept it as a fundamental aspect of our bond. They allow us to say goodbye to each other in a way that feels authentic and fulfilling. We're four people who've walked a long distance together and now mostly walk apart, but we know how to move forward in the same direction.
Our walking adventures have become a template for our new family dynamic, one that's based on shared experiences, mutual respect, and a deep understanding of each other's boundaries. It's a testament to the power of relationships to evolve and adapt, even as life takes us in different directions.
The Camino de Santiago was our first joint venture as adults, and while it marked an emotional shift in our roles, we still walked together as equals β or at least, as much as four grown-ups with varying opinions could manage. We hiked the Larapinta trail, the Three Capes track, and the K'gari Great Walk, each time finding a new rhythm to our interactions.
These long walks allow us to reconnect without the intrusion of daily distractions like phones. I don't need to ask about their work or relationships; instead, I watch them navigate challenging terrain, adapt to changing circumstances, and persist in the face of adversity. And it's rewarding to see that they've grown into capable individuals who can carry more weight than me β not just physically, but also emotionally.
There's an impermanence to these journeys, a knowledge that our time together is limited. Yet instead of resisting this reality, the walks have come to accept it as a fundamental aspect of our bond. They allow us to say goodbye to each other in a way that feels authentic and fulfilling. We're four people who've walked a long distance together and now mostly walk apart, but we know how to move forward in the same direction.
Our walking adventures have become a template for our new family dynamic, one that's based on shared experiences, mutual respect, and a deep understanding of each other's boundaries. It's a testament to the power of relationships to evolve and adapt, even as life takes us in different directions.