Three times my «why» has made a difference in my walk (for better or worse)

Over the past few years and on over 20 trails, long-distance hiking has pretty much become my entire personality. But I don’t always spend much time before the ride thinking or articulating my «why.»

For some trails, the answer is simple: the landscape, the local culture, the people I hike with, or simply having a project to occupy my free time. Often that is enough.

But there have been a few times where having a clear “why,” or not having one, made the difference in my walk.

1. Winter Wondering: French Way

The first time I seriously questioned why I was on the trail was during a winter hike along the Camino Frances.

It was cold, gray and silent. The villages were largely closed for the season, so there were no cafe stops or long lunches. As I walked to the next shelter I wondered what I was doing outside in the elements when I could have been warm and comfortable inside.

I hadn’t really thought about my “why” before leaving Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. But one afternoon, while walking alone through winter farmland, the answer came to me in the form of a question:

What else would I be doing with my time?

I was on winter break from my master’s program in London. Realistically, I probably would have locked myself in my room, alternating between Netflix, junk food, and procrastinating on working on important essays that weren’t due for months.

Instead, he was using up a period of free time that he knew he wouldn’t have again once he re-entered the workforce. Have an adventure, do something you really remember. And I remember it vividly: a trail community formed out of necessity when some lodges remained open; arid and beautiful winter landscapes of pale blue skies, late pink sunrises, early golden sunsets, frost-covered fields and snow-capped mountains on the horizon. I doubt I would remember the shows I would have seen if I had stayed in London.

2. Too close to home: Great Ocean Walk

The Great Ocean Walk had been on my list for years. Pandemic lockdowns and limited annual leave continued to delay it, but in December 2025 I finally set out to walk the 100km trail.

On paper, it should have been simple. It is usually divided into eight stages and is regularly recommended as a multi-day hike for beginners. After a European summer in which I spent almost every free second hiking, I was confident I could complete it in three days.

Instead, it became the most mentally challenging hike I’ve ever done. Part of the difficulty was that it was so close to home. I returned from London specifically to spend more time with my family before TA and PCT, and I felt guilty leaving them even for such a short period.

So why was he out there? Unlike the Camino, “what else would I be doing?” I had clear answers: spend time with family, get my life in order, and prepare for TA. I was more tempted than ever to quit smoking and had to rely on some pretty weak “whys”: a test of new equipment, a way to stay fit, a vague belief that spending time in nature would be good for me.

In the end, it wasn’t really my «why» that saved this hike but rather my Type A distaste for unfinished projects. And the logistics: there was no public transportation, there was no cell phone reception to request a ride, and I was too nervous to try hitchhiking for the first time in my life.

I finished the tour, but in four days instead of three. Without a clear why, I was left unmotivated to hike the last five miles to the finish on day 3. I learned something important: a weak “why” won’t necessarily stop me from completing a hike, but it will make it more difficult.

3. Comparison Hits: Te Araroa and Pacific Crest Trail

I’m visiting Sydney and going out to dinner with a group of friends. And their partners, because suddenly each of them has significant others they can bring to group events. Halfway through the meal, out of nowhere, I start to feel anxious.

It’s comparison. Everyone around me seems to be calming down: houses bought, weddings planned, conversations about children. In the meantime, I plan to spend most of my savings in one year hiking solo on long trails. I feel behind and out of place. Why am I doing this again?

The spiral doesn’t stop when dinner is over. For days, the questions are repeated. Wouldn’t it be more responsible for me to get a new job and start settling down like my friends? I’m worried about the career path I might be ruining and the income I’m missing out on.

In the end, I calm down by returning to my “why”: to have an unforgettable adventure, to feel truly myself, and to experience the joy of slowly moving through breathtaking landscapes and communities. My “why now” matters too. I’m going hiking in 2026, when I’m in my early thirties, because I feel like it’s something I need to do before I can even start thinking about putting down roots.

As the anxiety subsides, I realize that these were really just comparisons. I know why I’m going up the TA and PCT, but I’m not sure why I would want to settle down, or what that would look like. Whether I end up wanting that, another adventure, or something more, and why, I’ll find out over the next 7,500 kilometers of trail.

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