You cannot climb the ladder of success dressed in the costume of failure.
I come from a family of conservation activists, and so I've had a strong connection to nature all my life. My father has been a leader within the movement for over thirty years and has taught most of what I know about environmental conservation. While he would always take me hiking, camping, and rafting, he also taught me that the spiritual value of the outdoors alone is not enough to save nature against economic interests.
That was another incredible thing: the opportunity to be in Greenland, a place I had read about in NatGeo a decade before. Suddenly I was staying there and hiking there, and we took a mini iceberg out of the water and chipped it up and used it as ice cubes and made cocktails with it. It's surreal.
I love feeling in touch with Mother Nature. Spending time outside - whether it's hiking, biking, walking on the beach, or lying in the sun - brings me clarity and energy.
Tourism is the sum total of the travel experience. It is not just what happens at the destination. It involves everything that a person sees and does from the time he or she leaves home until the vacation is over. Getting there can be half the fun, but frequently it is not. There are many great destinations in America, but, unfortunately, there are very few great journeys left, which is why it is in the interest of the tourism industry to encourage the development of greenways, heritage corridor, bike paths, hiking trails, and other forms of alternative transportation.
I love being outdoors, water sports, hiking - really, anything that keeps me moving!
For in this walk, this voyage, it is yourself, the profound history of your 'self,' that now as always you encounter.
If you don't know where you are, you don't know who you are.
Walking shares with making and working that crucial element of engagement of the body and the mind with the world, of knowing the world through the body and the body through the world.
I will look at the footprints going in and out of the water and dream up a small blue good to talk to.
The walking of passers-by offers a series of turns and detours that can be compared to "turns of phrase" or "stylistic figures." There is a rhetoric of walking. The art of "turning" phrases finds an equivalent in an art of composing a path.
I like walking on the edge.
Let me drink from the waters where the mountain streams flood Let the smell of wildflowers flow free through my blood Let me sleep in your meadows with the green grassy leaves Let me walk down the highway with my brother in peace Let me die in my footsteps Before I go down under the ground.
The street curves in and out, up and down in great waves of asphalt; at night the granite tomb is noisy with starlings like the creaking of many axles; only the tired walker know how much there is to climb, how the sidewalk curves into the cold wind.
Of course it is of no use to direct our steps to the woods, if they do not carry us thither. I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there in spirit.... What business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods?
I don't climb mountains. Mountains climb me. The mountain is myself. I climb on myself.
Put you hand before your eyes and remember, you that have walked, the places from which you have walked away, and the wilderness into which you manfully turned the steps of your abandonment ... It is your business to leave all that you have know altogether behind you, and no man has eyes at the back of his head - go forward.
Complexity excites the mind, and order rewards it. In the garden, one finds both, including vanishingly small orders too complex to spot, and orders so vast the mind struggles to embrace them.
The lessons we learn from the wild become the etiquette of freedom.
From my mother came the idea that going down to the sea repaired the spirit. That is where she walked when she was sad or worried or lonely for my father. If she had been crying, she came back composed; if she had left angry with us, she returned in good humor. So we naturally believed that there was a cleansing, purifying effect to be had; that letting the fresh wind blow through you mind and spirits as well as your hair and clothing purged black thoughts; that contemplating the ceaseless motion of the waves calmed a raging spirit.
Our suicidal poets (Plath, Berryman, Lowell, Jarrell, et al.) spent too much of their lives inside rooms and classrooms when they should have been trudging up mountains, slogging through swamps, rowing down rivers. The indoor life is the next best thing to premature burial.
It's only a hitch when you're in a slump. When you're hitting the ball its called rhythm.
Management by Walking Around
Every thought sounds like a footfall, Till a thought like a boot kicks down the wall.
Give me the clear blue sky above my head, and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and a three hours' march to dinner - and then to thinking!
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