writing

I am still not fully there, but I have recently realised I have arrived at the beginning of another chapter. If you’d ask my twenty-year-old self it would never believe or understand where I am today.

I always used to wonder how it’s going to be.

I thought I knew what growing older would look like

I used to think I don’t want to grow old. My younger self feared the way I will look, the fact life will be over by then because that’s what we are taught to believe. As a woman reaching 40 and not having obvious ‘accomplishments’ like having family or at least a career or good looks might feel scary for many. The reality is aging for women even with all the things above is scary in a society which constantly tell them they are past their time by certain age.

I would lie if these thoughts wouldn’t cross my mind but somewhere around crossing 30 I have realised none of these things are ‘mine’.

They’ve never been my dreams, they’ve never truly resonated even though I might once have chased them myself. The truth is I’ve never dreamt of having kids, I’ve never cared how people look and I’ve never truly felt career is an important element in life. Saying such from once upon a time high achieving individual who was chasing external validation and choosing a career path according to ‘how much can I learn in such profession’ feels strange even to me. But the truth is I only started seeing myself for who I truly was in my very late twenties and the journey progressed from there over a decade until now.

I’ve started painting.

Not because I was good at it.

Not because I wanted to turn it into a successful career.

I’ve started painting because I needed to. Because while doing so I could hear my soul and quiet my mind. Because I felt at peace when I moved my brush across the paper. Because there was a lot inside me that needed to get out in some shape or form.

Because visual language was the only one I was able to communicate in.

Somewhere along the journey I’ve realised I’ve always loved creating but I never paid attention to that enjoyment. There were titles to be achieved, jobs to be held, expectations to be fulfilled.

For years, especially throughout my studies, my body screamed at me to stop studying and go experience the world and I was not listening. Expectations felt heavy and when my personal life fell apart and as a result my nervous system could not handle any more pressure I finally started listening.

I have never meant to be a lawyer or a journalist or a manager.

Not because these are ‘bad’ professions, in fact they’re not – they can be very fulfilling and honest ones, but mostly because I was built for something else. I was built to not chase but slow down, not rush but pay attention. My path led to the mental health field so I could better understand myself and the world and eventually it led to art.

A new chapter

Finally now I am ready to make a commitment to create.

Not to chase success or become known – I don’t care what people think of my art.

I just want to be myself, to finally allow that sensitive perceptive deeply thinking little girl to be seen by me. And allow whatever needs to be communicated through paint be heard.

I’ve been practicing and learning to paint and draw on and off for the past decade but this is the first time I actually feel ready to pursue it in a meaningful way.

I still have another job.

I don’t have a studio.

And I am not even part of the wider art community.

Maybe that’s the way it’s always going to be. Yet I don’t mind anymore where it all leads. What matters to me is that I keep noticing, keep connecting with nature through hikes and observations and keep paying attention to the world around. Not to save it, not to change it, only to observe it in its wholeness, beauty and reality. Because today I feel this has always been the purpose of my life – to observe and pay attention. And I’d like to share that journey with you because maybe you would like to slow down and pay attention as well.

East Highland Way Day 1:

August 23, 2026August 23, 2026 by evach1988 Categories: Field NotesTags: art, art inspiration, art journal, blog, creativity, experience nature, finding yourself, life, love, nature, nature artist, self discovery, slow living, turning 40, writing Leave a comment

“Some dreams wait patiently. Others push until you’re ready. The West Highland Way was both.”

‘The Dream That Sat on a Shelf‘

For years, I had romanticized the idea of walking the West Highland Way — a legendary long-distance trail stretching through the Scottish Highlands. During the pandemic, like many others, I started dreaming bigger while stuck indoors. I made a list of long-distance hikes, and at the top sat the West Highland Way. I even planned it out in detail… and then left it sitting on a shelf for two years.

Finally came the time I could make this dream a reality.

From Planning to Panic: When It Got Real

I had a freer week, the courage to commit, and a growing need to reconnect with something raw and real. I started planning seriously: mapping out the trail, calculating daily distances, booking time off work, and reserving campsites. The more tangible the plan became, the more real the challenge felt.

Suddenly, it wasn’t just a romantic idea. I was going to walk over 100 kilometers alone, carrying all my gear on my back. That realization hit hard. What would I pack? Could I handle the weight? Would I be safe on my own?

And there it was — the fear. Quiet, creeping, and relentless.

‘Wild Camping… Or Not Quite Yet‘

I had originally wanted to wild camp along the route. But the more I researched, the more unsure I became. Would I find a safe, discreet spot? Would I feel vulnerable alone in the wild? In the end, I filled even the final “let’s see what happens” night with a pre-booked campsite. I wasn’t ready to fully embrace wild camping — not yet.

Once I was actually on the trail, though, I quickly realized how many of those fears had been unnecessary. Still, facing the exposed landscape and unpredictable Scottish weather was no small thing. At the time, even staying in a tent at a site felt like a huge leap. But I also learned something important: it’s okay to take it step by step. Next time, wild camping will be part of my journey — I know that now.

‘Fear, Gear, and What-Ifs‘

The night before I left was the hardest part of the whole trip. My nerves were very present. Scotland might be my home now, but it’s still a land filled with unfamiliar corners — and I was about to walk through many of them, alone, for days.

I hadn’t pitched my tent before. I hadn’t tested sleeping in it. I had never hiked so far alone. And those questions started running wild:

What if something goes wrong?
What if I meet the wrong person?
What if I can’t handle the weather?
What if I just… can’t do it?

All the conditioning we carry — especially as women moving through the world alone — came rushing up. It wasn’t just fear of the unknown. It was the burden of a lifetime of “what ifs.”

It is not to say one shouldn’t be careful, but I realized something else that night: my mind tends to swing between extremes. I either overthink every single detail, or I leap in with barely a plan. With time, I’ve learned to find a middle ground — to prepare mindfully without letting fear take the wheel.

“I’ve learned that fear doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go — it means the journey matters.”

‘How I Deal with Fear (And Still Go Anyway)‘

So how do we move forward when fear shows up?

I’ve always felt deeply afraid before taking a leap. But I’ve also always jumped. That fear never fully goes away, but I’ve learned to listen to the quieter voice beneath it — the adventurous one, the curious one, the one who still believes in possibilities.

That night before my journey, I chose to listen to her.

Because she deserves to be heard.
Because she’s the part of me — and of all of us — that knows freedom.

And so, I went.