Editor’s note
A word on these posts before we get into it. These are reports not lessons. I don’t have answers - or solutions. I’m sharing here because I’m in rehab. Still repairing. And I feel compelled to.
If it works for you, great. Take what you need and leave the rest.
A note on post ordering. In Quiet the Mind I said I’d meant to run the origin post (this) first, then didn’t. The signal that morning was just too loud. So, late it is, but here’s the beginning. If you found me through that post, this is where it starts. If you’re new, start here.
The Sabbatical
Taking a sabbatical had always felt like a decadent move. And as work was always #1, and my identity was work - it naturally fell off the radar. Repeatedly.
Keep hustling while the going’s good - and it was always good.
I had the job of dreams. Tech, growing furiously, incredible talent everywhere, inclusive culture, outstanding benefits. Caught and surfed the wave - a long, long ride. Until one day, the wave dumped me.
When the burnout landed, people were kind. Time-off, supportive. And those closest recognised what had gone in to get so far, in what looked from the outside like the perfect career path.
But... I was empty.
Taking a sabbatical went from ‘gratuitous’ to ‘essential’ in short order. Strong digs in the ribs from those closest to me reset the clock, and the request went in to kick off the adventure of a lifetime.
First thoughts leapt to hiking Manaslu circuit in Nepal. A three-week trek. Visited the country back in 2009 and absolutely loved all of it. But I’d aged and while still fit, didn’t quite have the plucky courage that all would land well on a solo mission.
So... something a little more modest - and closer to home felt responsible. Tenerife kept appearing. Dramatic hiking routes and off-world landscapes. Rolling Atlantic ocean, next landfall Brazil.
Not the tourist centres of Los Cristianos - the wild mountainous terrain of the Parque Rural de Anaga and the Teno region in the north. Serious hiking in the EU without the need for crazy insurances or long-distance travel. Found lovely stays and booked it all.
Three weeks before the trip I was reminded by fam an old friend from my early childhood had relocated out there. Good times past - so reached out and connected. I had no idea what was about to unfold - but the energy was sky high and there was no better feeling than exiting cold Northern Europe and hitting the trails in the land of eternal spring.
Tenerife
First base was a good couple of hours drive from the airport area, traversing the mountains of the Anaga before reaching the surf. So I opted for an overnight stay in a local b&b after picking up the car. A grim start indeed, but I didn’t want to be driving those mountain hairpins at night learning the edges of a hire car.
In the room the phone pinged. My friend, where to meet, grab a coffee and load up groceries ahead of the long drive to the coast. What was about to unfold the next day wasn’t expected. It was, looking back, to turn out to be one of the most profound and impactful days of my life.
Old Friends
There he was, older, but nothing whatsoever diminished in his warmth and charismatic presence. Walking across the car park with that Han Solo swagger and cheeky ear-to-ear grin.
Hug
We sat in the coffee shop. Sun and blue skies backdrop. Letting the conversation roll. Covering the 35-year gap since we’d last seen each other... My eyes widened as he filled the gaps:
Out to Africa, exploring the continent solo. Then Brazil supporting ecosystem preservation hand in hand with the locals. Working to preserve the Jaguar territory and population and traditional ways of life and thinking. Saving his young son bitten by a venomous Jararaca snake in the jungle miles from medical help. Having to leave in a hurry with a posse of armed angry loggers on his tail.
Arriving in Tenerife with $200, no Spanish, the clothes on his back and little else.
“I started with nothing.” he said
But he survived, and his knowledge of ecosystem renewal and habitat restoration turned towards the island’s tourism sector. Now an award-winning landscape designer with an enviable book of work and top-notch projects, and found the love of his life.
Incredible. Inspirational.
I don’t remember much of what I talked about. And I don’t recall how we got to it, what prompted it, but he held my eyes and said:
Do you know who you are?
Silence. And that feeling you’re in a lift on the 50th floor and the cable just snapped.
Pause. I answer:
“No.”
He must have read my facial expression. Did I pale? Something uncovered that can never be put back in place and kept out of sight?
“Well, that’s a great place to start.”
Genuine kindness. What a gift.
I took the sucker punch and filed it away. Into the folder that this is.
Shopped and loaded the car, heading up the coast over the mountains, zig-zag hairpins and plummeting drops. Stunning beauty. Out of the raw industrial heart of coastal Santa Cruz over the Anaga, winding down into sleepy surf territory. Dog-toothed peaks and endless surf.
Peace at last.
Days hiking, few encounters with people. Jaw-dropping vistas on the trails.
The flat windows open to catch the rhythm of the ocean. Simple meals. Music. Reading. Walking out across the black sand. Careful swims respecting the power and majesty of the sea. Energy flowing.
Life-force returning.
Teide
The Tenerife trip was incredible, cemented with a summit of the volcano - Teide on the last day before flying out. Driving through the rain to the start early. Through the clouds into brilliant blue sunlight, walking through multiple fogbows across the path. Boulder fields, Martian landscape. Not another soul to be seen. Up the Mordor-like pumice path at the end slowly, feeling the altitude impact, frequent pauses, heavy legs, but weeks of long daily hiking taking care of the physical.
The Body
Something had emerged though, wearing me slowly and growing stronger the whole time. An aching pain in my shoulder blade. Massage or painkillers didn’t touch it. Always on, nagging and uncomfortable. On the flight back my arm was up, hand gripping the side of the luggage compartment above to try and get some relief...
Called the physio immediately. 8pm. Get in the next day. No comfortable position to sleep or sit in. What was this?
I was aiming to be back in the office for the new year, fresh start, hit the road running. But as it turned out my body had other plans. The physio didn’t just probe the physical. He went in deep. Into my psyche. Wanted to know what was going on in my life.
And to be honest that return to the UK was a dramatic loss of positive energy.
The following months were dark. The physio spent a good hour chatting while we tried to find a position to reduce the nerve pain. He’d looked me dead in the eye and said plainly it was going to be a looong journey. It didn’t land, I’d a history of pushing through physical mishaps. Well conditioned on that stiff-upper-lip stance.
Courage Jonny.
Nerve pain is something else. Strong painkiller meds don’t touch it - and we agreed in the end I’d take up the doctor’s prescription suggestions, just so I could sleep. I didn’t like the meds and the contras were terrifying. Being the optimiser, reading the occurrence rates didn’t exactly leave me feeling too cheerful either. Fingers and toes crossed.
One thing did work. Again the physio’s wisdom - an ancient craft.
The Breath
So when I woke in agony, with no sensation whatsoever in my arm, dropping into box breathing: in 4, hold 4, out 4 took the edge off. It was the only thing that worked. And that was puzzling.
The other advice he gave, do the stuff you enjoy ran counterintuitive to work ethics. That was being out in nature, walking with the dog. So we worked around that. Re-training the mind, helping the body let go of the arm. The psychological sigh. None of this was the Zen meditation work or new-age grounded approaches.
Eventually I was able to get back to work. 3 months after my planned return date. A lovely manager eased the process. Back to Mr Optimiser - Experimentation territory then.
I really tried, head down, worked hard. But my heart just wasn’t in it.
What the hell was I going to do?
Caught up with my mate on a call, I think he recognised where I was at. I had planned to return to Tenerife, but found a great stay in Madeira, more hiking and ocean calm. Back to the energy source.
Jed McKenna’s Spiritual Enlightenment: The Damnedest Thing arrived in the post, a week or so later. I think my friend knew what had kicked off during our reunion. This was the prescription. No preamble, note or prompt. Just the book.
Jed’s style is uncomfortable. On purpose. I recall reading the first pass, putting it down and thinking - nah, this isn’t for me. Who the hell is this bloke?
First barrier down.
But I continued. Less woo woo more of the real. Leaned into it hard.
Questions
Then panic
A clear choice.
And fear and excitement held. Weighed.
One direction the old shape - the other something shapeless and unknown. Whispering quietly. Beckoning. I’d not finished the book, Madeira was upon me, so it went in the bag. I said my farewells and headed to the airport.
Madeira
Flowing through the myriad tunnels. Load up on supplies at a store before completing the 50k drive. A few more tunnels before arriving at the Garden of the Sea.
Jardim do Mar
A beautiful and peaceful place. Quiet. Terrace overlooking Praia de Surfistas and no-one looking in. The owner of the place a surfer. Basic accommodation and that’s exactly the fit. Simple. It’s all about the ocean.
The Atlantic waves rolling in. Sea breeze caressing my face, the raw salt smell of the ocean, its rhythm and sound passing like the breath. All of it.
Who am I. What am I.
Unplugging and seeing with a different lens. The ground falling away. Dislocation. Not-knowing. Reality glitching. The analogueness of each moment. Wave after wave. Sadness and fear braided.
I knew what was being asked. Glimpsed the light coming through. But I couldn’t move. The comfortable pod held tight, walking me back from the edge.
Enough for now then. Seen and felt enough to know. To move ahead; question and explore further.
Coming Home
Drafting the resignation letter wasn’t challenging. Abiding relief. The voice in my head babbling away. Excitement and fear in alternating tides. Movies of the future playing out.
Three months was a long time to wait, but the relief was immediate, genuine and provided both mental space and needed perspective. Swept the diary clean for the second sabbatical needed to gather all the threads of the recent experiences together.
Day #1, Sabbatical #2
Bright blue sky. Biked through the forest, up onto the South Downs, across the chalk road spine, alighting on the view across farm fields, dropping down to the English Channel, turquoise and green ruffled by the breeze.
Black windmill in the distance, city out east white. Wind gently pressing the ears, cries of the gulls, alone, silent and peaceful held in awe of the world. To the sea, then into the ocean, cold May water, freezing to the core. Shock. Lay shivering in the spring sun.
Alive. Present.
The days after
No clock. No crazy schedule of stuff to get done. Hands off the tiller. Flow with the tide. Producing music, tending the garden. Meditation, long walks with the dog, drives to the coast. Visit Osho Leela to help out with the gardens for a few days.
Reconnecting with family and friends. Finding the others. Writers, poets, musicians.
Speaking with random strangers - never happened before.
Urgent messages and events arriving. Resonant. Connected. Whether laid out for me or an attuned mind finding the pattern. Couldn’t tell you. The frequency shift, the dial on the transmitter moving, scanning, searching.
And the world seemed to respond.
Just watching. Just listening.
The Door
Then it came. Not in Madeira, not on Day #1. Recently. Days ago, as I returned to write. The last steps I couldn’t take on the terrace, facing the ocean.
Finally then, into the fear. Through. The remaining questions asked, the truth laid bare and the lies exposed; burned to ash.
The voice in my head... Seen. Dark shape, held eye to eye; then dissolved.
Release. Tears. Heart radiating, pounding.
The engine that drove events for a lifetime quiet.
Emptiness and exhaustion. Grief and joy. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.
And now in that place - not a name, or shape. It’s quieter than that.
When the armour fell, no heavenly bells or triumphant chorus. No white light or bliss moment. It was never a journey of distance. No seal of approval or rite enacted needed.
So simple, only realised when witnessed.
These things are before you and live within you. They have always been there.
Hidden within, for you to find.
The gold is you.
Now I am, finding the way.
So here I’ll share observations and discoveries…
Take what you need and leave the rest.
Courage, Jonny
My father was a good man, with a golden heart.
He was a journalist - Fleet Street. A hard trade. It meant looking at the worst face of the world, most days. He loved the work, but it took its toll.
He had my back and got me out of a fair few scrapes.
When challenges arose he’d give me a cheeky grin and a wink.
Courage Jonny
I miss him very much.
With thanks: to the friend who asked me the question and posted the book. To Jed McKenna, for the recognition. And to Paul Millerd, whose The Pathless Path opened the gate years before I found the courage to walk through it.
awesome!