Walking with Intent: Remembering Gratitude and Thanksgiving

Slow Travel and Essential Lessons 

This post is a little different from our usual travel and hiking blogs, but having reached the conclusion of such a long journey and with so much in our minds that we are reflecting on ... it seemed an important message for Thanksgiving Weekend before we shared more of our journeys across Canada and around the World.   

“There's a rhythm and rush these days
Where the lights don't move and the colors don't fade
Leaves you empty with nothing but dreams
In a world gone shallow
In a world gone lean…”

José González, Stay Alive

Lived Experiences 

I grew up immersed in my father’s love of history. He had a way of turning the past into living parables, and one of his favourite tales that he loved to tell (and retell) was about the day the water stopped running into a village in medieval Europe. 

Aquaduct Merida Spain, Via de la Plata

As he told it, there came a time when one morning, the water simply stopped flowing from the aqueduct that fed a town’s fountains and wells. No one knew what had gone wrong, or even where the water truly came from, because for generations it had always just "arrived". The knowledge of Roman engineering that had sustained the system and community had been forgotten, replaced by complacent faith in continuity. The people had assumed the water would always come, as it always had…until, of course, it didn’t.

 

For my father, it was a story of warning and wisdom - never assume the essentials of life will always just arrive.  Remember where they come from.  Remember how to care for them.  And remember to base what we “know” on lived experiences rather than rumour, convenience or assumption.  

Scrolling not Seeing, Googling not Learning

Lately, I’ve found myself thinking about that story again. Because in many ways, we are living through our own version of the day the water stopped running.

 
We live in an age where more and more people experience the world through a screen - through algorithms and endless feeds of social media that tell us what to think, what to feel, and even what our opinions are. The richness of lived experience has been replaced by digital surrogates. Curiosity is waning, questions are answered by machines, and those answers which are instantly given are just as quickly forgotten. Opinions are mistaken for knowledge, volume for truth. The loudest voices echo endlessly through social media chambers, drowning out compassion, empathy, and understanding.

 
It’s as if, little by little, we’ve outsourced not only our reasoning but also our sense of wonder - offloading the essential work of seeing, questioning, and caring to systems that can only ever mirror what we already believe. The result is that life has begun to lose its richness.  People are increasingly anxious, frustrated and depressed, while at the same time society has begun to feel shallow and increasingly mean.  The norms of our communities are fraying as gratitude has been replaced by grievance and immediacy has replaced meaning.

 
When I’m on the trail, walking through silent forests, across open prairies, or along the ancient roads of the Camino, I’m reminded of what it means to live by experience again. Out there, you can’t scroll past discomfort or outsource the essentials. You feel the weight of water, the need for shelter, the grace of another’s kindness. Each day becomes a lesson in presence, humility, and gratitude.

 
Slow travel, walking with intention, reconnecting with the physical world - these are not escapes from reality, but ways of returning to it. They remind us that understanding must be earned through doing, and that thankfulness is not an abstract virtue but a necessary daily practice.
 
On the trail, I am always reminded about all the things I am grateful for….as such, I have come to see that slow travel, exploring with intention, and a simple walk can help us all restore this balance to our lives – as well as remind us to be thankful once more.

 
Today, it seems that we would all do well to remember that there is are many blessings in the world, and that there is much to be grateful for, just as there are many people in our lives in and in our communities to be thankful to. 

Mindful Travel

At the beginning of any journey, our minds often fix on the destination or the overarching goal. We plan, we prepare, we count the kilometres. Yet the farther we go, the more distance reshapes our way of thinking. The trail teaches us and reminds us to move slowly enough for the world to come into focus, to hear birdsong again, to notice light changing on the water, to sense our place within a living ecosystem.  It also reminds us to be thankful and grateful for the opportunities open to us, for the ability to step out into the world, and for the blessings we have regularly received – both in life and on the trail. 

 
This is the essence of slow travel, not merely moving at a leisurely pace, but travelling with intention. It means showing up fully to where you are, walking through places rather than past them, listening instead of rushing to speak. When we travel this way, whether along a neighbourhood trail, between two small villages or across a country, we begin to understand that meaning doesn’t lie at the end of the road but in the way we choose to walk it.  The way is made by walking, and it is on the way that we remember what truly matters and what is essential in life. 

Long Road to Gratitude: Hiking and Recognizing Blessings

Long-distance hiking is perhaps the purest expression of this idea. Each step asks for attention, each day offers humility. The rhythm of walking strips life down to its essentials: shelter, food, water, warmth, community. What once seemed ordinary becomes a blessing. A cup of coffee, a dry pair of socks, a warm shower, clean clothes, the kindness of a stranger - these become reasons to give thanks. The hardships along the way - rain, hunger, fatigue, uncertainty - become teachers in resilience and appreciation.

 
Moving through the world slowly also gives us the opportunity – and allows us to see with new eyes. We encounter other ways of life, other values, other norms, other cultures, other rhythms. In small towns, mountain hamlets, and rural communities, we meet people who remind us that contentment often lies in simplicity, in knowing how to grow what you eat or gather what you need from the land. Experiencing different cultures firsthand opens us to gratitude - for diversity, for resourcefulness, for the deep wisdom carried by ordinary lives.  

 
Hiking fosters thankfulness by providing perspective on daily comforts, creating a sense of awe for nature, and building community through shared experiences and kindness. The challenges of a hike - like steep climbs and harsh weather - make the return to comfort feel luxurious, while the grandeur of nature can make you feel small yet connected to something bigger. 
 
Ultimately, long-distance hiking has very little to do with speed, distances covered, or the hills one summits - instead it has everything to do with awareness, being present, staying curious and remaining open-minded to other perspectives.

     

 
The longer we travel this way, the more we begin to understand that gratitude isn’t an emotion reserved for comfort or success - it’s a practice of awareness, and it needs to become part of our daily routines. It arises from the act of being present, of paying attention, being curious, and being engaged. Slow travel, like hiking, like pilgrimage, teaches us to be grateful not just for what is beautiful or easy, but for what is difficult, uncertain, or fleeting. It reminds us to be thankful for what is essential and for what can easily be taken for granted.

And when we return home - to running water, cupboards full of food, and the ease of electricity - we do so with a renewed sense of wonder. Having carried our lives on our backs and drawn water out of rivers by hand, we remember the blessing of having those essentials so easily at hand. We recognize how much we take for granted, and how fragile abundance really is.

 
In this way, long-distance thinking becomes a philosophy for living: a reminder to remain curious, to keep exploring, to seek understanding before judgment, and to live lightly upon the earth. It calls us back to what matters - connection and kindness. 

Across Continents and Cultures

These same types of lessons resurfaced time and again over the years as we walked the Trans Canada Trail across our home country and the ancient pilgrimage routes of Spain, France, and Portugal, along the network of Caminos that span Europe.

 
On the Camino Francés, we learned humility. On the quieter Camino de Madrid and San Salvador, we discovered solitude. The Via de la Plata taught us endurance; the Portuguese Camino routes, hospitality; and the Rota Vicentina along the Atlantic, awe of nature’s wondrousness. Each trail reminded us that walking slowly through a place allows its people, its stories, its cultures, its communities, and its spirit to enter your heart in a way that rushing never could.  And in the process of going slower, you are regularly placed face-to-face with your own limitations and the gifts that others provide you. 

 
Walking across countries and through unfamiliar landscapes opens your eyes to the quiet resilience of others. You see how people build lives out of scarcity, how communities thrive through cooperation, and how gratitude can exist even where abundance does not. In villages and towns, in the fields of Spain and the fishing ports of Newfoundland, we’ve met people who work harder for less, yet who still welcome strangers with open hands. 

Seeing how others live, how they grow food, share resources, and endure hardship, makes you realize how much we take for granted at home. It humbles you. It makes you grateful for clean water, easily purchased food, and peaceful security at home. But more than that, it teaches empathy, a reminder that the measure of a life isn’t wealth or comfort, but generosity, the ability to find joy amid challenge, and remembering to be thankful for what you have.

 
Travel in this way becomes less about collecting destinations and more about cultivating understanding. It reminds us that the world is, at its core, a good place filled with generous people and remarkable experiences. And when we return home, carrying that awareness, we’re inspired to bring the same spirit of curiosity and kindness to the challenges within our own communities. 

On the Open Sea

We again found these lessons and reminders to watch for blessings in our lives amid long crossings, where we have now spent many weeks sailing across the Atlantic. Whether aboard the small sailing ship of Wind Surf, or over the course of several transatlantic voyages on the world’s last ocean liner, Queen Mary 2.  In each case, we have traced the same ocean routes that immigrants, slaves, traders, explorers and dreamers have followed for centuries.  In the process, we were given a broader perspective of the world and the experiences of others. 

 

Out there, with no land in sight, you come face-to-face with the vastness of the planet. Days pass in a steady rhythm of wind, water, and sky. The sea, the weather, and wildlife all become teachers. You begin to understand what it means to surrender control, to trust that the world moves whether or not you push it forward, in spite of your political views, and regardless of how many followers you have on Instagram or Facebook.

 
Slow travel by ship, like walking across a country or a continent, strips life back to essentials.  

Lessons in Essentials

Across all these journeys, by trail, train and by sea, one truth keeps returning: the farther we go, the more we realize how little we need. Food. Water. Shelter. Kindness. Connection. These are the pillars of a meaningful life, and yet they’re the very things we tend to overlook in our hurried modern world, increasingly lived online.

Walking tens of thousands of kilometres teaches you to appreciate the weight of water, the labour of growing food, the miracle of a warm bed, the devotion of trail builders and the kindness of albergue hosts. It reminds you that what sustains us isn’t luxury but relationships and understanding – whether that be with the land, with others, or with ourselves.  Each of these are things to be thankful for.

 
Long journeys through different landscapes and cultures make you more aware of what we take for granted at home. They remind us how much wisdom still lives in the hands of those who know how to grow, fix, mend, and make. And they remind us that curiosity, the desire to understand and engage, are not just an attitude but a responsibility.  They remind us to be more thankful for the blessings we too often overlook in our lives. 

The Way Forward

In a world that glorifies speed and convenience, long trails, pilgrim roads, and open seas remind us of the importance of lived experiences, staying curious, keeping an open mind and above all being thankful.

So perhaps the real invitation, whether on the Trans Canada Trail, the Camino de Santiago, or an ocean crossing between continents, is to slow down. To move with intention. To remain curious. To learn, again, how to grow food, to gather water, to listen, to give thanks. In the process, we can shift our mindset to once again daily recognize the blessings around us and to be thankful for them. 
 
Because the further we travel, the more we realize that setting out isn’t about reaching somewhere new. It’s about remembering what was sacred all along. 
 
Whether exploring by sail, riding on a bicycle or while walking along a trail – stay curious, stay open-minded, and remember to `be thankful!

See you on the Trail!