Modern pilgrims.

Ten years ago, I went on a journey that changed my life. At the time, I was working for a fast-growing consulting firm. We’d trebled in size in just three years and I’d been a key part of this journey. I was respected and very good at what I did.

But I was feeling a deep discontent. A grumbling that wouldn’t go away, that manifested as a constant call to adventure. I felt like life was passing me by, it was happening somewhere else, outside and far beyond the shiny offices where I spent my days.

I asked for a three-month sabbatical. From somewhere, I’d landed on the idea of cycling down the west coast of the US. At the time, I didn’t even own a bike. But it felt like something meaningful and arduous, sufficiently different to my life to feel adventurous.

My girlfriend at the time decided to come with me and we took off. We packed our new bikes into boxes and flew to Seattle. Over the next few weeks, we cycled 1,000 miles south to San Francisco. We had no idea what we were doing, armed only with a guidebook and map for cycling the west coast.

We passed along obscure roads, through random towns, through remote countryside. Most of the time, we had the Pacific Ocean to our right, and hills and woods to our left, including the magnificent redwood forests of Oregon and California. 

We stayed in homes where people were keen to host bikepackers, we found cheap motels with ocean views, and used the occasional AirBNB. 

We met people with fascinating stories and lives, living in ways different to us and with perspectives that felt almost alien. 

Most of all, we were detached for a while from the day-to-day responsibilities of life. I felt untethered and unattached to anything except my bike and the belongings strapped to it. 

The simplicity of each day was beautiful: get up, decide route over coffee, get on bike and head to destination. 

I felt disconcertingly light as if I’d put down a weight I didn’t realise I was carrying. I had a precious sense of space and openness. 

Before I’d set off, I’d spent some time with my coach talking about what I wanted to get out of this trip. I had some notion that I’d be journalling every day and profound pearls of wisdom would emerge on the page.

This didn’t happen. And yet, when we returned home five weeks later, I was irrevocably changed. I didn’t realise it until I went back to work. 

The moment I stepped back through the doors of the investment bank I was consulting for, I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I felt it so strongly that it was physical, an embodied sense of knowing this wasn’t right for me any more.

Two weeks later I quit. I had no job to go to at the time, and little in the way of savings, but a freelance opportunity soon emerged. And that was the beginning of the next chapter of my life and new sense of confidence and freedom.

Somewhere in northern California, April 2013.

Since that trip, I’ve been on many others like it, cycling the length and breadth of the UK, hiking up mountains and hills all over the world and going to places that offer the same feeling of being unattached and free, if only for a while. It is a practice that allows deeper and quieter parts of ourselves to be heard for a while.

This is the modern pilgrimage. To undertake some journey or mission that carries a different promise of value, one that goes beyond salaries, promotions and traditional achievement. 

A journey that involves some jeopardy, challenge, solitude and simplicity. It can be a few weeks or a few hours but if it contains these elements, it gives us a rare and essential kind of space. 

Pilgrimage is a ritual that originated and appears across most religions and spiritual traditions, a sacred journey that allows us to experience something much greater and more meaningful. There is the possibility of glimpsing the profound, even if we don’t realise it in the moment.

It’s a cliche to say we can find ourselves in these times and spaces. It’s also true. One thing I can say for certain is that you’re highly unlikely to make any deep discoveries about yourself sitting at a desk or staring at a screen.

Much can be discovered, grown or healed on journeys like this. If things feel stuck or heavy for any prolonged period of time, my eyes now always turn to the same places - my bike, my hiking boots, my rain jacket, my snowboard.

“We ought to spend time travelling, giving ourselves enough headspace for contemplation and going at a sufficiently slow pace to appreciate the beauties and sorrows of the landscape, whether it is a mountain range or an inner-city slum.

Forget the car: put on some straw sandals and start walking under an open sky. We should also be dealing with situations of adversity, so the journey becomes a quest to learn about ourselves. 

This does not require leaving home without any money in our pockets, with the prospect of having to beg for our supper each night. All I mean is that it can be an edifying experience to forgo our regular comforts for a while and be forced to push ourselves to reach our goal.”

- Roman Krznaric

I’m a coach, consultant and facilitator living in Berlin. At the heart of my work is helping people and organisations to make sense of complexity and make better decisions. You can find out more about my coaching work here and my work with men & masculinity here.