There’s no knowing quite how I got here, or where “here” really is. Where I am is out of sight from where I thought I’d be. All the zigs I could have zagged are too countless to enumerate. The miles and years between then and now are laden with could’ve-beens and should’ve-dones.
On the far-flung banks of Loch Maree, in Scotland’s rugged north, I struggled through a wild land where even the goat paths dwindled out.
“If there’s a trail around the loch,” I thought to myself, “surely this isn’t it.”