Keep Your Eyes Close To The Ground

In the distance we could see the ruined castle, on the brow of the hill. It was midday and the sun glared down on my husband and I. The hottest May in 20 years, our waiter at dinner the previous night had told us. We’d already been walking almost two hours, and I was tired, sweating. Could I really be bothered to climb up to this tenth-century Castello?

I shifted my gaze away from the peak, and placed it on the ground, dotted with stones and wildflowers. I took another step. And another. I kept walking, only occasionally glancing up at the grey stone form of the fortress, perched on top of the hill. Before too long, we were there, wandering alone among its ruins and viewing, through arrowslits, framed snapshots of the Abruzzo mountains, their far-off peaks still snowy white. After, we descended to the village clinging to its base and sat in the shade, enjoying ice-cold water and homemade gnocchi.

Keep your eyes close to the ground and focus on just the next step is one of the most useful pieces of advice I’ve ever gathered. It’s helped me countless times, be it hiking up a mountain, writing a book or trying to kick up into a handstand. Whenever the end point feels too daunting, and I feel defeated by the prospect of ever getting there, it’s what I have to remind myself to do.

If writing an entire book felt insurmountable, crafting one paragraph, or even just one sentence, was doable. If, as a beginner yoga student, kicking up into a handstand seemed impossible, going into a downward dog and then raising one leg was manageable.

Often, before we know it, we’ve arrived. By accruing small steps and focusing on those, while holding our destination with a light, soft gaze.

Each time I’ve arrived somewhere, it’s been immensely satisfying. Whether it’s standing atop a mountain, stunning views stretching out all around me, or the power and energy I felt from finally being in that handstand. But the satisfaction comes not only from the glory of the arrival, and also from engaging with the process of getting there. Of staying as present as possible during the thousands of steps it might take us, so the texture of the journey – wildflowers and all - becomes a part of the richness of the experience.