This is not a post about luxury glamping or “finding yourself” on a paid retreat. This is a post about the raw, gritty, terrifying, and glorious reality of choosing the wrong path on purpose.
But here is where the adventure begins. Instead of panicking, he laughed. He tore a strip of fabric from his shirt, tied his broken compass around his neck, and started walking east. He ate grubs and fiddlehead ferns. He slept in the hollow of a cottonwood tree. On day five, a family of rafters found him singing an old sea shanty to a squirrel. The Adventures Of Kincaid
Why one man’s journey into the wild is a blueprint for reclaiming your own soul. This is not a post about luxury glamping