85 posts in the Mindful Miles series, and I had to pause and celebrate!
That’s 85 different glimpses of simple beauty, unexpected moments, and lessons learned just by putting one foot in front of the other. It’s proof that consistency isn’t boring—it’s how you find the real magic!
When I started this journey, I knew it was going to be beautiful, I just didn’t know it was going to be this beautiful! 🥰 Huge thanks to everyone who shows up and enjoys this walk with me. This community is the best discovery of all!
The weather is undeniably turning, and some days, it feels like the whole world has a heavy sweater on. It’s easy to let that general autumn mood start weighing down your spirit. But that is precisely why I strap on my shoes and head out.
The secret power of the Mindful Mile isn’t just the exercise; it’s the fact that it forces me to look around me and expect something good to happen. When you’re walking with that intention, the universe has a funny way of delivering.
It might be something tiny—the way the sun catches a single, remaining yellow leaf and makes it blaze, or seeing two dogs meet and instantly become best friends.
The other day, my moment of pure silly delight was seeing that tiny, inch-long slug totally disregard its size and absolutely commit to taking a huge bite out of the side of that magnificient red mushroom. A comical sight that has stayed on repeat in my mind.
These are the unplanned glimmers of joy, and they’re powerful enough to cut through any cloudiness. That’s the core of the walk’s magic. The act of moving and observing immediately lifts the pressure, replacing the weight of the to-do list with a simple, genuine smile. It’s proof that a shift in perspective is often all it takes to find your lightness again.
That’s the deal with walking: it’s the best anti-gravity machine I know. It grounds you physically, but it gives your spirit a sudden, unburdened lift. You just have to be ready to catch the happy moments when they appear.
Today, my Mindful Mile was supposed to be all about the beautiful decline of the year—the crunch of leaves, the rust and amber blanketing the ground.
I was completely focused on the floor, admiring the rich, multi-layered canvas of autumn colors.
But then, my eye simply caught a hue too different to ignore. I looked up, and there it was: a lone, vivid purple bloom.
In the middle of everything else shutting down and preparing for the winter, this flower was pushing out its petals with quiet, stubborn courage. It had clearly missed the memo that it was time to pack up for the season.
I stopped and just stared. What delicate, beautiful defiance!
I don’t know if that little bloom will be there tomorrow, or the day after, but its existence today was a profound, smiling reminder: Life doesn’t always stick to the schedule.
Sometimes, the most necessary moments of beauty, joy, or personal growth show up when you least expect them—when the climate seems wrong, when the conditions aren’t perfect, or when everyone else has already tucked in for the season.
The only way to find that unexpected burst of color is to allow your focus to drift, lift your chin, and look beyond the obvious path.
It’s a great piece of advice from a tiny purple flower: Don’t wait for the perfect season to bloom.
On my walk today, I found a beautiful, vivid red mushroom—the first I’ve ever seen on this path!
I snapped a quick picture, but immediately noticed a chunk had clearly been bitten out. Who was the forest bandit? A squirrel? A mysterious woodland creature?
I walked the same path later with the girls, and when we got to the spot, the culprit was right there, caught red-handed (or perhaps, slimed-and-fed)!
It was a tiny, brazen slug, absolutely feasting on the side of the red beauty.
The girls and I practically shouted “There it is!” at the same time, laughing our heads off.
Mystery solved!
This second photo, with the little bandit on its prize, is definitely a keeper. 😂
You know how much I love my daily Mindful Mile, but the other day, it turned into something even better. I was out walking with my friends, Sarah, Liam, and Chloe, and as we chatted, we stumbled onto a hilarious topic: the wildest, most unsolicited advice strangers have ever dished out to us on our walks.
We decided it was an official challenge: who had the funniest tale from the Unsolicited Life Advice Mile? And let me tell you, it was a rib-cracker! Each story was funnier than the last.
Sarah kicked us off. “Okay, so I was just strolling along, minding my own business, when this woman stops me, points at my earbuds, and says, ‘You really shouldn’t listen to music. You need to listen to the sound of your own health!’” We all burst out laughing, picturing Sarah trying to discern the ‘sound of her health’ over her pop-punk playlist.
Next up was Liam, whose story instantly had us howling. “I was walking my little terrier, you know, just letting him sniff everything. This guy marches up, looks me dead in the eye, and says, very seriously, ‘You should be walking ahead of that dog. If the dog is in front, it thinks it’s the leader of your family!’” We imagined Liam’s tiny terrier planning a household coup. The sheer conviction of the advice was priceless.
Chloe, always the quiet one, then delivered the absolute showstopper. “I was taking my usual route, just enjoying the quiet, when this man stops me. He looks at the clear sky and then back at me and says, ‘If you’re really looking to clear your head, you need to turn around and face the wind. It’s much more therapeutic.’” We couldn’t breathe, picturing her deliberately turning into a gusty breeze just for mental clarity. It was just so wonderfully, unnecessarily specific!
By the end of our walk, our sides ached from laughing. All those passionate bits of input about health sounds, dog hierarchies, and therapeutic wind directions are just delightful, external noise. And the simple conclusion we all agreed on? Whatever makes you laugh that much has already added something wonderfully positive to your day.
Recently, as I laced up my shoes for my Mindful Mile, I was instantly reminded of the internal weather reports I used to battle years ago. This was back when I was juggling a demanding university schedule and a part-time job, where limited work hours meant limited pay.
I was living in a self-contained apartment that cost as much as a full-size flat, and while the pay was limited, the bills certainly were not.
The “walks” I took back then weren’t for peace; they were frantic dashes between lecture halls in different buildings. When I managed to carve out those brief thirty minutes of commute, I’d optimistically predict an internal forecast of “Clear skies with a gentle breeze of Inner Peace.”
My brain, however, had the much more accurate (and much more terrifying) forecast: “90% chance of existential drizzle, patchy clouds of time-consuming assignments, and a strong possibility of the incoming direct debits blowing in from the North.”
I’d be rushing under a genuinely sunny sky, but my mind was stuck under a metaphorical cloud of deadlines. Every stride felt like I was trying to outrun a cold front of “Have you finished that assignment?” and “I wonder if I can afford a proper treat this week.”
I remember the phrase “Direct Debit” becoming a personal mantra of stress. I’d look at my bank balance and realize the number wasn’t real; it was just sitting there, patiently waiting for the bills to arrive. The money was in my account, but it wasn’t mine.
I tried the usual mindful tricks. Focus on the breath. (My breath just sounded like a tired sigh.) Notice the environment. (My brain translated the beautiful campus architecture into a list of things I should be reviewing for tomorrow’s test.)
The sheer absurdity of the fight eventually had to break through. Here I was, actively running to my next obligation, and my mind was staging a full-on emotional weather event.
But here’s the insight that stuck: I kept moving.
I learned that the mind might predict a storm, but the legs are far more reliable. I didn’t solve the bill problem or finish the stack of assignments during those stressed commutes (though thankfully, I did ace all my tests!).
The most crucial lesson I ever learned wasn’t found in a textbook. It was this: You don’t have to wait for your head to feel “zen” before you start moving forward. The real work isn’t changing the emotional forecast; it’s acknowledging the struggle, pulling up your metaphorical collar, and just letting your feet lead the way.
The simple, consistent act of walking delivered the only prediction that truly mattered: eventual clarity.
I recently remembered a conversation with a colleague years ago. She was a traveler who proudly collected the ocean, one tiny jar of seawater at a time, from every coast she visited. I thought it was the most wonderfully eccentric hobby.
Fast forward to my Mindful Miles journey, and I realize I’ve developed an equally strange—and much less salty—obsession. I’m collecting benches.
Not physically, of course. I’m not hauling wooden planks home. I collect the moments on them. For months, I’ve walked thousands of steps, not just for the sake of the mileage, but for the sacred, slightly uncomfortable plank of wood that marks my destination.
These benches are rarely luxurious. They’re often painted a dull green, etched with high school declarations of love, and sometimes strategically placed to catch a rogue drip from an overhanging branch. They are not designed for comfort; they are designed for pausing.
And yet, sitting down on a park bench after a long walk is where the real magic happens.
It’s where I put the noise of my life down and just absorb. The chaotic squeal of a rusty swing set, the distant scent of freshly cut grass, the way the late afternoon sun catches the dust motes in the air. That small wooden seat is where I switch from “doing” to “being.”
In fact, many of my posts for this page were written from the perch of one of my collected benches. It’s like these simple, stationary structures unlock a world of inspiration. Like Alice finding Wonderland through a rabbit hole, I often find my moment of clarity and flow, my personal Wonderland, right there on a chipped park bench.
It turns out, the true souvenir of any Mindful Mile isn’t the distance covered, but the deep, satisfying rest earned. The bench is just the trophy stand.
For months now, my step target has been my unwavering badge of honor. Since embracing “mindful miles,” I hit that goal every single day—it’s the one thing I could always count on.
But yesterday, my routine hit a wall.
A nasty concoction of lower back pain, a nagging migraine, a sore arm, and chest discomfort put a gradual anchor on my usual bouncy steps. Instead of the walk making me feel better, the fatigue was so heavy that my body was clearly requesting a change in goals.
Because I always listen when my body speaks, the only thing I could manage was a slow, deliberate march straight to an early bed. I barely scraped my step target, recording my lowest number yet, but I went to sleep knowing I had honored my true need.
I woke up this morning expecting the usual internal alarm clock, but the room was bright. I checked the time and realized, to my utter disbelief, that it was already past 10 AM!
Then came the real victory.
I checked my health record, and there it was: I had won. For the first time in what feels like forever, I had not only met my sleep target, but I had soared past it. My body had rewarded me for listening.
As a night worker, the few days I get to sleep in are truly treasured. I woke up to the sound of my family bustling quietly, ready to pamper me well into the morning with breakfast in bed.
Today, I’m not focused on the minor setback of my step count; I’m celebrating the major triumph of my rest. I prioritized self-care, and in return, I achieved an essential goal. I feel infinitely better, and that deep, restorative rest is the fuel for many more mindful miles to come.
Sometimes, the most valuable step you can take is the one that leads you straight to bed.
It’s a truth universally acknowledged in the parent-of-a-teenager sphere that a spontaneous invitation from your child is rarer and more precious than gold. My son, usually either sprinting to the park for an aggressive game of football or utterly glued to his gaming tab, doesn’t often initiate “us time.” So when he does, it feels like a cosmic alignment.
I almost forgot this hard-won wisdom when he invited me to play football with him. My hopeful, parent-self obliged.
Little did I know, I wasn’t signing up for a friendly match; I was signing up for a 15-minute cardio disaster. It was a brutal, full-contact game of “Catch Me If You Can,” where the “prize” was not touching the ball, but simply not collapsing. I spent the entire time gasping, chasing his shadow, watching his masterful dribbles weave circles around me until I literally ran out of breath. My foot never even brushed the leather.
I didn’t score a single goal that day, but I scored something far more valuable: wisdom.
So, the next time he bounced in with that predatory, competitive glint in his eye and invited me for another “match,” I grinned, nestled under a warm throw, and very kindly said, “No, thank you.” I then proceeded to binge a fascinating documentary series, accompanied by a perfectly patient cup of hot chocolate. No sprinting required.
Later that evening, as I headed out for my usual mindful walk, he surprised me. He just fell into step beside me.
The talk flowed easily, moving from his online gaming triumphs to his true passion: football. He opened up, telling me how much he loved the game but lamented that he “really needed to work on scoring goals.”
I thought back to our “match.” I remembered the blur of his energy, the breathtaking speed, the fancy footwork, and the undeniable passion. He had everything—the drive, the technical skill, the fitness—but he felt he was struggling at the point that mattered most: the final breakthrough.
And that’s when the simple realization, the quiet reward of our walk, hit me.
So often in life, we mistake energy for efficacy. We see people doing and we assume they are succeeding. We watch a child’s dazzling display of talent—the quick feet, the endless stamina—and miss the one invisible element they are struggling to connect: the goal.
Our job as parents isn’t just to applaud the sprints; it’s to walk alongside them in the quiet moments until they feel safe enough to reveal the one thing they’re missing. And what a breakthrough it was! Naming the struggle immediately focused his fierce energy. He’s since returned to the field with a new, quiet determination. I’ve seen the change: the sprints are purposeful, the shots are crisp, and the goals are finally starting to fly into the back of the net
The school pickup today wasn’t met with sunshine; it was cool and cloudy, the kind of day that encourages movement. So, my girls and I made a quick detour to the park to squeeze in a few mindful moments before heading home.
But our park visit started with a small, familiar heartbreak.
My younger daughter immediately spotted the coveted prize: her favourite swing, the one with the perfect chain length and the best arc. And, of course, someone else was already there. She stood rooted to the spot, a picture of silent disappointment, just staring at the bright red seat, convinced the afternoon was ruined.
Instead of letting her wait, I gently encouraged her: “Go try a different one. There are so many other swings ready for you.”
Reluctantly, she agreed and pushed off onto a nearby swing. It took just a few minutes, but soon enough, she was laughing. She found a couple of other children, and the small cluster of swings became a swirl of delighted energy and new chatter.
A little while later, the original, favourite swing became free. I called over to her, “Honey! Your swing is open now, you can go on it!”
She barely slowed her momentum, simply shouting back with a joyful, definitive reply: “No, Mum! This is more fun!”
And that was the lesson of the afternoon, delivered by a little girl on a playground. How often do we stand rooted in disappointment, staring at the single “swing” we think we need—the perfect job, the ideal outcome, the planned path—while missing the rich, unexpected joy happening all around us?
Sometimes, the greatest fun, the best friendships, and the most fulfilling experiences are found simply by letting go of the expectation and fully embracing the moment we’re actually in.
Mindful Miles 