ambulo ergo sum
Someone asked me recently why I’ve chosen to walk across France rather than, say, take the trip in my van. I could meander down on smaller roads at my own pace; it could be fun.
I’m indeed finding my van a most agreeable home. Mornings and evenings are best, and I’ve put up fairy lights in true hashtag vanlife fashion. It’s cosy nook particularly during these moments between sleeping and waking, being awake and drifting off.
The truth is, I hadn’t considered this question before. In another life, I visited Digne-les-Bains and the land art installations of Andy Goldsworthy in the national park. En route, I encountered the phrase ambulo ergo sum, engraved in gold on a stone. This was coined by the 17th-century philosopher Pierre Gassendi as a riposte to René Descartes’ cogito ergo sum, I think therefore I am. Gassendi felt that mind and body were interconnected and I’m firmly in his camp. That’s why I want to walk.
I’m walking because for me, making an important journey on foot, using your wits, sleeping where you may and eating what you can, is my idea of pure pleasure, alimentation for my soul.
When I walk there’s nothing, absolutely nothing I’d rather do, no place I’d rather be. My mind and my body may be tilting at a physical or mental task, on autopilot, or a combination of both. I may be dreaming up a scheme or experiencing a delicious sensation – a scent, the warmth of the sun, the buzz of physical effort, whatever. It’s all good, it’s all interconnected, it’s being alive and feeling that aliveness in every second.
It’s not a challenge or a goal. It’s not a spiritual affair. Ambulo ergo sum. I walk, therefore I am.