Living in Arrington, Tennessee, Shelia is a newly retired lifelong learner, traveler, novice bread baker, and devoted dog mom. She is excited to see where curiosity, adventure, and this next chapter of life will take her.
A couple of weeks ago, I found myself walking the quiet path along the Water of Leith in Edinburgh, reflecting on the week behind me before heading home. Surrounded by history, old stone buildings, and centuries of stories, I was trying to process my own experience.
The trip itself marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life—retirement. After decades of schedules, responsibilities, meetings, deadlines, and always looking ahead to the next thing, I chose to celebrate this transition by doing something completely different: walking Hadrian's Wall with a group of women I had never met.
What made it even more daunting was that I had never done a multi-day walk with this kind of mileage. Sure, I walk my dog every day, but that's a far cry from hiking mile after mile for a week. The challenge was intimidating, and I wasn't entirely sure how I would do. At the time, I thought I was signing up for a rambling adventure. Looking back, it became much more than that.
Now, with a little distance and a couple of weeks to reflect, what surprises me most is how much of the experience has stayed with me.
There was a delicious simplicity to each day on the wall. Eat. Walk. Shower. Do laundry. Eat again. Sleep. Then do it all over the next day. In a world that constantly demands our attention, there was something refreshing about focusing on little more than the next mile ahead.
But there was so much more to the journey than simply walking.
Along the way, there were moments that caught me by surprise. One afternoon, during a break, I had my first proper cream tea. It may sound silly, but it became one of those perfect travel moments where everything seemed to align. Sitting there with tea, scones, jam, and cream, surrounded by new friends and beautiful countryside, I found myself completely content and fully present. It was a small moment that somehow became a big memory.
One evening, we attended Evensong at Hexham Abbey. The beauty of the music, the setting, and the centuries of history surrounding us were overwhelming. As the voices filled the ancient space, I found myself unexpectedly moved to tears. It was one of the most beautiful experiences of the trip.
I loved wandering through the streets of Corbridge as well. Its stone buildings, flower-filled corners, and quiet charm felt like stepping into another time. It was the kind of place that invites you to slow down and simply enjoy being there.
And then there were the museums, especially Vindolanda. I knew it would be interesting, but I wasn't prepared for how fascinating it would be. Walking through the excavations and learning about the people who lived there nearly 2,000 years ago brought the history of Hadrian's Wall to life. Seeing everyday artifacts, personal letters, and remnants of ordinary lives reminded me that people have always shared many of the same hopes, worries, and dreams, regardless of the century in which they lived.
The wall itself challenged us physically and mentally. Some days brought steep climbs, aching feet, and enough wind, at times, to make us question our life choices. The weather seemed determined to keep us guessing, changing from sunshine to rain and back again within minutes.
And then there were the ponchos.
Anyone who has walked in strong wind while wearing a poncho understands. Ours seemed to develop personalities of their own, whipping and swirling around like ghostly Roman spirits trying to completely envelop the wearer. They provided plenty of entertainment and even more laughter.
Not every challenge involved the trail itself. My luggage decided to take its own journey before eventually rejoining me on the final evening of the walk. Beginning Hadrian's Wall with very few belongings wasn't part of the plan, but it turned out to be one of the most valuable lessons of the week. I learned that I could stay calm, adapt, and keep moving forward. I discovered that I need far less "stuff" than I think I do.
With a little reflection, I realized the lesson was bigger than luggage. We humans, have a tendency to overcomplicate things—our schedules, our tasks, our relationships, and sometimes even our own happiness. Losing my luggage forced me to simplify. I had fewer choices, fewer distractions, and fewer things to manage. The experience reminded me that simplicity often brings clarity, and clarity creates freedom.
In many ways, that lesson echoed the rhythm of the walk itself: put one foot in front of the other, focus on what matters, and trust that you'll get where you need to go.
The greatest surprise, however, was the people.
I began this trip with a group of women I had never met. That felt almost as intimidating as the walk itself. Spending a week hiking, eating, and traveling with strangers requires a certain leap of faith.
Somewhere between the miles, the weather battles, the shared meals, and the tired legs, those strangers became friends.
Each woman brought her own story. Along the trail, conversations unfolded naturally as we walked. We shared stories about our careers, our families, our challenges, our successes, and the unexpected turns our lives had taken. I was inspired by the resilience, humor, wisdom, and courage represented in that group. More than once, I found myself thinking, "What an interesting life."
What struck me most was how supportive everyone was. Whether it was offering encouragement on a difficult part of the path, checking in on someone who was having a tough day, sharing a laugh when the weather turned miserable, or celebrating another day's accomplishment, there was a genuine sense that we were all looking out for one another.
In the beginning, when my luggage decided to take its own vacation, several women literally gave me clothes from their own suitcases to help me get through those first days. That simple act of kindness meant more than they probably realized.
One of the gifts of this trip was the reminder that everyone is carrying a story we know nothing about at first glance. Taking the time to listen to those stories turned out to be every bit as rewarding as reaching the end of the day's walk.
When I signed up for Hadrian's Wall, I expected beautiful scenery and a physical challenge. I didn't expect to come home with new friendships, but that's exactly what happened.
As I've reflected on the trip over the past couple of weeks, I've realized that Hadrian's Wall was about more than a ramble across northern England. In many ways, it was exactly the beginning of retirement that I needed.
Retirement is often described as slowing down, but I think it's more accurately described as creating space. Space to notice things. Space to be present. Space to say yes to opportunities that might not have fit into life before. Space to meet new people and discover new parts of yourself.
This trip reminded me that stepping into something unfamiliar can be rewarding. It reminded me that adventure doesn't have an expiration date. It reminded me that meaningful connections can happen at any stage of life.
Perhaps the biggest lesson was that sometimes the best experiences begin with saying yes to something you aren't entirely sure about.
Hadrian's Wall gave me beautiful scenery, a healthy respect for British weather, and a lifelong suspicion of ponchos. But it also gave me new friends, a renewed confidence in my ability to adapt, and the realization that I can do harder things than I once thought I could. Covering more than a hundred kilometres across northern England wasn't something I would have imagined myself doing a few years ago, yet there I was.
In the end, it reminded me that life doesn't have to be complicated to be meaningful.
Sometimes the best days are the simplest ones: walk, talk, laugh, learn, and repeat. When we strip away the unnecessary, we gain clarity about what matters most. That's a lesson I'm happy to carry into my next chapter, along with memories of a remarkable journey and the friendships that came from it.
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