Alone in the World

How to Find Courage & Clarity in Uncertain Times

We know who we are as long as we stay in the known. Once we step into the unknown, we may no longer recognize ourselves.

The hunger had carved away all my morals and values, my code of conduct. It had made me savage to the bone.

I now understood the need to stay away from other people if famine ever ruled the land, for the violence born of hunger would be more terrifying than starvation itself. Trust would vanish, and isolation might be the only way to preserve safety and sanity. In such chaos, the last thing I wanted was to be caught in the crossfire of those willing to do anything to survive.

The thing about living in the wild is that we are in the real world. This is reality, in which we are forced to face facts.

Our first night was peaceful. I woke to the dawn chorus - bellbirds greeting the new day. As soon as it was light I crawled out of the tent, picked some manuka twigs for tea, gathered dry wood and lit the fire. The evening before, I had made a tripod with three of our walking sticks and some string. A piece of number eight wire served as billyhook, hanging the pan over the fire. I gently blew on the flames to bring the water to a boil. Then I sat on a big stone sipping my herb tea, looking around our new camp and feeling very rich. Everything I needed in the world was right there. Fire and water, Peter as my best friend, space and silence, forest and beauty, and a long summer ahead of us. I was the happiest person on Earth.

Nothing came near me, because every wild creature could smell civilisation. My clothes smelled of washing powder, my boots smelled of wax, my hair smelled of shampoo, my skin smelled of soap, and my rifle smelled of oil and gunpowder. Altogether, I exuded danger. It was quite hopeless to hunt while covered in artificial perfumes. The only thing I could do was hang my clothes out in the wind for a few days and just wait for nature to take care of my smell, my state of mind and my body.

In ‘civilisation’ you can feel powerful and in control of your life, but in the wilderness you feel very small. We could not control our environment, and we were subject to external forces. We were constantly at the mercy of the mountains, the weather, and the unpredictable nature of hunting. Surrendering to the facts of the present moment became the only way to survive.

I sat beside the stream and listened to its song. The more I looked at the beautiful dance of sunlight in the branches, the softer I became, merging with the gentleness of everything around me. The more I saw fierce storms rolling over the rocky mountain peaks, the stronger I felt, merging with the sharpness of the cold wind, the power of the thunder and the flash of lightning.

By spending a lot of time observing animals, I learned to move the way they did. Everything in nature seems to move erratically. Wild creatures never travel in a steady rhythm like humans. Instead, why wander, stop to sniff, run a little, eat here and there, and roam with a random ease. If animals native something approaching at a consistent pace, it signals a dangerous human. But if they hear irregular or sporadic footsteps, they might mistake me for a deer or goat, and thy won’t be alarmed or take flight.

Hunting is more than just a skill. It is about sharpening all our senses, including our sixth sense. This wasn’t something I could learn from books; I had to develop it myself. I believe that somewhere deep within us, we know how to track, stalk and hunt. Our ancestors survived this way, and those ancient skills are in our blood. Somewhere in our hearts we feel at ease around a fire on the edge of a forest. Somewhere in our souls we understand the nomadic life and how to step into the unknown.

When you stop and stay in one spot for weeks or months, in the vastness of the wilderness, your mind begins to slow down. As it does, it starts to pull up old memories, traumatic issues from the past and unresolved emotions.

Peter listened as I went on. ‘In life, everyone is handed many challenges. Right now, my fear is that you’ll die. But if I had never met you, I would be facing a different fear. I think fear is a constant: once one fear is dealt with, another takes its place. So how do we solve fear in general? I think it’s only by saying, “Okay, bring it one. I’m ready.” Let whatever is going to happen, happen. I#m ready for anything’

I realised that freedom can be restricted in two ways: the crippling fear that stops us from moving forward, and the loving ties that hold us back.

It was a graceful sight - a quiet reflection of the resilience of people who had lived there for generations. Scenes like that reminded me of a slower time, before the wold began to rush. Just looking at them brought a sense of calm.

Without rest, movement loses its meaning, and without movement, rest feels empty.

We met the Gaddis, and I grew fond of these shephards with their flocks of sheep and goats. We joined them around their fires, sharing chai and chapatis. These men showed me the power of simplicity: living with nothing, yet feeling everything. Inspired by their example, I resolved to live with as little as possible.

You are what you are surrounded by.

Passion, like a flame, spreads, warming everything it touches.

I was overjoyed - what an unlikely meeting! I’d never felt such a festive spirit on the road. These men lived by a chant stronger that labour, stronger than death. Their eyes, their laughter, their movements all said: Being alive is a privilege - make sure you enjoy it. Caught in their energy, I felt it too: a quiet, powerful gratitude for simply being alive.

‘Why do you do it?’ I asked. ‘These dogs are going to die soon. There’s no place for more street dogs!’ ‘Even if you receive love just once on your life - only once -it’s better than never,’ she replied softly.

I quoted Sophie a few times: ‘Better to be undertrained than injured.’

Over time, I began to see difficult situations as opportunities to build mental toughness and develop a survivors’s mindset.

‘But once I remember I misjudged the waves. By the time I understood how dangerous it was it was too late. I was terrified - the waves were absolutely massive. Then I remembered another surfer who’d said, “Panic will kill you”. So I breathed deeply and scanned the waves carefully, traying to understand their pattern so I could predict what might happen and respond accordingly. I became hyper-alert, and I surrendered; I had to. Eventually three huge waves crashed on top of me, but I moved with the flow of the ocean. I think my attitude saved me. Because the guy was right - panic will kill you.

People seemed relaxed, content, at ease. There was a quiet confidence, as if everyone had enough and knew it. True wealth, I thought, might simply be the feeling that you have everything you need.

‘Did you know,’ I said to Pippi, flicking the lighter and watching it catch straight away, ‘these things actually do work — just not above 3500 metres.’ Back in Tajikistan we had so much trouble with the lighters we had bought, we decided they were rubbish lighters. But here we had no trouble at all. Pippi looked at me, eyebrows raised. You’re kidding. So it was the altitude, then?’ ‘Must have been. Not enough oxygen. Probably the cold too.’ “What if you’ve only got lighters with you?’ asked Pippi. “Then you have a problem. You’ll always need matches as a backup, I said. But a bit of dampness and of course matches won’t strike. I always keep them off the ground, sealed in a bag. Golden rule — keep your fire gear bone dry. Just like we care for our phones. Peter and I used to keep our matches on us, or in our sleeping bags at night. Our lives depended on it.’ ‘What would you do if your matches got damp, and you were above 3500 metres?’ ‘And you need to melt snow to drink, otherwise you’ll die?’ I said, half laughing. The quickest option is to flint-strike into the stove. Switch the fuel on, and get a spark to it.’ I showed Pippi my fire kit: a flint striker, five regular matchboxes, one waterproof matchbox, three cigarette lighters, and a small aluminium emergency tin filled with homemade waxed matches and char cloth, which is a carbonised fabric that catches a spark, creates an ember and ignites tinder. I’d never used it, always saving it for an emergency that might happen tomorrow.

‘In Bulgaria,’ I said, ‘Peter and I live very simply. I think that’s where the foundation was laid. I spend a lot of time doing … nothing, really. Many might find it boring. The nights are quiet, and we sleep a lot. Without stress or distractions, I slowly rebuild my energy - not the Frantic, exhausting kind, but something steadier. That’s what fuels adventure. You need both peace and excitement to stay balanced. Too much excitement, and you burn out. Too little, and you fall into a routine that makes the mind dull.’

I think there are two types of people: spenders and savers. No matter how much they earn, spenders always seem short on cash, while savers usually have plenty. I’ve always been a saver. As a kid, I saved my pocket money rather than spending it. My friends bought sweets or clothes but I didn’t feel the need. It also helps that I enjoy spartan living. For some, spending brings pleasure. For me, it doesn’t. I don’t like paying an arm and a leg for a coffee; I’d rather make my own. Here in Kyrgyzstan, if it costs ten cents, I’m fine with that. But five dollars? No way. Because I know that every dollar I spend is a dollar I have to earn.’ I’d like to live like you, and not have a job,’ said Pippi, her mouth full. Would you really? Are you ready to pay the price for that kind of freedom?’ ‘What price?’ ‘You’ll be excommunicated it you don’t spend!’ I said. ‘Society will spit you out. We’re told our worth is tied to how much we earn and what we own. We are promised happiness through more stuff. The moment you stop spending, you become an outsider? She looked up, thoughtful. ‘Oh.’ Try it!’ I said. Keep saying no to spending and watch how people react. Frugality is seen as boring, antisocial, even selfsh. It makes people uncomfortable. You’ll become seen as the one who spoils the fun.’ She nodded. Yeah, even when visiting people, you’re expected to bring a gift. But I never know what to give when people already have everything.’ ‘Even socialising has been monetised,’ I said. ‘Everything is wrapped in consumption, which suits commercialism perfectly. For me, choosing to step away from all that is a way to reclaim my time. I walked away from consumerism so I’m no longer dependent on a job. I may not own much, but my time is my own. That’s real freedom.’

Home - the word suddenly feld unfamiliar. I felt a vast distance between myself and everything I once knew: friends, family, Peter, Betsi and Kitka, the little cottage in Bulgaria. They all seemed so far away. But the feeling didn’t bring anxiety; it was more like a quite realisation of a simple truth.

‘I think its’ good not to get too sucked into your own story,’ I said out loud. Pippi understood immediately what I meant. ‘Yeah,’ she answered, ‘I get that. We all build these narratives around our lives, and then we start believing them, living inside them. If it’s a good story, fine, but if you get too wrapped up in it, you stop seeing clearly and you become a victim.’ ‘It’s kind of like dreaming,’ I said. ‘In a regular dream, you just go along with it, whatever happens. But in a lucid dream you’re aware - you’re steering.’ ‘Exactly,’ said Pippi. ‘You can’t control everything that happens in life, but you can choose how to meet it. That alone can be the difference between riding the wave and drowning.’

‘What’s the key to a good mindset for unexpected situations?’ I asked Pippi, pen and paper ready. She was on her way to the bathroom, towel under her arm, but paused and sat down on a chair to think.

‘I learned from Bob that preparation and timing are every-thing,‘I started off. ‘Sometimes the difference between life and death is just five minutes of planning. That’s why you have plan A, plan B and plan C.’ She thought for a moment. But you — well, you have a lot of experience with the unexpected because you’re always jumping through windows of opportunity. For example, what you did when you were 22 — saying yes to Peter, a man more than twice your age, with views far from the norm. You went for it with unshakable trust in the future. While society screamed “no!”, you said “yes!”. And then living seven years away from civilisation. You’re the personification of “unexpected”!’ I was making notes as she continued. To prevent a fall, Bob avoids danger — which is very prudent. You don’t try to avoid danger: you just make sure you always land on your feet.’ ‘Aha,’ I said. ‘And what do you think?’ She looked slightly stunned. I don’t even know!’ she exclaimed, so honestly and endearingly that it made me laugh. ‘Oh yes! I do know!’ She raised her hand. With surfing, you move in the direction you look. If you look left, your body turns left, and your board follows. If you translate that to life: intention is everything. If your intention is to survive, you will. If your intention is to give up, you’ll die.’ I wrote down every word she said. “What about you?’ she asked. ‘What’s the right mindset?’ I looked out of the window for a moment. ‘I think it’s about awareness, I said eventually. When there’s clarity, everything slows down. Imagine this: you hear a sound — a click - and you look up. An arrow has just been fired at you. But there’s time to see it coming, time to breathe. And when it’s ten metres away, you calmly step aside. No panic, no fear. Just a step to the left. ‘That’s the strength of a clear mind. It doesn’t stop what’s coming, but it lets you move in time, and act with courage. Clarity isn’t about control. It’s about opening your eyes, and being alert.’