I woke up that morning with a light kind of excitement—like the kind you feel when something simple yet soul-soothing awaits. It was my day off. No bleeps, no rushed handovers, no layered heaviness from hospital corridors. Just a plan: go outside, breathe different air, and be with someone I love.

By 10 a.m., we were standing at the station with takeaway coffee from Starbucks and the kind of quiet thrill only day trips can bring. Our train journey hummed with a peaceful rhythm, and soon, we arrived at Carding Mill Valley.

The first thing I noticed was the sky—wide, blue, unbothered. The hills rolled like softened green waves, and everything in me slowed down. We started the hike not with confidence, but curiosity (and mild confusion). We got lost a little. But then a kind local pointed us in the right direction. That was the first reminder of the day: It’s okay to get lost, as long as you’re willing to ask, pause, and trust.

The path was rocky but kind. Every turn greeted us with lush greenery, the occasional breeze, and yes—sheep. A wooly friend appeared, just standing by the hillside, looking at me like it was judging my cardio. I laughed. That was the second reminder: Nature doesn’t care how fast you go. It only asks that you show up.

We kept walking—sometimes talking, sometimes silent. We passed signs, stones, and shadows that stretched long under the noonday sun. I looked up at the canopy of leaves, sunlight dappling through like a secret lullaby. I snapped a photo not to post, but to remember.

At some point, I leaned against a tree, took a sip from my water bottle, and just stood there. I wasn’t rushing to the top. I wasn’t proving anything. I was just… still. That stillness, that shade—it felt like a hug from the earth itself.

Later, we reached a spot where rocks made a perfect rest stop. So I sat, hair windswept, cheeks flushed, heart full. No grand view yet, but the journey was enough.

I needed that day more than I knew.

Sometimes healing doesn’t come with fanfare. Sometimes it’s found on a trail, in the rhythm of steps, in the laugh shared over sheep, in the shade of a kind tree, or in simply not checking your phone for hours.

Carding Mill Valley didn’t just give me views—it gave me breath.

And for anyone reading this who’s tired, stretched thin, or just carrying too much: take the walk. Even if you don’t know where it leads.

Your soul will thank you.