When burnout hit, a walking safari in Zimbabwe offered the rhythm, wonder, and wildness she didn’t know she needed.
Source: A Hundred Kilometres To Myself: What A Safari In Zimbabwe Taught Me
The CEO role had been my dream—my opportunity to lead with impact and purpose. To the outside world, I had arrived. The first year blurred into long, exhilarating days. But soon, exhilaration gave way to exhaustion. The work became a relentless cycle of meetings and deadlines. I told myself this was what leadership demanded. Big dreams, I believed, required big sacrifices.
One night over dinner, at my most worn out, my boyfriend looked across the table and said, “You need a break. We should go on a walking safari in Zimbabwe.” I stared at him in disbelief. I could barely climb a flight of stairs without losing my breath. I said no—more than once. He didn’t push, only held that steady, knowing gaze. Afraid of what refusal might mean for us, I finally gave in.
Hitting The Ground Running
Two months later, we landed in Victoria Falls. The drive from the small city to our guide Leon’s camp felt like peeling away layers of noise I hadn’t even realised I was carrying. By the time we arrived, my phone lay forgotten. The only real challenge was wrestling with the tangled laces of my brand-new trekking shoes. That first day on foot was brutal. My boots felt like bricks, my calves burned, and my heart hammered in my ears. The bush didn’t pause for me, and neither did Leon. Surrounded by wilderness, there was no choice but to keep walking.
Slowly, I began to notice the air carried scents I couldn’t name. Birds called from unseen branches. Somewhere ahead, a branch snapped—something large was moving. Then we saw them. A herd of elephants, quietly threading their way through the forest. We stood in silence, watching. In that moment, I understood what it meant to be in a place not made for you, yet still welcome to pass through.
Following The Wild In Zimbabwe
Leon had been guiding safaris on foot for over thirty years. He could track a rhino from a single footprint, smell buffalo on the wind, and read the day’s mood from the curl of a grass blade. His pace was steady, deliberate. Over time, I found my own rhythm walking beside him.
We crossed dry riverbeds marked with lion and antelope prints, paused under ancient baobabs, and followed hornbill calls through sunlit woodlands. Each day felt less like a journey and more like an apprenticeship—as if the land itself was teaching me how to move differently, how to pay attention in ways I had long forgotten.
On foot, we weren’t above the wild but equal to it—one species among others. There were no barriers. The path itself became the destination. Every step was a conscious choice to stay present, to meet the land on its own terms.
The Magic You Don’t Plan
Over a week, we covered more than 120 kilometres. A herd of eighty elephants at sunset, their silhouettes immense against a flaming sky. A rhino and her calf grazing in the dawn light. African wild dogs, fanning out in perfect coordination. Magic at every turn—the kind you can’t plan for and can only receive with humility.
Evenings at camp brought us closer to the land. Around the fire, Leon shared stories of animal behaviour, bird migrations, and the geology beneath our feet. He spoke like someone inviting us to look more deeply, to notice the threads that connect species, seasons, and time. Later, we’d lie back and trace constellations of the Southern Hemisphere—stars we would never see at home. It was in those hours that I realised how starved I had been for wonder, and how vital wonder is to feeling whole.
In Zimbabwe, I Returned To Myself
By the final day, my body had shifted. My breath was deeper, my shoulders loose, my mind clearer. I realised I had built a cage out of achievement and success—and that it had locked me away from my own purpose. Here in Zimbabwe, walking on earth that pulsed with life, I felt free again. I left with no souvenirs. Only the memory of walking as part of the land, among other living things. The forest rewired me. It filled my bones with quiet strength and gifted me an energy that has never left.
For anyone carrying the invisible weight of the everyday, time away is not indulgence—it is survival. Step into a place where your feet remember the earth, and your soul remembers itself. Listen when your loved ones say something feels off—they may be handing you the map back to yourself. I’m glad I followed mine. That boyfriend who once coaxed me to walk 100 kilometres through the wild is now the man I happily walk through life with.
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