Reflecting on the Journey
I smile.
Every time I think about this trip.
It was the single strongest lesson I have ever attended—sorry, Mr. Ford, your title has been overtaken. Not only did I learn about the world, but I also learned about myself in a way I didn’t think was possible. To say it has changed me is an understatement. After all the reflection, I am standing here a different man. But that’s a problem. I am struggling.
Out in the jungle, I was part of a team that I loved, surrounded by out-of-this-world mountains and scenery. My veins were filled to the brim with nerves and excitement. So how can you transition from that to being back in the ‘real world’?
Returning to Reality
This realisation didn’t happen immediately. On my return from Nepal, I was still riding the wave of elation from post-expedition success. I was so keen to tell the stories from my time in another world. But soon enough, telling these stories became harder to do. More on that later. I was also going through a huge change. Unpacking my kit—and half a tonne of fine Karnali sand—only to pack the same bag up the next day and relocate to Lincoln.
A move that, before MDS, would have terrified me now seemed like nothing more than a formality. It’s safe to say that moving to a new city on your own and starting a new job definitely keeps you busy. I have been meeting new people left, right, and centre, learning so much about Noble Foods—their processes, practices, and people. I have been throwing myself into the social and music scene, trying my best to make some new friends. But as the dust has settled, and I have started to understand the way things work around here, I can’t help but feel uncomfortable with the comfort. Routine is something I really value, but don’t conform to. Am I just too distracted by things to stick to a common practice? Or am I just keen to experience life as it hits me? When you live in a constantly changing environment, much like a river, I find it difficult to pin myself down to a single, regimented practice.
Filling the Void
I am not trying to say day-to-day life is boring; it’s not. But I have caught myself trying to fill a void. I have returned to the long working days I thought I had said goodbye to. I don’t want to leave work now. It’s great because I am feeling very motivated to deliver results for Noble, but I fear I am going to lose control over the work-life-rest balance I have worked so hard to get right.
The void is not just about work, though. It’s the absence of that physical and emotional intensity I felt on the riverbanks of Nepal. Out there, every decision mattered. Every rapid demanded focus, every portage required teamwork, and every campfire conversation reminded me of the beauty of simplicity. Now, I find myself seeking out small fragments of that feeling wherever I can—whether it’s through setting challenging goals at work, signing up for new hobbies, or diving into music.
But there’s a danger in constantly chasing that high. When the everyday becomes a stepping stone for the extraordinary, you risk losing sight of the value in the ordinary moments. Nepal taught me to embrace chaos, but maybe the lesson I need to learn now is how to embrace calm. How to sit still with the void and let it teach me something new about myself. After all, isn’t it the quiet between the rapids that allows you to gather strength for the next challenge?
The Challenge of Storytelling
The quote ‘no one will understand’ has been swirling around my head lately. It might seem elitist, but let me try to explain. I love being a storyteller. I thrive on taking people on a journey with my words—and if I am being honest, the attention too. But what I have learned is that people buy into stories that they can relate to and understand.
The trouble I am faced with when telling my story from Nepal is that some people just cannot comprehend the level of adventure and risk that we faced. If I told you a story about trekking to the North Pole, and we got caught in a white-out blizzard in -50°C, everyone would have at least seen a movie or two depicting this scene. It’s easy to imagine and picture. However, when I start talking about river features and rates of flow, it’s not. Because white-water kayaking is still very niche, the standard response becomes ‘Aw, that’s nice.’ This has had the difficult effect of making me feel far away from those that made the trip.
I’ve realised that not every story needs to be entirely understood. Some moments are deeply personal, and their full significance might only ever be known to those who lived them. And that’s okay. Those sacred memories add to the richness of the story, even if they remain partially untold.
Sharing my Nepal journey has taught me to focus on the joy of connection. Every time I recount a story and see someone’s face light up with curiosity or excitement, I’m reminded that storytelling is not just about the adventure itself—it’s about the way it brings people together, sparking imagination and potentially inspiring others to chase their own dreams.
Conclusion
This trip has left me with a dual sense of accomplishment and longing. The mountains and rivers of Nepal taught me to embrace risk, trust my instincts, and connect with a team on a deeply human level. Yet the most valuable lesson has been learning to carry those moments with me, even when life feels far removed from that raw intensity.
Adventure doesn’t end just because the expedition is over. It evolves. It’s in the challenges I face at work, the new relationships I forge, and the boundaries I continue to push in my personal and professional life. The key is not to let the void of routine overshadow the incredible possibilities that still lie ahead.
I will always carry Nepal with me—its lessons, its people, and its spirit. And in doing so, I know I’ll keep moving forward, finding new ways to channel the passion and courage this journey has inspired.
So tell me, where will your next adventure take you?
धन्यवाद
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