A year and a half ago, I had an idea.

I felt it was a good idea, and when I told people, they'd say "Ooh, that's a good idea!"

For a while the idea bubbled under the surface like an evolving fish checking the land for morsels. The time wasn't right to take the first steps, so I let it mature in the back of my mind until earlier this year.

It was a simple idea, but they say the best ones are. I would offer a listening ear to people who needed to talk, with the backdrop of a walk through the great British countryside. Getting away from the hustle and bustle, into nature and having an opportunity to open up and talk seemed like a nice thing to give. From experience, I knew that if such a service were around when I was depressed I'd have found it very helpful.

An old friend, one who'd praised the idea when I told her, got in touch in the spring to say she was feeling low. She'd mentioned past depression during a social walk we took in summer last year, and I asked if she'd like to take part in the idea. The charity. Would she like to be the first client for Walking for Wellbeing? We arranged fortnightly walks and covered a lot of ground, both physically and in terms of her depression. We walked, she talked, I listened and developed my basic counselling skills, she opened her soul and discovered things she needed to face. Once she'd clarified what she wanted to achieve she asked her GP for further counselling and is now in the system on her way to getting fixed. All this while covering miles of quiet, beautiful rural countryside on foot.

The benefits of countryside walking to mental health became obvious to me after a course of counselling for depression ended in 2008. My parents had been walking for a few years and it'd done them the world of good as individuals and as a couple. In February 2009 I came across a pair of walking shoes in a charity shop and got me and daughter out of the house to investigate some paths. Before I knew it I'd covered 185 miles in seven months, my OS map was covered in pink highlighter and I was hooked. My parents were kind enough to buy me new boots and I've never looked back, other than to see where I've come from and enjoy the view.

Walking provides what I call empty-head time. When I'm stomping across the countryside I'm not really thinking anything, but my head's busy turning things over and clarifying thoughts and emotions. It's like a wakeful dream, with no distractions or interruptions, nothing to command your attention other than where to put your feet and where to point your body. The exercise is great for the body and the mind, and getting out of your routine, out of your comfort zone and into the quiet countryside can be very calming.

So, once I'd cut my teeth, proven the concept was sound and built my confidence in the idea, I put some posters together and posted them in doctor's surgeries, the town supermarket and community centre and the sports centre. That was about four months ago and finally, yesterday, someone called and asked to go for a walk.

Someone phoned my idea!

We ended the call after we'd discussed the service and exchanged contact details. I bounced, and laughed, and almost cried, and laughed again. I texted a couple of people to share my excitement. We're meeting tomorrow afternoon, probably in the rain, to wander around the parks and talk about what we might achieve together.

I'll have calmed down by then, but I won't lose this feeling, the knowledge that a complete stranger, one who's not feeling 100% about themselves and the world around them, had enough faith in this good idea to pick up the phone and reach out.

I miss you

which feels odd because it isn't like we've not spent time apart before. I'm so pleased you've found someone to love and who loves you back. He seems to make you so happy and I'm proud you've faced your fears and let him into your life because you're so wonderful you deserve to share yourself with someone worthy.

I don't feel I can tell you I miss you because I know you're happy and I don't want to dent that. I'm hiding behind an unwarranted fear you'll be upset I feel like we're drifting apart; even though we've seen each other recently it feels like the connection is weakening. In reality I think you'd probably be flattered that I care, but convincing myself of that will take some doing.

Since you came back from travelling it's been harder to see you on your own, just time for you and I to open up and share our friendship. I'm pleased you've spread your wings and you're spending time doing new things with new friends. I don't resent your new relationships; at least I try not to. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being jealous and whistful along with pleased and prideful when thinking about your new friendships and relationship, but I think the former emotions are perfectly natural and are an indication of how much you mean to me. I'd go so far as to call you my best friend, which is why it bothers me when I feel like we're drifting apart.

There are so many things about you that I love. You're funny, smart, insightful, caring and almost universally free with your appreciation of people and life, to name just a few. These qualities mean so much to me, but there's one thing you do that makes a world of difference: you're the only person who listens to me, the only person who hears me when I speak.

Most people in my private life 'listen' when I speak. It's in quotes because it's superficial listening, not the understanding and empathic listening you provide. Noone at work listens to me, but I don't hold that against them because it's cultural. I don't think I'm wrong when I say you're the only person I know who really listens, but it is a shame. Being a natural listener myself, I don't think people realise that I often need to talk, to be heard, to get stuff out of my head. I've realised I need to be frank about my desire to talk, instead of expecting people to do it without being asked. Christ, I'm sat here opening my heart to a mobile phone keyboard instead of talking to a real person, that's how it is. So I should be forthright with my other friends to see who can offer the listening I need.

That doesn't solve my main concern, which is that we're drifting apart. Ironically enough we've just made arrangements to meet up next week, and I'm steeled now to make more of an effort to stay in touch. I hide behind a fear of rejection when I think about calling you and trying to arrange to do something together, and that's increased since your social life took off and you found your man friend. That's nothing you've done of course, just internal demons I've yet to face. I feel a little closer to facing them now I've laid all this out in words instead of a jumble of thoughts, but I find it woefully ironic that of all the people I could talk about this, you'd be the hardest to approach.

Don't get angry...

When I was about 25, I was laying some tongue-and-groove flooring in my parent's kitchen. I'd never been brilliant at these hands-on DIY jobs but as I'd been much more hands-on at work I thought it'd be reasonably easy. Measure, cut, tap into place, done.

After a while I realised that I needed a specific tool to allow me to hammer the grooved edges without damaging the wood. I bodged something but it made the job much trickier than I thought it would be.

After a while I became frustrated, then angry. I growled and barked and my mum said "Don't get angry, it won't solve anything." This served to make me more angry. I just couldn't understand why you'd tell someone who was angry not to be. Wouldn't that just enrage them?

The incident has stuck in my mind for years but I've never realised why. Since reading a book on listening and communication skills, it's become much more clear. When I expressed my anger, the only thing I wanted from my mum was recognition, acceptance, maybe "I can see how that might frustrate you." By being told not to get angry, I was being denied my right to feel something completely natural by possibly the most influential person in my life.

Having an angry husband, it was reasonable for my mum to react in the way she did, but I'm sure people don't realise the damage they do when they tell others not to feel a particular way. I hope I've learned to let people express how they feel, because they feel it regardless of my desire to calm them down or cheer them up, and to dispute their right to emote will push them away.

Great Big Things

"One should always have a definite objec­tive in a walk, as in life it is so much more sat­isfying to reach a target by per­sonal effort than to wander aim­lessly. An objective is an ambition, and life without ambition is… well, aim­less wandering."

From Alfred Wainwright, a seasoned walker, writer and illustrator of various authoritative hill-walking guides, a wonderful quote I'm finding very pertinent at the moment. As I put plans together to walk a hundred miles from my home town to the sea, I'm facing numerous fears and concerns. The quotation gives me focus, and shows me how much aimless wandering I've done over the past twenty years.

I'm not here to lament the past, but to plan for and celebrate the future. I'm here to prove to myself and all those around me that, if I put my mind to something, I can achieve Great Big Things.

In the middle of September, after much planning, preparing and packing, I'll leave my daughter and our cosy home town and walk 100 miles to the sea at Canvey Island. I'll spend five days walking twenty miles a day across mostly rural countryside. There'll be four nights sleeping eight hours a night - hopefully - in a tent with very few home comforts. It's likely to be punishing and I think I'll be exhausted when I finish, but over the past eighteen months I've watched my body go from five-mile jaunts to 16-mile epic walks, and I know deep down I can do it. I'm working on a regular walking schedule to keep my body in order, and a couple of consecutive days doing twenty miles to check my kit and discover any issues with my legs, feet, boots etc. I'll be spending a few quid to get some kit together, maybe a new rucksack and possibly some walking shoes instead of the rock-solid Meindl boots I'm using now.

There's much left to do, not least finish the walk itself. I've recently gained a bothersome apathy when it comes to getting off my arse and walking on out there. The sofa currently seems like a much more promising proposition than wearing myself out. I think I know the reason for this and hopefully that reason will resolve itself this weekend or next. I know I'm getting a little lonely on my walks; having experienced walking with others, doing every walk on my own is becoming a little wearing. This is something I must overcome, however, as I think each of my one-hundred-and-two miles will be walked alone.

A word on why I'm doing this: along with the desire to prove I'm capable of Great Big Things, I want to raise money for my charity, Walking for Wellbeing, which helps people who are feeling low by taking them for walk-and-talks in the countryside. It needs funds to pay for simple things like web hosting and development, printing costs, broadband and a basic counselling skills course for me, to improve the service I can offer to clients and give my current skills some credibility. I'm regularly told the premise of the charity is a really good idea - now it's time to capitalise on that recognition and ask for a little help getting properly set-up.

As I said in yesterday's post, I'm excited and terrified in equal meaures. I think, steadily, this new ambition is helping the fear ebb and encouraging the excitement to grow.

Everyone has the desire to win

but only champions have the desire to prepare. So goes the saying, apparently. I can't say my desire to win has been particularly active ever in my life, but my will to prepare is currently rather high.

In planning the route and kit for a big walk, I'm facing a few challenges. How do I keep the route mostly rural, even near the M25? What kit will I definitely need for four nights living wild, and five days walking? Am I going to get bored walking 102 miles on my own? So many questions, with almost definite answers. Answering them is going to be enormous fun.

Alongside the fun is a fair amount of trepidation. The walk is a day short of six weeks away which sounds like along time to prepare but in reality is just around the corner. I need to build up to three consecutive days of twenty miles in preparation, to even think about doing a hundred miles over five days. I need to spend money and get gear. The scale of the list of essential items for my pack is scary in its own right, and grows every time I read a new article about distance walking.

Registering high on the list of fears is the concern that I simply won't get this done. I've posted before that I have trouble getting things done - I much prefer the creative, innovative stage of any project to the pragmatic, productive part. I've planned a few big things in my time, brainstorming, collaborating, writing-up ideas and putting pen to paper or finger to keyboard to get things to a certain point and then... Nothing. I lose interest, or an obstacle appears, or I get distracted by The Next Big Thing. If I'd followed through on all the ideas I've had, many of them would probably have failed or been badly received, and I'd be knackered, but I think I'd have got somewhere. I'm somewhat scared that this is one of those pipe dreams that I won't get around to achieving.

Something tells me, however, that this time it's for real. With a big target, a knowledge of the elation due to me on finishing, a bunch of sponsors to impress and a charity to raise money for, I've got real tangible targets to aim for. Perhaps that tells me something; external pressure gets me moving, but I either don't put pressure on myself or don't pay attention to it. I'll look at that in a future post.

In the meantime, I'm revelling in the excitement of planning something big, and getting ready to show the world - and myself - that I can achieve something worthwhile.