Birthday walks

On Nov. 18, 2015, I woke up in my northern Uganda village and decided to hitchhike north toward South Sudan. Trekking home on those 30+ miles of tarmac, I laughed with strangers who invited me into their homes for tea and conversation, reflected on my past year, and remembered how strong I am. What better way to honor my birthday, right? Which is why I've made it an annual tradition: The Sabo Birthday Walk.

These walks have become multi-day events. They've taken me on foot across the West Nile region of Uganda, where I served for three years in the Peace Corps; from Albany, New York, to Boston in six days; from Long Beach, California, to San Diego in three days; and this past year, from Washington, D.C., to Raleigh, North Carolina, in 10 days (my longest walk yet). I average about 10–14 hours of walking and anywhere from 22 to 34 miles each day. I carry everything on me, a wonderful reminder that everything I truly need can fit into a backpack. I live off granola bars, electrolyte packets, and gas station snacks. Other than getting out each day and finding a place to sleep later, I have little planned. Spontaneity is part of the journey.

I began fundraising after followers on social media asked if they could donate to support my walks. Overall, we've raised over $10,000 for my Peace Corps school and host family in Uganda and nonprofits that support the Indigenous peoples and land I've walked across.

Though these walks are logistically and physically demanding, they allow me to ground myself and soak in the rhythm of each step. Free from distractions, I spend these hours in moving meditation, something the noise of everyday life often prevents. I feel the sensations in my body—blisters forming, skin chafing. I'm reminded that pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. Instead of focusing on pain or the finish line, I choose to enjoy the ride.

Strangers and Instagram followers often offer money, rides, water, and words of encouragement, reminders that interactions with strangers can be beautiful. During these walks, I also experience a small dose of how nomadic and unhoused Americans are treated. I'm followed in stores, gawked at, asked to provide payment before ordering, and denied restroom use. Parents grab their kids' hands as I approach. These experiences, too, are gifts of self-reflection that remind me to meet people of all walks of life with more compassion. A gift that strengthens my lifetime ahead as an emergency room nurse, birth doula, yoga instructor, neighbor, and (kind) stranger to others.