Hiking is Recreation: Wandering is Existential

To Hike is Recreational;

To Wander is Existential

Retirement offers one precious gift above all others: time. Time to pursue long-neglected interests, to encounter the new, and perhaps to rediscover the self that has been obscured by years of responsibility. In the pursuit of becoming more adult, many of us quietly abandon our core beliefs. Yet in stepping away from work, I have found an opportunity to recover mine.

Over the past year, I have returned to hiking. This simple activity has sparked recurring discussions: where to hike, when to hike, and increasingly, why we hike at all. For me, hiking embodies freedom—the freedom to move at my own pace, to encounter the unfamiliar, and to see the world differently. This sense of freedom, however, is not unidimensional. Philosophers distinguish between two forms:

• Negative freedom: freedom from interference, constraint, or coercion.
  
  

• Positive freedom: freedom to pursue one’s own will, desires, and potential.
  
  

Hiking, in my experience, is an expression of positive freedom. It represents the deliberate pursuit of self-realization through movement in nature. Yet I find myself questioning the language we use. The English word hiking feels too narrow, too utilitarian. I prefer the German word wandern. While it translates literally as “to hike,” its resonance is much deeper.

Wandern is historically tied to the Wanderjahre—the “wandering years” of German apprentices who roamed from town to town, gathering skills, wisdom, and maturity. The term suggests not only physical travel but also a philosophical posture: openness to the unknown, an embrace of journey for its own sake. To wandern is not merely to exercise on a trail, but to engage in a cultural and even spiritual practice of being in motion through landscapes.

The distinction between hiking and wandering is significant. Hiking typically implies purpose: a trail chosen, a summit to reach, a viewpoint to attain. It is structured, with a beginning and an end. In philosophical terms, hiking leans toward teleology—movement directed by goals. In Kantian ethics, it fits neatly as a rationally chosen action, grounded in autonomy and discipline. Hiking often carries order, self-governance, and measurable achievement.

Wandering, by contrast, resists such structure. To wander is to embrace uncertainty, to allow movement to unfold without predetermined ends. It may appear aimless—meandering, exploratory, unplanned—but it is precisely this absence of structure that makes it existentially rich. Albert Camus captured this sentiment in his assertion: “You can’t create experience, you undergo it.” Wandering embodies this philosophy. It is revolt in motion: a refusal to justify, to explain, or to assign higher purpose, savoring each step as sufficient in itself. Camus was an ardent wanderer, setting out on daily hikes as a priority for self investment.

Nietzsche too saw in wandering the figure of the free spirit—one who strays from the beaten track, testing new values and possibilities. To wander is thus an enactment of autonomy, a declaration that meaning is not imposed by destination but emerges in the act of moving without one.

Hiking, then, is recreational: structured, goal-oriented, consistent with discipline and achievement. Wandering is existential: open-ended, reflective, and resistant to external justification. To say “I wander” instead of “I hike” is to align oneself with a long tradition of seekers, philosophers, and artists who understood movement not merely as exercise but as a practice of self-discovery.