Tom Griffen is a leadership coach, national speaker, and business strategist. His 20 years of specialty retail experience have given him a unique perspective on how to be wildly successful—which he believes boils down to inspiring people. Tom only works
with top notch organizations looking to raise the bar, and currently spends most of his time developing teams across the country. Tom is the author of four books and is a regular contributor to various magazines and literary journals including Running Insight,
PANK Magazine, The Rumpus, Tupelo Quarterly, The Los Angeles Review, Prairie Schooner and others. He lives in Carrboro, North Carolina.
Kristina Marie Darling: What first compelled you to undertake this walk across America, and when did it shift from idea to necessity?
Tom Griffen: Back in 1994, while waiting my turn for a haircut, I grabbed a tattered copy of an old 1977 National Geographic and thumbed through a gorgeous photo essay by Peter Jenkins. The piece detailed his coast to coast walk, and I was smitten by his landscape shots and poetic captions. I remember thinking, Wow...you can walk across America? I knew right then that I would do it, too. I told my barber as much and he blew me off. Told me I’d lost my mind.
I carried that goal for a long time and assumed I’d make it happen someday. Then one morning in 2017 I woke up with the walk on my mind. I wasn’t getting any younger—I needed to either do it or drop the idea altogether. I decided to go for it.
KMD: You write, “I’m just a guy with a heavy pack and a wobbly plan.” How is uncertainty central to this project, both in life and on the page?
TG: Life has taught me not to get too caught up with outcomes. Things are not always going to shake out the way I expect or hope. Goals come and go, so finding joy in the doing of something is the process. Taking things slower, letting go of control, accepting change—the adventure itself lives in uncertainty.
Early in the walk I learned this lesson the hard way. I spent way too much time thinking about the finish line—the Atlantic Ocean. I was so focused on getting miles behind me that I often missed what was right in front of me. I passed by opportunities every day, including a short detour to the so-called best donut shop in all of southern California. And more than a few generous homestay offers by random strangers looking to help me out.
This applies to creative endeavors, too. My “heavy pack” is whatever I need to get things rolling, and the “wobbly plan” is my intention. When I show up honestly and give myself over to the path, harmony follows.
KMD: Your work uses autobiographical experience as a point of entry to necessary social and political commentary. In what ways is the personal also political in the context of this project?
TG: When I take the time to look inward, to truly sit with my bright and dark spots, my celebrations and conflicts, I’m more likely to understand who I am and why I feel a way about a thing. Art demands this sort of commitment to self. To truth. And since art is an intimate articulation of being, then anything I create—words on a page, paint on a canvas, or steps on a trail—has potential to connect people and, as such, becomes political. Such possibility can’t be taken lightly. There’s simply too much at stake.
KMD: The title emphasizes the idea of a “good heart.” What does that phrase mean to you now?
TG: The book’s title makes me think about love. Specifically, the definition from bell hooks’ book, All About Love. She says, and I paraphrase, love is when we actively extend ourselves for the purpose of somehow nourishing our own or someone else’s growth. Having a “good heart” as the starting point. It’s a choice available to me at all times. Which doesn’t mean it’s easy. But not much worth doing is.
KMD: What surprised you most while undertaking this project?
TG: When I was walking, the biggest surprise was that the question, Where will I sleep tonight? became the most nagging daily stressor. By midday I’d already be worrying about where I’d lay my head down that night. Would I be able to find a safe place to stealth camp? Or would I be forced to sleep with one eye open, popping up awake every hour anticipating someone would catch me camped out in a cemetery, ballpark, school playground, or wherever else I pitched my tent.
The biggest surprise since the completion of the journey is how much the walk continues to live on in my daily life. I regularly channel the words of Lion, an unhoused man I met in Phoenix. He reminded me that kindness outweighs most everything else. That humbly receiving goodness from someone is as important as readily dishing it out.
I also think about Art, a fellow whose path I crossed in Pomona, CA. He rolled his wheelchair with me for a good five blocks, and before we parted ways, he told me that my walk wasn’t only about me. It was also about him, and all the other folks I’d encounter. He told me if I neglected to remember the importance of togetherness, I was wasting my time.
There’s also Johnny, a rice farmer in Stuttgart, Arkansas, who shared a beer with me as I took a shortcut through his field. Before we said goodbye, he took my phone number, and has called me every few months since then just to check in. Just last week I heard from him, and he told me he was getting ready to plant his 57th annual crop of rice. Because the demand and price is lower than ever, he’s adding his first ever field of corn. “Growing corn’s easy,” he said. “I just may do it until I retire!”
KMD: What are you currently working on? What can readers look forward to?
TG: I’m always working on a handful of projects at once, but the one I’d like to see come alive is a memoir of essays that started taking shape after my father passed away in 2023. Grief has since become an important player in my life, and I now recognize the beauty and confusion that accompanies loss. The pieces are still in the works, but I hope to see it through.
And of course there’s always more walking. I’d like to finish the Appalachian Trail this year, maybe knock out another chunk of the Pacific Crest Trail, too. But I’ve also got the Camino on my radar, and Hadrian’s Wall, and maybe a section of the Te Araroa in New Zealand. Whatever I end up doing, the walking will do what it does and inevitably lead to more self reflection and ultimately more writing. And who knows where that will take me.
I publish many of my musings, walking-related and otherwise, on my Substack (With a Good Heart) which is, and will always be free for subscribers. I invite you all to check it out!