Preparing for a hike as a college student

You will disconnect looking at the windowless white cinder block walls, the ones that have surrounded you for years. When the teacher’s words start to blend together like a TV in the other room, you know it’s time to let your brain escape. He goes to the forest, to the idea of ​​the forest, to the idea of ​​walking, to the green of the leaves. It’s dramatic, but you almost compare yourself to a prisoner dreaming of sunlight. You have to get out of here.

The next day, you walk to class instead of driving. Flat, paved sidewalks don’t do much for your legs, but your mind is becoming a heavyweight champion. Eliminate difficult thoughts throughout the day, whether you’re walking or not. Every conversation seems to go back to the woods again and you apologize for mentioning it so much. Friends of friends will ask you about your post-college plans and you’ll have to choose whether to lie or endure fifteen follow-up questions.

The weather is good, you should go hiking.

You have free time, you should be planning.

You have time, but not much. Something has to break. You’ve read and reread the same online forums, you’ve watched and rewatched the same videos, you’ve consumed more content than you thought possible. Now your couch is one of the many luxuries you’re deciding to leave behind.

What else are you leaving behind? You contemplate what you gained in the last four years of schooling. How educated are you? How many friends did you make? How many real friends did you make? How much money did you save? How long is left on your lease? How much longer on your insurance plan? How long has it been since you went to the doctor? How much suffering can you tolerate?

You slow down your breathing. You check the calendar as if it were your email even though it remains unchanged. You still have pending tasks, so don’t get carried away. You only have a few months left in college, you better have fun and enjoy it. You find yourself slipping into the woods in your head more often than you’d like to admit.

You ignore it. Maintain a normal routine.

As you pour detergent into the washing machine, you wonder how many loads of laundry you have left before you leave. You wonder how drastically your relationship with laundry will change when it takes place in random trail towns or lodge mud rooms. You grumble about the elephant-sized task of preparing dinner before looking at your spotless little pot in the corner where you keep your backpack. Suddenly, wood countertops and cast iron make your kitchen look like a Michelin-starred restaurant.

This mental space that feels inevitable and suffocating is (I beg you) the signs of a prepared hiker. Learn more about qaz4. You’re taking it seriously.

I’m taking it seriously.

I have a secret the size of a bowling ball stuffed in a shallow pocket. I take it with me to every class, to every party I participate in. Tackling daily tasks as a college student is 2,000 miles away from tackling them as a future hiker. Still, I strive to maintain balance. The gentle tug on either side somehow finds a balance that leaves me reeling, yes, but anchored in tension.

If you find something of yourself in this, take a deep breath with me. Make a list of what you need to do and follow it. Give yourself more free time to sit with your thoughts and reflect. Be kind to yourself. If the Appalachian Trail is a spiritual journey for you, the good news is that you’ve already started! You are already doing the spiritual work to create the best mental space possible for yourself when your feet hit the trail. Try to find rest in this absurd chapter of life. Go to class (yes, I’m talking to myself here). Laugh at how crazy everything feels. Talk to your friends about it until they themselves are experts on the way.

Repeat this process until you find yourself staring at the trailhead and know with complete confidence that you are set up for success. and got a degree.

I start my walk in nine weeks.

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