It’s a slight comfort that I’m getting used to walking in silence while enjoying the eight-minute walk home from my local coffee shop. The morning was adorned by birdsong, morning sun, and the light breeze of another cold day after a week of 90 degree weather.
Thanks, North Carolina.
It seems impossible that in less than two weeks my days will consist of one thing: walking. While the excitement grows with each passing day, there is also a small seed of anxiety. I have come up with a new theory about the origin of my new set of nerves.
With a creative imagination, I have always been able to imagine a potential future when a big change is coming. Whether it’s going to university, living abroad with a small family, or visiting a foreign country that I didn’t even know existed before making plans for a vacation, I can always imagine what it would mean. could resemble.
Of course, the reality of these endeavors was completely different than what I imagined, but I was still able to create a story in my head of how things could be.
But the Pacific Crest Trail?
My mind gives me a video clip: following my dad down a dusty trail in the desert under a blazing sun.
That’s all.
Nothing else.
Time and time again, as I try to picture what the trail might entail, my mind brings up that brief snippet of a dusty hike.
I think it’s the silence that intimidates me. So my eight-minute walk free of any distractions coming from my phone (music, texts, notifications, etc.) can be uninspiring or, as it was this morning, strangely peaceful. Quiet moments with birds and fresh air are often… eerie.
Oh how I love the noise that distracts me from what’s going on inside.
This leads me to believe that perhaps the reason for my only vision of the potential future of the PCT has something to do with the inner work that I hope comes with such a great mental challenge.
Being outdoors is something I love, but even more so something I love being within reach of society. When people ask me if I’m physically prepared, I say yes. Mentally? That is the real challenge.
I am about to venture into a world I have never known: the desert. Dad suspects that’s why I can’t easily imagine the journey ahead. I’m going to another kind of world, a land full of charred trees in burned areas and deadly rattlesnakes slithering nearby.
The most intimidating thing for me is that it is an immense playground of introspection. I don’t know who I will be when I return home. So I feel like I’m an alien traveling to a different planet. I am like a little caterpillar that has spun my cocoon for the past few years. I will develop over the next few months. Only when I am free from this transformative period, I am not sure what will fly out of that chrysalis.
Each day passes quickly. With every task I complete, every obligation I say “See you later” to, I feel more and more comfortable with the journey ahead.
Maybe it’ll just be a dusty hike with dad for 600 miles and then prettier country from then on. Maybe it’s solemn, quiet and awkward. Maybe I will dive deep into my world of introspection. But I can guarantee one thing: I’m going to come out a very different person.
This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. And a plus? I’m going with one of the people I love most in this world. So I’ll take the discomfort. I will accept bullying. I will put aside all my current ambitions to go through this process. After all, I’ve heard it’s supposed to be a lot of fun.
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