Be the raisin in a sausage and commit to the AT

One of the scariest experiences for the adventurous heart is a long business dinner with polite conversation. But sometimes an event like this is just what you need to realize that it’s time to make a life-changing decision and leave it all behind.

Be the raisin in a sausage

I was in Oslo at a fancy restaurant to represent the company. I was very lucky to be there and to have a job that allowed me to travel the country and meet knowledgeable and kind people. The food was great and the atmosphere wonderful. Still, I felt something was wrong. Although I tried my best, I just couldn’t appreciate it as I should. And the poor people sitting next to me probably noticed how little I was able to contribute to the conversation. I felt like a raisin in a sausage (it’s a real Norwegian expression, I promise). Doing your best to add value to the conversation at hand by being curious and asking questions. However, I feel deeply out of my element.

I don’t know anything about tennis. Or about the children’s school functions. Or the stressors of dealing with having a growing career and family. Or remodel a house. The conversations around the table caused laughter among many. But it was difficult for me to fit in and participate. A feeling I’ve had for a while. I live and work as if I aspire to have what is considered a “normal” Norwegian life. But I was missing key parts. She had no husband and no children. He didn’t have a mountain cabin, an SUV, or a golden retriever. And, perhaps most importantly, I didn’t have the same desire for those things that I knew many of my peers had. But I was there, present, and I was surviving. However, he wasn’t sure if he was really living.

the life I want to live

Later, as I walked back to the hotel, I thought, “Seriously, woman, is this what you want to remember on your deathbed at 196?” No, I knew it wasn’t. I wanted to do something else. Or at least try. The understanding was not new, but this time it was deeper. It felt more like a threat than a self-deprecating comment about feeling lost in my own seemingly good life.

I’d been into this AT hiking thing on and off for the last year, ever since I spent a week in Scotland hiking the West Highland Way. From boldly announcing to my colleagues and friends that I was going, to finding not-so-clever excuses not to. I was once again on the path of “maybe I should do it.”

commitment time

The next morning, I sent a message to some of those closest to me: “Should I do the AT next year?”

The resulting responses were unanimous.

They were clearly sick and tired of me not being able to chat about anything else and were happy at the prospect of getting rid of me for an extended period. Or maybe they knew what I needed to hear. To give me the final push to commit.

Little did I know that over the next two weeks all the bricks would fall into place. I would notify my boss at work, contact someone who needed an apartment for half a year, apply for a visa, and tell my parents my plans (the biggest hurdle of all). I have booked my flights as well as my transportation to Amicalola Falls. Everything has been going well so far and I feel very grateful to be able to go on an adventure.

I guess it’s real now. There is no turning back. I’m going to hike the Appalachian Trail in 2026. And I’m delightfully petrified at the prospect.

I’ll take my hammock on the AT. 6 months sleeping in a hammock! What a delight!

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