Dear Future Self: A Letter to My Tired PCT Self Through Hiking

Hello Gadget!

If you’re reading this, it means one of two things:

1. You’ve successfully reached the halfway point of the Pacific Crest Trail and are celebrating with a ridiculously large ice cream cone in some glorious trail town, wondering how you survived on instant mashed potatoes.
2. You’ve hit a wall. A giant, dusty, mosquito-infested, blistered, mentally exhausting, ‘why am I doing this to myself?!’ kind of wall. And you’re probably huddled inside your tent, questioning every life choice that led you to this moment.

Either way, welcome, future me! It is me, Past Self, writing to you from the blissful comfort of a couch not made of rocks and pine needles, surrounded by endless running water and the distinct absence of chafing. Oh, how I envy you, future self, for having seen so much, but also how I pity you for the great amount of dirt you have accumulated.

First, let’s talk about the elephant in… well, not the room, because you probably don’t have a room, but in the general vicinity of wherever you are. How are your feet? Be honest. Do they still have a vague foot shape, or have they transformed into some kind of twisted, calloused, vaguely sentient mass? I really hope you managed to keep all of your toenails, but I’m not holding my breath.

Remember when I thought a “challenging hike” was getting to the top of that relatively small hill in southern Illinois, without needing an oxygen mask? Oh sweet summer girl. I bet you’re laughing at me right now, probably while effortlessly climbing a mountain that would have made the Past Self weep openly. I hope you’ve accepted the constant pain in your muscles and found some kind of twisted joy in pushing your limits. If not, just pretend so. This will make the stories better later.

Speaking of stories, are you telling some good ones? Have you seen something really amazing? A bear doing jazz hands? A UFO? Bigfoot? Did you finally figure out how to perfectly rehydrate a Mountain House meal without it turning into a thick soup? These are the real questions, Future Self. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Let’s talk about the «Why». Because if you’re on Wall Number Two, you’re definitely asking yourself «why.» And Past Self, in all its naïve pre-blister glory, had so many answers: adventure, self-discovery, escaping the mundane, proving you could do it, that perfect Instagram photo atop Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the contiguous United States. (14,505 feet)

But honestly, Future Self, I think a big part of “The Why” was just seeing if I had it in me. Trading the predictability of daily life for the glorious, messy, unpredictable chaos of the road. Trade spreadsheets for curves and meetings for mountain passes. If you have forgotten that feeling, try to remember it. Imagine me, sitting here, dreaming about the same filth you are currently complaining about. It’s all about perspective, right? Or maybe you just need more electrolytes. Probably both.

Have you made friends? Did you find your tram? Please tell me you haven’t been that person who only talks about their ultralight gear for three hours straight. Remember, people prefer stories about near-death experiences or epic food cravings. If you haven’t bonded with anyone, maybe try offering them a piece of that fancy cheese you’ve been carrying around for too long. Nothing brings people together like shared gastronomic regret.

And what about the “real world” stuff? Forgot how to drive? Is my email inbox a digital wasteland of unread messages? Did I manage to cancel all those subscriptions I promised to get rid of? (Spoiler: probably not. Past Self was something of a procrastinator.) I hope you haven’t forgotten how to have a coherent conversation without using terms like «hiker hunger,» «water stash,» or «trail magic.» The non-hiker world may find you… charmingly eccentric.

But seriously, Future Self, this trip is a gift. A hard-earned, often uncomfortable and sometimes smelly gift. Lihat juga cxv6. Embrace the views, the incredible sunrises and sunsets, the quiet moments, the ridiculous conversations, and yes, even the moments when you want to scream into the void because you just tripped over another rock. You are doing something incredible, something most people only dream of.

When you feel down, remember the feeling of pure anticipation I have right now. The butterflies, the excitement, the terrifying joy of the unknown. That’s what you’re living. And when you’re flying, remember to savor every step. Because one day your journey will end and you will remember everything you have accomplished and you will want to remember every detail.

Also, have you showered recently? I’m just asking for a friend. And please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t forget to send your mom a postcard. Or at least a good selfie surrounded by a stunning view.

Sending you all the good vibes, strong legs and mosquito-free nights. You got this!

With slightly cleaner hands and considerably less mileage on my feet,

Your optimistic (and slightly naïve) past self

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