Life goes on: the journey

Pretzel here!

While I’ve farted over the past few weeks going through each stage of grief at least twice, my friend Bear Pop, who I came to the Canadian border with, just finished hiking the remaining 600 miles of the Appalachian Trail from Virginia to Georgia. Before I talk about myself, I want to congratulate you for not only hiking the PCT this year, but also for using that momentum and those sexy trail legs to get through the rest of an incredibly difficult trail during the cold, rainy fall. I’m so inspired by you, Bear Pop. So kick some ass.

Pop Bear at the finish line! 🏁

Realizing that it’s been so long since I finished my Pacific Crest Trail hike this year, I thought it was time to start writing about it again.
Writing while on the road was a monumental task. I am endlessly impressed by people who can walk big miles every day and still manage to post weekly or, God forbid, daily. I was always so tired at the end of a day’s walking that I barely had the mental resources to make bed and dinner, let alone do much writing. I forced myself to write down my journal entries, even if they were short and sweet. A foundation to build the real blog.
My plan (and who knows what life will bring in the meantime) is to go back and make weekly logs of my time on the PCT. I left it in High Sierra and starting to edit the next post has been very rewarding.

Visiting family in Utah!

So far I’ve done a poor job of processing my time on the trail this year. I walked 2000 miles over 4 and a half months and yet when I stopped, I felt the same as before. There was no massive change in my character or my way of thinking about life. There was no great awakening or enlightenment about what life meant. Nothing has changed about me that felt concrete or definable.

I feel like I’ve finished a book in the middle of a series: a continuation of a story that began on the Appalachian Trail and with an ending I still don’t know. It’s like I’m waiting for the author to publish the next book so I can get back into the action and dive back into a world of adventure and excitement. What am I supposed to do with myself during all this waiting?

New role model I met at the zoo.

In most book series, the first one is the best. Introduces a new world, new characters, new plots to resolve. The main character goes from an ordinary life to one of magic and adventure, and realizes that this is the life he was always destined for. The monotonous existence of before fades in comparison to what they have learned life can be, if they decide to rise to the occasion.

To me, that’s what the Appalachian Trail was. The beginning of a series of adventures that I would never have seen coming. The obvious and definitive beginning of what would be the rest of my life.
Like my first hike, it was the highest high, the lowest low, and the most personal growth I have ever experienced. There was a feeling of self-discovery, followed by anticipation of what life would be like from here on out. You always remember your first love, your first concert, your first apartment, your first car. Nothing that follows ever reaches the same level of depth and meaning as the first, no matter how much we want it to.

I don’t want to downplay my Pacific Crest Trail hike or any of the other smaller hikes I’ve done. Sequels can be excellent: Chamber of Secrets, The Two Towers, Star Trek Into Darkness. In that last case, the sequel was actually better than the original film.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: expectations can be toxic. No experience is exactly the same as another, and embarking on a new hike thinking it will be like the first is dangerous. The novelty is gone, you’ve lived like this before. You’re trading newness and nervousness for the comfortable familiarity that comes with being in a place you’ve been before and love deeply. You simply cannot compare the two.

However, that’s exactly what I did and it cost me. I felt alone because I had been surrounded by people on the AT. I didn’t like sleeping in a tent because before I slept in a hammock. I missed the shelters, the way all the hikers ate dinner together at the picnic tables every night. I longed for abundant water fountains, city stops, and lodges filled with celebrating hikers. I wish I had met more people and camped alone less.

I suffered mentally because I had an idea of ​​what a hike like this was “supposed to be” and I didn’t appreciate it enough for what it was. Much easier hikes, more beautiful and diverse views. It barely rains. More solitude, peace and quiet, and less of a party mentality which cost me dearly on the Appalachian Trail, both physically and financially. I was constantly looking for ways to make this hike feel more like my life-changing experience from years before, rather than seeing it as a completely different trip.
Maybe I was even comparing this hike to what I REMEMBERED from the previous hike. Our memory of a thing almost never coincides with its reality. Everything is always brighter in retrospect, and misery fades from our memories only to be replaced by unrealistic expectations. What can be compared to a glorified version of the past?

Always a good reminder

All that said, of course, I still had an exceptional hike. I laughed, I cried, I screamed, I lost hope, I found it again. I made friends I will never forget, I saw things that will stay with me forever. I felt accomplished and strong, I tried hard and rewarded myself when I could.
I soaked up the simplicity and beauty of life along the way. On the good days I wished it would never end and on the worst I longed for the comforts of home.
My biggest regret is not taking enough photos of my friends and not having enough gratitude and acceptance for life exactly as it was at that moment. I wish I had never wished it was over, because now that it is over, I miss it every day.

I’ve been thinking about these verses by Mary Oliver, which I found while I was on the road.

“Have I experienced happiness with enough gratitude?
Have I endured loneliness with grace?

I’d like to think so, but I’m not sure.

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So I’ve been off the track for a month and a half now.
I don’t know if I can say that I have adjusted to life after the trail or that I have returned to some kind of “normal.” My adult life has never really been what so many people have: a home, a stable job, a stable income. Routine, routine, routine.
Since returning from the Appalachian Trail and purchasing a van, I have “come home” to countless places and situations. Seasonal guide jobs, ski resort jobs with employee accommodation. Never a 9 to 5, never a permanent home.

Koala and eucalyptus for Halloween!

I’m not saying I don’t like living this way; In fact, there is no other way I can imagine living. I love novelty, the excitement of uncertainty and possibilities. I love coming home to my truck and now my RV. I love guiding, living outdoors, and being physically active year-round. Returning from the trail to this kind of life barely feels like leaving the trail. Simply the next book in the series of adventures that has miraculously become my life.

Many of the people I meet while hiking have “normal” lives to return to and I see that they fear the end of the trail. What they will do again is very different from what they have become accustomed to in recent months. I know that if I had gone back to the life I lived before the AT, I would have returned to the same version of myself as I was before that life-changing walk in the woods. And that wasn’t what I wanted.
So I decided to move on. If you are always moving forward, trying something new, it will be much harder to fall back into old patterns that no longer serve you. You adapt, you change, you improve yourself again and again. This is the trajectory I want my life to have. I want to continue growing, continue writing my story.

I don’t know how much of this will reach my audience, and how much was just a way of processing the end of this chapter of my life.
For the first time in years I live in a house and don’t work during the winter. I temporarily moved in with my partner Andy to recover and plan my next moves, and to travel a bit over the next few months.
Resting and living with the comforts of modern life has been great, but I was longing for something to do. There is the struggle to find a daily routine and to plan the next big event for myself. Andy has his life and his work to do, and I’ve been looking for healthier ways to occupy my time than playing Fallout and watching the entire Netflix catalog.

Most recently, the two of us spent just over a week together in Nicaragua, drinking on the beach and exploring the jungle. I will soon be taking a trip to the East Coast, where I will spend several days visiting friends in Atlanta. After that, I will spend several weeks in Europe, where I will visit my family and introduce Andy to my parents. There’s a lot to be excited about leading up to spring guiding season in the desert!

Ometepe Nicaragua with my love.

So, that’s the new thing. Reflections on my walk, the fight to return to society. Plans for the future. There is always something to remember and something to look forward to. What I’m looking for in between is to live in the present, experience happiness with enough gratitude, and face loneliness with grace.

Thank you all for reading and stay tuned for more posts from my time on the road.
Happy holidays!