Reintegration: Return to Earth

re • in • te • gra • tion: Noun; the action or process of reintegrating someone into society; the process of restoring unity of elements considered disparate.

personal definition: return from the forest to the «Paved Kingdom».

When embarking on an extraordinary journey or adventure, there is an inevitable feeling of returning to Earth that one must endure, whether after a weekend getaway or a 6-month trek. It is evidenced in a variety of ways, whether in changes in your character, in your sense of self, or in the environment, as well as in the tasks at hand, such as the shift from walking north as your sole intention to figuring out what to do with yourself throughout the day. That last point has been my daily life lately, along with the thousands of other long-distance hikers who have completed their trips in recent months. However, no matter what the transition looks like, it is important to recognize that the only constant in life is change and we must adapt to our new environment.

Crossing Laurel Creek with Doc Pop and Mongoose

“No man bathes in the same river twice, because it is not the same river and he is not the same man.«- Heraclitus

It’s been a little over three weeks since my Appalachian Trail trip at Baxter Peak concluded, and I’d be lying if I called it a smooth transition. As I quickly learned in the hills of Georgia and North Carolina, the AT is filled with friendly, like-minded people who share moral and ethical codes, seek adventure and/or solitude in nature, and reflect introspectively on how to live a fulfilling life. Even if that’s not the case, we all inherently share a bond as we follow the White Fire from Georgia to Maine—a clear mission guiding us forward. The beauty of this life lies in its simplicity, and the atmosphere that surrounds it fosters moments of awe, joy and natural wonder, as well as shared struggles against inclement weather and other difficulties. Back pain and hailstorms; sunrises and wildlife sightings; overcrowded shelters and motel rooms; ramen bombs and all-you-can-eat buffets. All of this comes with the collective assumption of enjoying the little things in life (and never taking the shower or bed for granted).

Sunset from Mount Greylock, MA

However, there is no way for this blissful life to continue forever. While my stay in Maine felt like a month of nirvanaWhen there were only a few days left in the trip, my body was crying out for rest. Sometimes I would wake up with the urgent desire to get this over with so I could sleep, eat, and exist in the same place for more than a day or two at a time. I’m glad to say that my trip was exactly the length I needed. I let the walk dictate its own pace and direction, and it turned out to last six months, about two months longer than I expected in March as I sat in my parents’ kitchen trying to plan where I would be and when. Letting all of that go turned out to be a very good decision (and also the only way forward: trying to schedule a walk is like throwing darts while blindfolded).

No matter the approach, the unifying factor of the AT community will always remain. You will hike to or from Springer Mountain, GA, to Mount Katahdin, ME, following a 2,198.5 mile trail. He has end because it exists in finitude. And with that we must move on to the reintegration phase, which may seem like You just woke up from a foggy nap and have to go give a speech..

We’ve navigated misty trails before! (Franconia Ridge, New Hampshire)

At the Standing Bear Farm Hostel after the Smokies, I received some sage advice from a hiker on the 24th, Not Sure, who suggested that when I end up in Katahdin, I should find a slow way to get home: resist getting on a plane, go through the culture shock of an airport, and travel directly back to where I was before. By following this recommendation, I found myself working on a community farm in New York’s North Country, and I was fortunate to have the opportunity to continue using my body every day, take lots of walks, and have an equally simple purpose. I’ve also had a lot of time to think, write, and reflect on the hell of a trip that was the Appalachian Trail.

The feeling of having accomplished this goal didn’t subside for a while, but I now know that I am in the glow of a monumental life experience, unable to convey its importance to most of the people around me. When people hear about this trip, they usually ask, «How was it?» – which would be a perfectly normal question at any other time – but answering in the same vein with “it was good!” seems like a shoddy euphemism. It’s hard to have had a life-changing experience and people, well, don’t really understand enough to care about it like I do. It makes sense but it is a harsh reality.

Standing Bear Farm (Hartford, Tennessee) in April, before the devastating June flood.

However, I am beginning to recognize that Even if people can’t directly identify with the spiritual awakenings or breathtaking landscapes I experienced, they can understand how it made me feel. Small talk is no place for elaborate answers on this topic, but I think people care about meaningful changes. The sparkle in my eyes when I talk about the AT, as well as my inability to put it into words, show how significant the journey was. Maybe this is a little self-aggrandizing, but I’m going to allow myself this, at least for now. Self-actualization is innately humanistic and we all share the desire for personal growth.

You can focus on anything! Like comparing the fuzziness of Vermont moss.

“When you do something, if you fix your mind on the activity with some confidence, the quality of your mental state is the activity itself. When you are focused on the quality of your being, you are prepared for activity.«- Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind

It is difficult to reach the end of a long-sought goal and try to make sense of it, especially when the path was quite simple. For months we had the sole purpose of reaching the north terminus of the AT, and everyone had What we had to do was walk and sustain ourselves with food and water. A brilliant, incredibly concrete livelihood; nowWe are in an unusual reality that can seem like quicksand. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Although this period of time is strange for a multitude of reasons, I believe we can treat it the same way we did on the trail: one day at a time, and with the same grace and vigor in handling the difficulties that arise.

One piece of the current puzzle that I have struggled with is the notion of “what next,” or the planning mind, as I call it. Along the way, the preparations were simple and simply met my physiological needs until we reached the next city. During reintegration, my mind wanders a bit as I sit with uncertain employment and where my next base of operations is. As Will I support myself financially? Where Will I live to continue recreating regularly in nature? When Will things happen? The fear that builds up around the unknown can be overwhelming, but by employing a combination of mindfulness and the same problem-solving logic, I can exist in the unknown and even thrive in it.

Where will this curve take me next? (Pastures just after Pawling, New York)

“The nature of fear is to wake us up to what is happening. Doubt may be unpleasant, but certainty is absurd. Obstacles and arguments, fear and doubts are all part of our search path. Sometimes they block the way and sometimes they are the way.—Michael Meade

So here I sit with this curiosity and fear, and I center myself again by focusing on the present moment. While it can sometimes be helpful to plan a life reset, I notice when I’m feeling overwhelmed and find time to do things that calm me down: walks around the farm, riding my bike, reading, learning to play a guitar. I also found that hanging up the phone or turning off cell service (just like I did on the trail) allows the curious mind to think more clearly about tangible steps I can take towards the future. As a bonus, trying this Luddism has helped me write holistically, turning my passion into a more routine activity from which I benefit greatly. Above all, by being present with my thoughts, I can approach my fear from a non-judgmental point of view, better listening to the unmet needs that create it in the first place.

Farm life in North Country, New York.

I am incredibly grateful for the place I found after the trail, recognizing that not all hikers can afford to take a break on their reintegration. But I believe that by applying the simplicity and subtle qualities of the path to your current situation, the return to normal life will be much easier.

At the junction of Highway ME-17 near Rangely, Maine, my friend Spigot and I received a welcome Trail Magic from a kindred spirit named Patriot. An older hippie with a ponytail, he advertised a tie-dye T-shirt with a bald eagle spreading its wings to reveal an American flag. He told us that he had followed the “bubble” of hikers around the Northeast doing magical trails every summer since his son hiked the trail in 2017. He compared the spirit of AT to that of the 1967 Summer of Love, which seems like a fair comparison.

The chips, candy, and soda were a blessing on a hot day, but Patriot’s request for us was even more empowering: As we conclude our hike, it is our prerogative to bring with us the loving, sharing, and positive energy of the AT back into the world. He encouraged us to showcase our true selves during these difficult times.

Mooselookmeguntic (and Spigot) Lake looks phenomenal from ME-17, Maine.

“Easier said than done” was the first thing that came to mind, but upon further reflection, I believe that replicating Trail’s positive qualities in our current lives may allow us to heed Patriot’s request. If what you want is to walk, keep walking. If you’re feeling nostalgic about the strong bond you have with your “Tramily,” stay in touch with those close friends, find grounding in your local community, or make magic on the trails for SOBOs still hiking. If you’re like me and miss the omnipresent curiosity and exploration of the AT, try something new. I encourage those fighting for reintegration to do whatever it takes to revitalize the joy and open-mindedness of the Camino. Society will benefit from the love, positivity and connection of hikers, and reintegration into the world will certainly be easier.

For more reflections on AT, mindfulness, and unconventional travel, check out my blog. From what I have gathered.