About a week ago, Caroline and I decided to take a period of separation for reflection, isolation, solitude etc. It was my idea and something that I felt was crucial as a final(ish) step to achieving the personal growth I came out here for-- fears and issues surrounding comfort zones and anxiety that I really came nakedly face to face with the past few days. The first two days were miserably rainy, muddy... thunder storms every hour... For days, everything I owned was soaking wet. I had to put on wet socks, wet underwear/bra, wet boots that caused blisters and chafing everywhere. Blisters between every single toe... Chafing on my underarm from my shirt sleeves... You get the idea. Miserable. And I had no one to turn to, no one out here to commiserate with and even if I had wanted to cry to someone back home, I had no service. And all that was okay because I just kept telling myself "I won't be wet forever", "the sun will come out, even if it's not today", "my clothes and gear will eventually dry"...basically this is ALL temporary, like everything in life. I knew it would end and I set my focus on doing a 30 mile day the next day it was sunny. I woke up and was REALLY slow getting out of camp because everything was still soaking wet. My boots were still sloshing with every step, I had a big mountain with pretty intense elevation gain in front of me and by 10am, my wet socks and shoes were already rubbing my toes, heels, ankles to raw blisters. But I told myself I would do this. I had committed. I went back and forth throughout the day and as it got later, I kept missing mile markers I had hoped to reach by that time. I reminded myself that no one knew I was doing this and, therefore, no one would know if I didn't do it. But I had made a promise to MYSELF and I wanted to give that promise the weight it deserved. Plus, when I really examined it, it was fear that was at the heart of my hesitation. I came out here to lean into fear, not listen it to and let it guide me. So I kept pushing. Then, at mile 29 I reached a beautiful peak and I thought to myself "I can't NOT camp here, it's too perfect", so I adjusted my goals. I didn't reach a 30 mile day but I got pretty darn close and, more importantly, I pushed myself beyond what I thought I was capable of. I conquered my pain and leaned into my fear. But then came the real challenge...camping on an isolated mountain, completely alone. I did it but it was really, really scary. I wanted to turn on my phone to see if I at least could look at Facebook or text someone to ground me and remind me I was okay. But instead I journaled and I read. I had my phone, pepper spray and knife with me in my tent and I had sent out a "spot check in", so those following my progress had the exact coordinates of my location. In reality, I was perfectly safe. I knew that logically I had nothing to fear and I reminded myself that I was just as safe here (if not more safe) as anywhere else.
The next day, I went though a similar feeling. I woke up to find that mice had climbed the tree to where my food bag was hanging and chewed through the stuff sack and gotten into several packages of my food. (It's UNENDING....) Soo... I hitched a ride into town to buy food with a woman who was throwing up (yes, seriously) but once in town, I had no idea how I was going to get back to the trail, or even where it was. Then I hiked 4 extra miles because I couldn't find a place to sleep.
Even now, I'm laying in my tent, not a person for miles and miles, totally alone and I'm really scared. I don't even know of what exactly...I don't even want to go there. But I'm here and I'm pushing through that fear. I haven't talked to anyone for more than a few minutes in the past week and have spent hours upon hours inside my own head. It was maddening at first but I'm learning to trust myself to be by myself through that isolation. Just when I think I can see the finish line, I am reminded who is in charge. I am a visitor here. This is not my land. I don't own the trail. Throughout this hike, the trail has taken on a life of its own. It is proud and powerful. It demands respect. It is not always an easy lover or a patient teacher. It's lessons are uncalculated and, therefore, can be harsh and painful. That is what is simultaneously so terrifying and so wonderful about it.
My heart swells with pride when I think about what I worked though and that feeling fills me with love for myself that I've never known before. Nothing compares to intimately knowing the terror of not just confronting fear but leaning into it-- engaging with fear, actively seeking it out as a teacher, and then coming out the other end. The pride and sense of accomplishment that comes with overcoming great fear is unlike any other feeling. That empowerment brings an unparalleled self-love and self-trust.
I enter this final part of the hike a calmer, more whole person. There is a saying on the AT that "the trail provides". It doesn't always provide what you want, or even what you need. Stretches without a water source, unclear trail markers, slippery rocks, thorny bushes, inadequate food stores, days of Thunder storms, rodents that chew holes in your food bag at night, loneliness... All these things are ways the trail provides by NOT providing. Each challenge provides an opportunity for growth.
"I step out of linear time and thinking, away from learned experience-- into daydream. For days-- weeks if I'm on a long trip-- I empty my brain and wash the decks of my mind, to live within the moment, the hour, the present. In this place. Untutored, my imagination and intuition rise to embrace these exquisite surroundings. I don't calculate or plan, just take it all in, alerting all my senses to respond to nature and her stimuli, accept it, become a part of it and move blissfully along with the flow of the river. I become highly light sensitive, and adjust to shapes and motion, rather than ways and means.
...We're not crazy, those of us who have these flash dances with wilderness. We've been given a gift of finding a way back to our private zone in the natural world." -Katie Lee, Sandstone Seduction
