Reflections – 1 year later

It’s September 11 again. One year ago today, I awoke excited, freezing, in pain. I stayed in my sleeping bag until someone mentioned trail magic, then wore my sleeping bag upside-down as a coat while I wandered out for coffee and bagels. I knew this was my last morning waking up outdoors with my closest friends, but that thought didn’t seem to register. I knew I’d be seeing my parents again that day, but that also didn’t seem to matter. I was a little disappointed my parents couldn’t summit Katahdin with me, but the weather was amazing and if we were going to summit with Larb, it had to happen that day. I was looking forward to the end of the journey. I wanted to finally rest. I was absolutely ready to wake up every morning for the rest of my life and not have to hike. I wanted to see my family again. I wanted to see my girlfriend again. I wanted to tell my friends all about the adventure I’d just had. I was ready to put all this hiking nonsense behind me.

Every reader of this blog knows what happened that day – I chronicled everything in detail. No one knows how it affected me, though. As I summitted Katahdin and touched the sign, I felt a surge of emotion like I hadn’t felt since the halfway point in Pennsylvania. Those were the two times that the enormity of my accomplishment almost had me in tears. At the summit I still had 5 miles of hiking to get back to civilization, so it wasn’t an ending, but it was an accomplishment. I’d walked the length of the country. It was tough. I suppose I could have gone home at any point, but I never saw it that way. The trail was a very large obstacle sitting between the life I’d lived and the life I would live. Sure I had a lot of fun along the way (if you don’t you’ll go crazy out there), but it’s tough and I was relieved to be going home.

I hiked the entire trail thinking it wouldn’t change me. I’m not entirely certain why I decided to start hiking the AT, but after a few weeks I discovered why I was going to finish. All my life I’d lived the life that was expected of me, and not much else. I never really had a rebellious phase. I went to school, did my homework, got high marks, did whatever extracurricular activities came my way. I never really chose to do something because I wanted to – I just kind of did whatever was convenient, and whatever I was good at. When I graduated High School I went to college because it was assumed I would. I didn’t care which college I attended, so I assigned each of the three major state universities to 2 sides on a 6-sided die, and rolled. It came up 3 so I went to University of Northern Iowa. While in college one of my professors recommended me for a job at a local web hosting company – I didn’t really want the job but I felt like it would be a bad life decision to turn it down, so I made a resume and applied. I got the job, so I worked while in college and went full-time after I graduated. I continued working that job until a major relationship ended on me, and I decided I needed to do something drastically different. I decided to quit my job and hike the AT.

In retrospect, I think I may have decided to thru-hike because it was a decision that didn’t make sense. No matter how you look at it, six months unemployment while living in the woods is not a wise career decision. Most people agree that a thru-hike is something they’d like to do, but there’s a reason so few people actually do it. Everyone values their life in modern society over a financially-irresponsible, socially-unacceptable frolick in the wilderness. That’s why I had to do it. A thru-hike was something I had to make a conscious decision to do. Everyone’s expectations for my life were that I would continue working, buy a house, etc. It was time for me to take charge of my life, and do something I wanted to do – something against the norm. I finished the AT because quitting would mean acceptance of society’s plan for my life. Summitting Katahdin meant society had no hold on me – I rule my own life.

So I did it. I quit my job during an economic recession with no future career plans. I terminated my lease and moved all my stuff into my parents’ garage. I accepted a complete lack of income for half a year, and invested thousands of dollars into 5 months of pain, discomfort, and hard physical labour. So now that it’s all done, how did it affect my life?

In a sense it changed nothing. I got off the trail and got a job with a web hosting company, doing almost exactly the same work as I’d been doing prior to the hike. I did move to Texas for that job, but people move to Texas all the time without first hiking the Appalachian Trail – I wouldn’t consider my relocation a side effect of the hike. Despite my post-trail life being about the same, my mindset is all sorts of different.

Coming off the trail was really tough. I think every thru-hiker will tell you this. Some people make drastic changes in lifestyle – they’ll come off the trail and go work for some outfitter (it’s pretty easy to get a job with an AT thru-hike on your resume), or they’ll start a hostel, or they’ll start an internet business to pay the bills while they embark on another adventure. It’s pretty common for a thru-hiker to reject their pre-trail life and embrace a far less lucrative, and for more fulfilling lifestlye. For the rest of us, and even to the aforementioned rebels to a certain extent, there’s a long and painful adjustment period.

I came back having forgotten how to exist in society. I couldn’t remember how to shop for groceries – all I knew how to cook were Knorr Rice Sides and peanut butter & nutella on tortillas. I’ve never been much of a party person, but after living in the woods for 5 months I fought panic attacks every time I was in a crowded area. On the trail there was an obvious goal – reach Katahdin. Every day you’d wake up with that goal in mind, and working toward that goal was easy – hike North. Back in society, there were no obvious goals. Earn money, sure, but are you doing it the most efficient way possible? How do you know when you have enough?

I had made friends on the AT closer than I can describe. They’re my family. On the trail we spent every moment together. Sometimes our lives depended on each other. We looked out for each other by default. We understood each other, and we mutually understood the experience we were all sharing. No one in modern society can relate to a thru-hiker. I came off the trail and I was surrounded by family, friends, my girlfriend, but I was far more alone than when I was hiking. Thru hiking is such a vastly different experience from “real life” that no one could begin to understand how I felt coming off the trail. In a way it felt like living among people who don’t speak your language.

So I had some issues to work through, and I was having a difficult time with it. Sometimes people would pick up on this, but I couldn’t explain my problems to someone who had no frame of reference. All of my friends from the trail were having the same problems, and none of us knew what to do about it. Sometimes I felt like the hike had ruined my life. The thing is, my life wasn’t that great before the hike. After the hike I often find myself frustrated by everyday life, and I hate that all my closest friends are scattered across the globe, and I wish I could just run into the woods some days and get away from everyone. I didn’t have all of that mental trauma pre-trail. I used to know how to interact with society, and I was perfectly content to sit at home playing video games all day. These days I don’t really have a taste for television or video games. I crave adventure, but the demands of modern civilization keep me tied down. It’s frustrating. Terribly unfulfilling. Maybe I was better off before I knew what I was missing.

Most people who set out to thru-hike the AT end up quitting. They discover their own limits, which I suppose is a reason in itself to attempt the hike. It’s always good to know your limits. I finished the trail though, so did I really learn anything about my own limits? I think so. I discovered that I have no limits. Time and again I was faced with pretty significant obstacles (mountains, rain, knee pain, hail, temperature extremes, tornados, thunderstorms, Tropical Storm Lee, Hurricane Irene, flooding, raccoons, bears, bugs, practically cutting off my finger, loneliness, etc) and I didn’t die. Not only did I survive, but I bloody walked bloody 2,181 miles across 14 bloody states. That sort of thing tends to breed confidence. Whatever life throws my way, I know I can handle myself. I am absolutely certain that I can handle anything that comes my way.

So what’s the big change? I know what’s important in life. I know what makes me genuinely happy. Have I incorporated that knowledge and am I living a completely fulfilling life? No, not really. However, I know what I love, and that’s a few rungs up the ladder from where I was pre-trail. The next step is just a matter of taking what I want from life, and after kicking Mother Nature’s ass for half a year, I am absolutely positive that I’ve got the stones for it.