As I looked at the sign that indicated the start of a section of the Pacific Crest Trail I could practically hear the Indiana Jones music. I could see my six months training unfolding into this big adventure, me and my fifty pound backpack, all alone in the wild, sleeping under the stars. I could picture the awed expressions and endless questions I would answer after my triumphant return, the book I would write, the carreer I would start. As usual, I pictured the end of the journey before taking my first step and I think it’s where it all went wrong.
Like most people who decide to jump headfirst into danger and discomfort, I was bored. Bored with my repetitive work, with my lack of drive, with my past trips, with myself. I didn’t want to face the things I would have to do at home to change where my life was heading, so I decided to physically head somewhere else. The Pacific Crest Trail, a path that streches from the border of Mexico all the way to Canada seemed like a perfect destination.
I didn’t have six months to attempt the entirety of it, so I picked a stretch I could do in one: from just below the south border of Washington back home to Canada. I trained for months before the big adventure. I was commited to this. It would be the spark that lit the fire of my new life. I was looking forward to being alone and having that burst of inspiration, of newfound love for life that these adventures give people in the books and movies I devour.
The beauty and novelty of that first day soon gave way to the realization that I saw row after row of identical green trees for hours as I walked and walked and walked. This would be it, I would be doing exactly this for thirty days and all I would have for company would be my thoughts.
I burst into tears. I cried for hours, cried until I had to stop for fear my blurry eyes would send me walking off a cliff. I sobbed into my hands, wiped my eyes still holding my walking sticks and realized, in that moment, that there is a very big difference between chosen and forced solitude. I had toned my legs, lost weight, prepared my body to carry that pack, but I hadn’t prepared my spirit to carry the crushing weight of the silence I once found so beautiful, the peace of the woods now more oppressive than anything I had ever faced.
After two days I gave up. My body would have carried me to the moon and back, but the last thing I expected was that the scariest thing in those endless, beautiful woods would be my mind.
