Well, I've managed to make it to the last 10 hours of my time in New Zealand. I'm currently holed up in my cushy, single dorm at the YMCA hostel in Auckland, feet up on my desk, thumbs scurrying over the touch keypad of my phone, and half a nalgene full of illicit beer within reaching distance (the YMCA doesn't allow it here...don't tell). I've been wanting to write for a long time, but haven't quite had the inspiration. Even now, I'm not sure what to write, not sure what one final message I want to send out to my friends, family, and any of the countless new fans I'm sure I've garnered as a result of my posts, but, appropriately enough for an adventure blog, I'll simply begin and see where I go.
Part of the reason I haven't written recently is that I've been in constant motion since April 2nd. Just to prove it: I haven't slept in the same place for 2 nights in a row since then. That's nearly 50 days of being in a new place every day. And so, so very much has happened since then, but let me fast forward to a little more than a week ago to begin.
On May 8th, my little group of Ben, Jess and Izak made it to Bluff, NZ, the terminus of our 1300 kilometer trail (3000 k for Ben). It was unlike any other end to a trip I've ever had because this was the first time the ending wasn't accompanied by a desire to be done. My thoughts and emotions were much more mixed than that. Lets put it this way: as we cruised down the last 1 kilometer of trail, Jess was at my side and posited a very fair question, "how does it feel?"
I turned the question over for a bit but quickly decided my emotions were impossible to accurately tease apart, so I said, "I have no idea...so many emotions. It's like this: you know how when you mix all the colors together you get brown? I guess I feel brown."
Jess laughed and said, "I guess I feel brown too."
Because how are you supposed to feel at the end of such an adventure? How are you supposed to feel at the end of a soul searching journey that included the single most complete feeling of sadness I've ever experienced and the single most complete feeling of happiness I've ever experienced. A journey that included loneliness and laughter, new friends, old friends, and soul plumbing, dirtying and cleansing, not to mention the daily physical rigors of the unrelenting New Zealand wilderness. The trip had become my life and though I would be glad to be able to rest for a bit, I knew it would be impossible to ever have the same experience again. But on top of it all, I was excited, I think. I was excited to go back to my life, to start some parts of it from scratch and return to the familiar parts a new, far more complete man. You see, I have learned a lot over here, about life, perspective, love, meaning, understanding and the person that I am. I consider myself a vastly different person than the shell of myself I had retreated into in 2013. Little did I know on May 8th, as I triumphantly stood at the southern tip of New Zealand, that in 2 days time, on my 25th birthday, a familiar part of my life would be thrown into disarray (unfortunately all too familiarly), my new vision of my self would be challenged and I would have a perfect opportunity to slide back into that dark, awful hollowed shell of myself.
In the year and a half before I came to New Zealand, my faith in people had dissolved. A large chunk of it was stolen away by a Barcelona gypsy family that preyed on the trust of others. Another large piece was excised at the same time the first hole in my heart was opened. And the rest slowly leaked out of me, like air leaks out of balloon that, once bright and bouncy, now sits forgotten, dull and listless, as I saw all around me a world of people that, when confronted with the opportunity to do right or wrong, frequently chose to do wrong, or worse yet, nothing at all. There were bright spots, to be sure, but they could never fully illuminate the weighty gloom that I felt around me.
But then I came to New Zealand. And I walked in the new land, and breathed in the new air, and I marvelled at the landscape and I combed the topography of my mind and I found my demons and I fought them bitterly, tooth and nail, and I cried until I was empty and raw, and I cleared my head in pools of solitude and then...then I let go. I stopped trying to control everything, stopped trying to wrestle and fight and resist, stopped trying to pound order and logic and cogency into everything. Because, you see, life is not order, life is not rigid, life does not adhere strictly to your life plan. Life, nature, existence, it has no master. Our universe is governed by entropy, chaos. Life will unfold as it will, and we can plan and prepare as best as we can, but until we can embrace chaos, we will be doomed to resist it, and that is a battle we cannot win. I'm not saying we should throw ourselves back to the dark ages, I'm not saying we should ever give up trying to make sense of our world and I'm certainly not saying we should abandon our search for meaning and understanding. Chaos does not exclude understanding, but to understand, we must accept chaos. We must be willing to open our hearts to the maelstrom of uncertainty and move with it, not struggle vainly against it. As soon as I grasped this, I felt the reins on my soul begin to loosen. I remembered how to laugh until tears streamed down my cheeks and my body shook. I embraced the chaos of life, exulted in it, tumbled in the beautiful entropy of the universe and in so doing, found a new glowing in my soul. It was warm and heavy, but not thick or suffocating. It permeated my being and bathed everything in a soft radiance. And do you know what this soft, warm glow was? Love. It was love, my friends. It was happiness and joy, peace, calm, quiet confidence, and above all else, it was understanding.
I've had many great adventures on this trip, but alone they tell me little about life. Because, you see, life is not experience, it is understanding. It is learning from experience. It is growing in the face of tragedy. It is radiating in the warmth of happiness. It is courage in the worst of times, it is beneficence in the best. It is learning and growing and falling and failing. It is love through all. It is confidence and strength of character seamlessly bound with modesty, caring and empathy. It is being true to yourself while being true to those around you. It is knowing that very few people will ever truly understand you, that many will challenge you and some will break you, but through it all, you will stay true to this, your code of ethics, your raison d'etre.
So, when my faith in people was shaken again, profoundly and deeply, what would I do? Would I forget my code, my raison? Would I retreat back into a shell of myself? Would I let depression cripple me, infiltrate and paralyze my thoughts and ability to act? Or, would I embrace my new code? Would I remember the way I had learned to see the world and allow myself to be the person I thought I had become?
I chose, and will always choose, the latter. I choose love and understanding. I choose courage and faith. Faith not in a higher being or even my self, but in compassion, growth, and understanding. I choose to be whole and complete anyways. I choose to be...happy. Calm, patient, understated, relaxed and yet fully uninhibited happiness.
The world is an exceptionally scary, dangerous and unforgiving place. Nature embraces chaos, it is ruled by it. But chaos does not exclude understanding. One must be willing to open their heart to the maelstrom and move with it. Breathe and blink, feel, reflect, rejoice. Relax, and remember: it's all gonna be alright, baby, just leave your heart open and your head clear and give thanks for this beautiful, chaotic, uncontrollable life.
For those of you that might be looking to find your self (two words, not a typo), let me proffer this: The realization of the self does not happen by simply forging ahead in the drudgery of the day-to-day. It happens by a thorough, careful and sometimes painful plumbing of the soul. It happens by recognizing your demons, and, instead of going to war with them, making peace with them. It happens when you open your eyes and your heart, when you accept that there is joy and progress and learning everywhere. It will come in shouts and bursts and agony and mirth, but it will never happen in the comfort of the familiar.
I hope you allow yourself to embrace the chaos in this world and ride it like lightning on your own journey to your own understanding and the discovery of your own self. And if you ever need a push or a nudge, or an ear or a hand, I'll be here, as a friend, with nothing but patience, peace and love in my heart.
G
Monday, May 19, 2014
Friday, April 11, 2014
Settling In
This morning I woke at 7:30 to a dull grey light seeping in through our window and the soft pitter pat pat of rain quietly knocking on the roof of our hostel room. I groaned inwardly. In the last 3 days I had hiked 105 km through (purportedly) beautiful landscapes, all of which had been obscured by an unapologetically stubborn cloudfront, aloofly loitering at about 1000m, just below where the really incredible topography began, and I did not have much desire to embark on another 35 k day, this time through the rain. So, after waging a quick inner war and a brief, sleepyheaded chat with Ben, we decided to take a zero in Twizel. It's been 9 days since my last zero, and this one has been much appreciated.
The last week and a half has been spectacular. We left Christchurch a week and a half or so ago and restarted our walk, this time through the massive Canterbury plains. A "canter" is the natural walk of a horse, and I can only imagine that if horses dream of a heaven, they dream of "Canter"bury. In fact, Peter Jackson brought Rohan, the Middle Earth horse kingdom, to life on the plains of Canterbury. So, what am I driving at? Well, I suppose I'm driving at a description of Canterbury. If I had to describe it in 3 words they would be either: "Kansas with hills" or "Kansas...but pretty." Like Kansas because of the golden color and massive expanse, but the character of the landscape is totally different. Basically our experience was that we would walk from one massive, glacially-carved, yellow grass and tussock covered valley up to a high point with expansive views and down to another valley of the same massive and golden variety. In a few places, the valleys had been filled in and given way to lakes, 30 to 40 kilometers in distance and 10 in breadth. It's been an absolutely amazing place to walk through and, as if NZ read my last real blog post and graciously smiled upon me, it's been unlike anything I've ever seen before.
I'm also happy to report that, since my writing about it, I've had absolutely no desire to quit. In fact, I'm feeling very contentedly settled in to this life of long-walking. I love it. There is a lot that has changed and allowed me to be able to enjoy this walk again. Perhaps the biggest is that I have my big companion back. It's so nice to be able to share the trip with Ben. We spend a lot if time just goofing off and laughing at each other and ourselves and in so doing we make the trip our own. We're doing this trail in a uniquely Ben and Gary way, and that's what I love. As just one example, we don't rise and fall with the sun, as many other thru-trampers do. Instead, we wake up at 9 or 10 and snooze our alarm for at least 20 minutes, curling deeper and deeper into our warm, goose down sanctuaries as the once peaceful and now hell-ish "dawn chorus" alarm sound screeches out each wrenching note in its electronically wrought "melody." Nestled in our sleeping bags we seek to block out the persistent alarm and the mid-morning light shining into our hut before the urge to pee finally overcomes my desire to stay curled in my lofty, baffled, feathered bliss. Then, slowly, groggily and most ungracefully, I stumble out of my bunk and, with a big, sheepish smirk greet the day with one, definitive and cooly defiant word: "oops." A shared bought of laughter then follows, typically joined with the release of another, windier, smellier, and more musical urge that has been building all night. The volume of the laughter increases accordingly before I'm finally driven from the hut to accomplish my original task as the last of the clean hut air becomes swallowed up by laughter or pollution. In my opinion, there is no better way in the world to start the day.
From there we go through our day. We pack slowly and start late, justifying our tardiness by stating that we rarely stop once we've started, though occasional 2 to 3 hour lunchtimes and naps beg to differ. Sometimes we're tired, sometimes I'm grumpy, but always, by the end of the day, I am content, wishing to be doing nothing other than exactly this.
So, life is good. There is still a lot that floats through my head each day about life and existence and all that other lighthearted stuff, but I'll save that for another day. For now, I'm going to go help fellow thru-hiker Jess celebrate her 24th birthday along with her hiking partner, Izak, and, of course, my buddy, Ben. I'll do my best to post again before not too long...
Until then,
G
The last week and a half has been spectacular. We left Christchurch a week and a half or so ago and restarted our walk, this time through the massive Canterbury plains. A "canter" is the natural walk of a horse, and I can only imagine that if horses dream of a heaven, they dream of "Canter"bury. In fact, Peter Jackson brought Rohan, the Middle Earth horse kingdom, to life on the plains of Canterbury. So, what am I driving at? Well, I suppose I'm driving at a description of Canterbury. If I had to describe it in 3 words they would be either: "Kansas with hills" or "Kansas...but pretty." Like Kansas because of the golden color and massive expanse, but the character of the landscape is totally different. Basically our experience was that we would walk from one massive, glacially-carved, yellow grass and tussock covered valley up to a high point with expansive views and down to another valley of the same massive and golden variety. In a few places, the valleys had been filled in and given way to lakes, 30 to 40 kilometers in distance and 10 in breadth. It's been an absolutely amazing place to walk through and, as if NZ read my last real blog post and graciously smiled upon me, it's been unlike anything I've ever seen before.
I'm also happy to report that, since my writing about it, I've had absolutely no desire to quit. In fact, I'm feeling very contentedly settled in to this life of long-walking. I love it. There is a lot that has changed and allowed me to be able to enjoy this walk again. Perhaps the biggest is that I have my big companion back. It's so nice to be able to share the trip with Ben. We spend a lot if time just goofing off and laughing at each other and ourselves and in so doing we make the trip our own. We're doing this trail in a uniquely Ben and Gary way, and that's what I love. As just one example, we don't rise and fall with the sun, as many other thru-trampers do. Instead, we wake up at 9 or 10 and snooze our alarm for at least 20 minutes, curling deeper and deeper into our warm, goose down sanctuaries as the once peaceful and now hell-ish "dawn chorus" alarm sound screeches out each wrenching note in its electronically wrought "melody." Nestled in our sleeping bags we seek to block out the persistent alarm and the mid-morning light shining into our hut before the urge to pee finally overcomes my desire to stay curled in my lofty, baffled, feathered bliss. Then, slowly, groggily and most ungracefully, I stumble out of my bunk and, with a big, sheepish smirk greet the day with one, definitive and cooly defiant word: "oops." A shared bought of laughter then follows, typically joined with the release of another, windier, smellier, and more musical urge that has been building all night. The volume of the laughter increases accordingly before I'm finally driven from the hut to accomplish my original task as the last of the clean hut air becomes swallowed up by laughter or pollution. In my opinion, there is no better way in the world to start the day.
From there we go through our day. We pack slowly and start late, justifying our tardiness by stating that we rarely stop once we've started, though occasional 2 to 3 hour lunchtimes and naps beg to differ. Sometimes we're tired, sometimes I'm grumpy, but always, by the end of the day, I am content, wishing to be doing nothing other than exactly this.
So, life is good. There is still a lot that floats through my head each day about life and existence and all that other lighthearted stuff, but I'll save that for another day. For now, I'm going to go help fellow thru-hiker Jess celebrate her 24th birthday along with her hiking partner, Izak, and, of course, my buddy, Ben. I'll do my best to post again before not too long...
Until then,
G
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Another quick update
Well I succumbed to procrastination with this blog post and now it will have to be a short one. I'm currently in Christchurch at Gabe Lewis' place. He is a TA here at the University of Canterbury but is also a Williams and Overland alum. Gabe is heading back to the states tomorrow so we are staying here one more night to help send him off.
Ben and I arrived in Christchurch after an awesome 9 day stint in the bush. We covered a lot of miles and did it in a much better way than I had been doing it solo. We would hike until we wanted to stop most days, which meant short days alternating with long days instead of trying to grunt out 25k every day. Some days we only went 10k and on one glorious day we went 50.
Regardless of how we've been covering the miles, it's been so nice to have my buddy back in the woods. Days are filled with jokes and laughing instead of introspection and worry. When days are hard, I find myself able to laugh at them and just shake my head with Ben and say, "this is ridiculous," instead of muttering the same thing to myself in a much more agitated tone.
We've been in Christchurch for 4 busy days now. In that time, we've been to a rugby game, a beer festival and a concert as well as doing the necessary large amounts of sleeping and eating. Now we're getting ready to head off for 9 more days and I intend to post a longer blog after that. So, a few pictures are below to provide some of the scenic highlights (including one from a natural hot springs on the trail!).
Until next time,
G
Ben and I arrived in Christchurch after an awesome 9 day stint in the bush. We covered a lot of miles and did it in a much better way than I had been doing it solo. We would hike until we wanted to stop most days, which meant short days alternating with long days instead of trying to grunt out 25k every day. Some days we only went 10k and on one glorious day we went 50.
Regardless of how we've been covering the miles, it's been so nice to have my buddy back in the woods. Days are filled with jokes and laughing instead of introspection and worry. When days are hard, I find myself able to laugh at them and just shake my head with Ben and say, "this is ridiculous," instead of muttering the same thing to myself in a much more agitated tone.
We've been in Christchurch for 4 busy days now. In that time, we've been to a rugby game, a beer festival and a concert as well as doing the necessary large amounts of sleeping and eating. Now we're getting ready to head off for 9 more days and I intend to post a longer blog after that. So, a few pictures are below to provide some of the scenic highlights (including one from a natural hot springs on the trail!).
Until next time,
G
Monday, March 17, 2014
Defeat and other ephemeralities
I quit.
Or rather, I had decided to quit. I was 60k from my nearest exit and defeated. It wasn't even a difficult section of trail, but I was just done. Everything that I was seeing, all of the beautiful mountains, crystal clear rivers and alpine lakes, all of the grassy river deltas, all of it, it all looked familiar. Each view was calling to mind a view from the past. When I walked along through shrouded mist, I thought of the Oregon coast. When I scrambled up and down scree fields to views of craggy, open tops, dotted with the last lingering remnants of snow, I was reminded of California. When I walked down desert-like gorges, painted by rising red hills, I was reminded of Paria Canyon and the southwest. So why was I here? Why was I as far away as I could possibly be from my family and friends, the people that I loved, the people that knew me best, the people that I could share these moments with? Why should I keep walking along in New Zealand by myself? What was this accomplishing? What was the point?
The section started off well enough: 30 easy kilometers, first along Lake Rotoiti and then up the river towards its source (pictures scattered throughout in roughly chronological order). I met a nice couple from Seattle and a German guy who would rather be alone at my hut and had a fine night. The next day was a nice saddle with a view, then down to a river, then back up to the clearest body of freshwater in the world, Blue Lake. There, I met up with Jeb, Robby, Amy and Brit (the Americans I had been leapfrogging with) and it was nice to have some familiar faces and good company around. I spent the evening talking with Jeb and a teacher that was out on a trip with 17 high school aged kids. We watched the sky and enjoyed the beauty of such a pristine place.
The next morning, I woke up late, and just stayed at the lake, taking pictures, and soaking it all in (this time in the peace and quiet that remained after the school group had left). But as I killed time there, admiring the lake and trying as hard as I could to take in the beauty and really appreciate the moment, I found myself falling deeper and deeper into a state of despair. I didn't care how clear the lake was, I didn't want to take pictures of it, I had seen it before, in the granite alpine zones of California. And then I stopped trying to be positive, I stopped trying to think about how much I should be enjoying it all, and just let a heavy wave of sadness wash over me. I let it permeate me and run throughout, filling every fiber of me, not worrying about how I should be feeling, not rushing to get over it and move on, and I just let the emotion run its course.
I felt so much better afterwards. The whole state of sadness had been short lived, but complete, total, all-encompassing. It left me tired, my legs feeling heavier than ever, but also cleansed. I wasn't happy afterwards - I remained downtrodden all day - but it felt better to just embrace how I was feeling and not try to force it through me or alter its course. All emotions are transient and sometimes we just have to embrace them, good or bad.
So, I plodded on. I had a long day over another gorgeous pass and ended at a tiny little shack along a wide river. The next day, I hiked on, slowly, still feeling low, questioning everything. Eventually I stopped thinking about the things that got me down and thought about the things that I wanted to do. I started to develop a plan for what I wanted, right then, and how I could execute it. I wanted to see my friends. I wanted to go home. I wanted to start using my brain again instead of just my legs. I wanted to be mentally stimulated. I wanted a problem to work on. I realized that I was happiest when my brain was working on something. If it doesn't have a problem to work on, it tends to just spin, frantically darting down the same neural pathways it always runs down, never stopping, never slowing, always spinning, always moving, always clamboring for something to do. I realized when I gave my brain something to do was when I was always happiest. I realized that I have always been happiest when I am learning, discovering and working on problems. When my brain has something to tackle, I feel like I can feel new passages and trains of thought developing. I've felt good after a good physical wringing, but I wanted to be doing something mentally as well. I wanted to go home, see my friends and start doing things to find a job that would give me that mental stimulation. I would keep backpacking and biking and running and swimming, but embrace something that I've always heard and always diregarded: "everything in moderation."
So I was done, I was going to hike 60 more kilometers and then make plans to go home, coming back to visit Dave and Wampler in mid-May.
That night I walked to a beautiful hut on a grassy flat just upriver from a confluence. The next morning, I decided that I didn't want to walk that day. I wanted to stay put and enjoy this beautiful hut and let a tropical depression (rainstorm) pass over me. So, I did nothing that morning. I sat around and read old Nat Geos that had been left in the hut, had tea, and relaxed and thought. I thought that maybe it wasn't time to go home, not yet. This day of relaxation was great. There was no place I'd rather be. Seriously. This was the most perfect place in the world to me at that moment. And I realized that I wasn't done with the trail, but I was done being stressed about the trail. I was done trying to chase people down and coordinate things and force order into something that needed entropy, chaos, surprise intrigue, unexpectedness. When you're solo, if you try too hard to force order on things, to control every aspect of it, then you are setting yourself up for failure. You put a strangle hold on things that drains the color out of it all, you eliminate the adventure, take away the fun. So I spent the morning relaxing.
Then, around noon or one, Dylan and Mary showed up at my hut. They were so lively and energetic and enjoyable to be around that they immediately inflated my spirit. They ended up staying the afternoon and night at the hut and we all sat around and talked and played cards and joked and instantly felt better. I was rejuvenated. The next day, we walked 30 k out to Boyle Village and then hitched together to Hanmer Springs. And wouldn't you know it, it was St Patty's Day. We headed out to the Irish pub in town and ran into Jeb, Amy, Robby and Brit! I thought they were long gone, but they had decided to take a zero day in town. So, the 7 of us celebrated St Patty's Day together - with rounds of "jugs" (baby pitchers), Irish stew, pizza, a live band, the lively people of the town and some wonderful dancing. It was just an awesome night.
So, as a way of closing, it turns out that, as much as I joke about it, I actually don't hate people. I may be quiet sometimes, but I'm a social person. I love my friends and family, I love meeting people and being around them. I don't want to just go on a long, lonely walk in the woods. The long, lonely walk was good for a while, but it's people like Mary and Dylan, like Jeb, Amy, Robby and Brit that make the trail. It doesn't matter if you walk every step of the trail, it matters what you do with the steps you take. If something isn't working, you have to change it, you have to do something to make it right. For me, that was taking a zero day in the middle of New Zealand backcountry that ended up saving my trip. I want to be here now, I want to stay, I want to keep walking.
I've unquit.
Or rather, I had decided to quit. I was 60k from my nearest exit and defeated. It wasn't even a difficult section of trail, but I was just done. Everything that I was seeing, all of the beautiful mountains, crystal clear rivers and alpine lakes, all of the grassy river deltas, all of it, it all looked familiar. Each view was calling to mind a view from the past. When I walked along through shrouded mist, I thought of the Oregon coast. When I scrambled up and down scree fields to views of craggy, open tops, dotted with the last lingering remnants of snow, I was reminded of California. When I walked down desert-like gorges, painted by rising red hills, I was reminded of Paria Canyon and the southwest. So why was I here? Why was I as far away as I could possibly be from my family and friends, the people that I loved, the people that knew me best, the people that I could share these moments with? Why should I keep walking along in New Zealand by myself? What was this accomplishing? What was the point?
The section started off well enough: 30 easy kilometers, first along Lake Rotoiti and then up the river towards its source (pictures scattered throughout in roughly chronological order). I met a nice couple from Seattle and a German guy who would rather be alone at my hut and had a fine night. The next day was a nice saddle with a view, then down to a river, then back up to the clearest body of freshwater in the world, Blue Lake. There, I met up with Jeb, Robby, Amy and Brit (the Americans I had been leapfrogging with) and it was nice to have some familiar faces and good company around. I spent the evening talking with Jeb and a teacher that was out on a trip with 17 high school aged kids. We watched the sky and enjoyed the beauty of such a pristine place.
The next morning, I woke up late, and just stayed at the lake, taking pictures, and soaking it all in (this time in the peace and quiet that remained after the school group had left). But as I killed time there, admiring the lake and trying as hard as I could to take in the beauty and really appreciate the moment, I found myself falling deeper and deeper into a state of despair. I didn't care how clear the lake was, I didn't want to take pictures of it, I had seen it before, in the granite alpine zones of California. And then I stopped trying to be positive, I stopped trying to think about how much I should be enjoying it all, and just let a heavy wave of sadness wash over me. I let it permeate me and run throughout, filling every fiber of me, not worrying about how I should be feeling, not rushing to get over it and move on, and I just let the emotion run its course.
I felt so much better afterwards. The whole state of sadness had been short lived, but complete, total, all-encompassing. It left me tired, my legs feeling heavier than ever, but also cleansed. I wasn't happy afterwards - I remained downtrodden all day - but it felt better to just embrace how I was feeling and not try to force it through me or alter its course. All emotions are transient and sometimes we just have to embrace them, good or bad.
So, I plodded on. I had a long day over another gorgeous pass and ended at a tiny little shack along a wide river. The next day, I hiked on, slowly, still feeling low, questioning everything. Eventually I stopped thinking about the things that got me down and thought about the things that I wanted to do. I started to develop a plan for what I wanted, right then, and how I could execute it. I wanted to see my friends. I wanted to go home. I wanted to start using my brain again instead of just my legs. I wanted to be mentally stimulated. I wanted a problem to work on. I realized that I was happiest when my brain was working on something. If it doesn't have a problem to work on, it tends to just spin, frantically darting down the same neural pathways it always runs down, never stopping, never slowing, always spinning, always moving, always clamboring for something to do. I realized when I gave my brain something to do was when I was always happiest. I realized that I have always been happiest when I am learning, discovering and working on problems. When my brain has something to tackle, I feel like I can feel new passages and trains of thought developing. I've felt good after a good physical wringing, but I wanted to be doing something mentally as well. I wanted to go home, see my friends and start doing things to find a job that would give me that mental stimulation. I would keep backpacking and biking and running and swimming, but embrace something that I've always heard and always diregarded: "everything in moderation."
So I was done, I was going to hike 60 more kilometers and then make plans to go home, coming back to visit Dave and Wampler in mid-May.
That night I walked to a beautiful hut on a grassy flat just upriver from a confluence. The next morning, I decided that I didn't want to walk that day. I wanted to stay put and enjoy this beautiful hut and let a tropical depression (rainstorm) pass over me. So, I did nothing that morning. I sat around and read old Nat Geos that had been left in the hut, had tea, and relaxed and thought. I thought that maybe it wasn't time to go home, not yet. This day of relaxation was great. There was no place I'd rather be. Seriously. This was the most perfect place in the world to me at that moment. And I realized that I wasn't done with the trail, but I was done being stressed about the trail. I was done trying to chase people down and coordinate things and force order into something that needed entropy, chaos, surprise intrigue, unexpectedness. When you're solo, if you try too hard to force order on things, to control every aspect of it, then you are setting yourself up for failure. You put a strangle hold on things that drains the color out of it all, you eliminate the adventure, take away the fun. So I spent the morning relaxing.
Then, around noon or one, Dylan and Mary showed up at my hut. They were so lively and energetic and enjoyable to be around that they immediately inflated my spirit. They ended up staying the afternoon and night at the hut and we all sat around and talked and played cards and joked and instantly felt better. I was rejuvenated. The next day, we walked 30 k out to Boyle Village and then hitched together to Hanmer Springs. And wouldn't you know it, it was St Patty's Day. We headed out to the Irish pub in town and ran into Jeb, Amy, Robby and Brit! I thought they were long gone, but they had decided to take a zero day in town. So, the 7 of us celebrated St Patty's Day together - with rounds of "jugs" (baby pitchers), Irish stew, pizza, a live band, the lively people of the town and some wonderful dancing. It was just an awesome night.
So, as a way of closing, it turns out that, as much as I joke about it, I actually don't hate people. I may be quiet sometimes, but I'm a social person. I love my friends and family, I love meeting people and being around them. I don't want to just go on a long, lonely walk in the woods. The long, lonely walk was good for a while, but it's people like Mary and Dylan, like Jeb, Amy, Robby and Brit that make the trail. It doesn't matter if you walk every step of the trail, it matters what you do with the steps you take. If something isn't working, you have to change it, you have to do something to make it right. For me, that was taking a zero day in the middle of New Zealand backcountry that ended up saving my trip. I want to be here now, I want to stay, I want to keep walking.
I've unquit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)