Friends, the day is upon us. The highly anticipated, frequently inquired about, and only moderately bemoaned blog has finally come to fruition. Welcome and Bienvenido. Please, allow me to lay the groundwork. As a person who is averse to social media yet has countless loved ones across time zones, state lines, and oceans–this blog is one of my humble attempts to keep in touch. It is also an opportunity to invite others into my journey as I endeavor to thru-hike all 2,650 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail.
Ah, yes. The PCT. A glorious 2,650 mile scenic trail that connects Mexico to Canada through remarkably vast and unbelievably varied terrain as it follows the crests of the mountain ranges that wind through Washington, Oregon, and California. If your interest is piqued, I would encourage you to do some research of your own. Meanwhile, here is the basic outline of my expedition: Tomorrow, June 25th, at approximately 6am I will fly to Seattle, Washington. From Seattle I will travel to a trailhead just 30 miles south of the Canadian border and begin hiking north. I will tag the border, take a photo, and begin my southbound thru-hike.
Hold up, you’re thinking, You’re hiking south? Don’t people usually…Well, yes. It is true most thru-hikers begin at the southern terminus near the Meixcan border and hike north to Canada. I, however, had to attend to the small matter of graduating college which forced my start date later into the year. A southbound thru-hike, while less conventional and less populated, allows for several benefits including a late-June start date (Aren’t you feeling knowledgeable? You’ve learned so much in just three paragraphs! Including the fact that PCT stands for “Pacific Crest Trail” and not “Pacific Coast Trail”).
Admittedly, I delight in the fact that my path is the less common choice. In all sincerity, I look forward to the solitude that is available to Southerbounders.
I say this because the past year, my fourth and final year at the University of Virginia, has been a turbulent time of emotion and adventure, transition and transience. I spent countless hours in reflection, trying to understand the ideas, places, people, and experiences that have shaped me into the person I have become. “Who am I?” is an important question when you’re trying to figure out “Who do I want to be? How will I live in this world? Where will I go? What will I do? Who will I be with?” I recognize that we do not learn the answers to these questions all at once. In fact, the entirety of our lives in an answer of our own making. But at a time that is characterized by change, like graduating from college and deciding how to spend your freshman year of life, these questions have a way of floating to the surface and making themselves visible.
So in the midst of all these questions, why am I doing this? Why exactly am I choosing to walk over 2,600 miles through glacial peaks, rocky mountain spines, and arid deserts?
Because if there is one thing I have repeatedly discovered in the past year–as I have wrestled with questions of purpose and belief, potential professions and the priorities that will orient my future–it is that I long for adventure. No, not weekend escapes or a two-week vacation that punctuates a calendar year ruled by grueling work-life. I long to create a life that is characterized by adventure. In the case of the trail, this means relinquishing many of the physical and social comforts I have always known and taken for granted. But I have counted the cost: uncomfortability, pain, hunger, exhaustion, loneliness, fear, danger and uncertainty.
When I am doubting, I ask myself, “What are the alternatives?” How would I spend the next few months if not sweating across some of the most marvelous terrain in the lower 48 in a solitary spiritual pilgrimage? Well, I’d find a job of course. I’d move somewhere new. I’d go…well, “forward” in the most conventional sense. Simply put, I would be facing uncomfortability, pain, exhaustion, loneliness, fear, danger, and uncertainty on different terms. So, I might as well choose the terms of my liking; a path marked by beauty, wilderness, and personal challenge.
Personal challenge. That is how I approach this experience. An opportunity to push my body beyond anything it has done before and realize what I know I am capable of. An experience that is seriously uncomfortable and full of the unknown. As a result, an experience that is an invitation into innovation, learning by doing, and inevitable growth. A moment of time to sit with myself. To be in silence. Even beyond the place that is familiar and refreshing. To think but also to get beyond thinking. To pray in a new register because the old words have ceased to make any sense. To go beyond my very self.
Am I afraid? Yes and no.
I am not afraid of being attacked. It could happen. It happens everywhere: at home, on your very culdesac, at work, in classrooms, and in church. There is no place that is free from such violence. I am not afraid of the elements. They’re fearsome and deadly, but I respect them and I know them. I can prepare in all the ways that I have the power to do so. What happens after that is out of my control and therefore, not worth my worry. I am not afraid of the suffering. It’s inevitable. I will suffer.
What I am afraid of, however, is not finishing. Whether due to an unforeseen catastrophe like a wildfire or a lethal snowfall. A terrible injury or the loss of will. Yes, these terrify me. My own weakness and finitude terrifies me. I imagine I’ll have to wrestle with these things quite a lot. The possibility of failure terrifies me. The possibility of being thrust forward into the future without the clarity I am seeking, that terrifies me. Missed opportunity, that terrifies me. Not becoming the woman I feel called to become–that terrifies me most.
And so I’ll go one step at a time. Because I can’t walk 2,650 miles all at once. I needn’t to. I must only do the task set before me today. The hardship will pass. It always does. All I have to do is persist.
I cannot share my every reason for wanting to hike the PCT. Not here. There isn’t enough time or space. I don’t have the correct words and I’m not convinced the “correct words” exist. Besides, in my experience those conversations are best had over coffee, cocktails, or cigars that burn way too late into the night. Thankfully, I have had many conversations (with many of you!) over the past few months where the reasons for this undertaking have been coaxed out of me again and again. My answers have been refined and become more clear so that as I have attempted to explain it to you, I have also learned how to explain it to myself. I can’t thank you enough–conversation partners, confidants, and comrades–for your part in this process. I sincerely hope you will continue to be a part of my journey. If you want to do that here, click the “follow” button on your right.
With that, a parting blessing titled “The Map you Make Yourself” from Jan Richardson’s Circle of Grace:
You have looked
at so many doors
with longing,
wondering if your life
lay on the other side.
For today,
choose the door
that opens
to the inside.
Travel the most ancient way
of all:
the path that leads you
to the center
of your life.
No map
but the one
you make yourself.
No provision
but what you already carry
and the grace that comes
to those who walk
the pilgrim’s way.
Speak this blessing
as you set out
and watch how
your rhythm slows,
the cadence of the road
drawing you into the pace
that is your own.
Eat when hungry.
Rest when tired.
Listen to your dreaming.
Welcome detours
as doors deeper in.
Pray for protection.
Ask for guidance.
Offer gladness
for the gifts that come,
and then
let them go.
Do not expect
to return
by the same road.
Home is always
by another way,
and you will know it
not by the light
that waits for you
but by the star
that blazes inside you,
telling you
where you are
is holy
and you are welcome
here.
IsabellaZHall 