Means and Ends.

“Departure is simple: you step out the door, onto your bike, into the wind of your life. What’s hard is not looking back, not measuring gain or loss by lapsed time, or aching legs, or the leering mike markers of ambition. You are on your way when you decipher the pounding of rain as Morse code for making progress. You are closer when you recognize doubt is the heaviest burden on your bike and you toss it aside, for when it comes to exploring, any direction will do. You have finally arrived when you realize that persistent creak you’ve been hearing all this time is not your wheels, not your mind, but the sound of the planet turning.” Lifted from Kate Harris’ Land of Lost Borders.

I preemptively acknowledge these words will elicit some feelings of hurt, confusion, and certainly some discomfort within relationships I deeply value. I gently ask you, dear reader, if you are feeling such things to sit with those feelings for a moment rather than rush to resolve them. Are you willing to examine those feelings, the unexamined debris they unsettle, even if it is a challenge to do so? Perhaps especially because it is a challenge to do so? My intention is not to inflict hurt but to honestly share the direction of my own personal journey. Read on and read charitably.

Did you know the only reason I was able to complete the PCT was because a kind friend bought me a new pair of trailrunners that I couldn’t afford when my old shoes literally fell apart due to overuse? Or that I was considering hitchhiking back to the East Coast after I reached the Mexican border because–it sounds like a novel worthy adventure–and I didn’t have the money for a plane ticket until another kind friend generously paid for my flight home. That I never once paid for lodging in the 700 mile section of the desert because I simply couldn’t afford it yet found that there was always a friend or kind stranger with floorspace or a couch to spare. Or that when I missed my train in Washington D.C.–despite my very best attempt at sprinting through the city to reach Union Station in time–I couldn’t afford the $20 fee to exchange my fare. That is until an especially kind friend graciously paid for my ticket home.

I suppose I should be embarrassed, or at the very least contrite, about landing myself flat broke. But I’ve been poor for the vast majority of my brief life and I’ve decided it’s nothing to be ashamed about. It is a circumstance I have decided will not prevent me from taking risks and exploring. It is irresponsible? Maybe. Reckless? Definitely. But shameful? No, I don’t think so.

It’s a countercultural notion. American culture in particular is permeated with the subtle and insidious suggestion that poverty is a moral phenomenon. That people are poor because they are undeserving, lazy, unintelligent, etc. It is all too easy to ignore or be willfully ignorant of the complex social and historical processes that systematically produce and reproduce poverty–especially if those systems are close to home. Especially if they benefit us and implicate us as “the privileged.” Not to mention the countless ways in which class inequality is made exponentially more complicated when considering other dimensions of human experience and identity such as race, gender, queerness, educational achievement, and so on.

In the past few days I have had the pleasure of reconnecting with so many dear friends and interestingly enough, class has been a recurrent topic of conversation. I imagine this is because many of us are in our early twenties, attempting to navigate a daunting heap of even more daunting questions–what should I do for work? What are my professional goals? What are my personal goals? Where do I want to live? What relationships are important to me? What, if anything, do I care about strongly enough to make sacrifices? What sacrifices am I willing to make? What are the economics of “enough”?

As we venture out into what feels like previously uncharted waters, trying to become adults in our unique historical moment, we leave behind the familiar habituses of school, of home, of familiar faith traditions and worldviews. There is so much freedom in shedding all that is familiar and heading boldly into the unknown! Such possibility for great change both within ourselves and also the peculiar opportunity to remake the world. To decide what we believe to be important, worthwhile, and worth fighting for. What we will value and what values we will reject.

The widely varied responses to these questions, widely varied even within my own social circle, has become glaringly illuminated to me in the time that I have been home from the trail. I will admit this has been a difficult and at times an outright excruciating process. I have repeatedly learned those shared interests and animating ideas that united us kindred spirits in college no longer seem compelling or even relevant. Talking about the politics of justice inside a classroom like some intellectual chess match is one thing, but choosing to live in an uncool part of town because you’re deliberately attempting not to displace long-time residents à la gentrification? Taking a substantial pay cut because you want to do work you believe to be more meaningful, more ethical? Forfeiting the accolades and awards you have been trained to pursue because you think such status systems are deeply problematic? Yeah, that’s much less sexy. It is the differences in our values, the differences that were obscured when we were younger, that are now emerging and subsequently setting us apart.

As you, dear reader, can plainly see–I am struggling with watching the unfairness of the world play out in the lives of those I hold most dear. Struggling with witnessing my dearest friends who do incredibly impactful, positive, and sacrificial work in this world be compensated so poorly while other precious individuals in my life reap incomprehensible financial rewards for their roles in propping up the very systems we all hope to somehow someday someway dismantle.

I suppose what has prompted this reflection is that I am in the process of moving across the country in order to begin working on conservation projects through a service corps organization. I am thrilled to be doing work that brings me into deeper relationship with the earth, allows for me to continue exploring how to live outdoors as much as is feasibly possible, and most importantly, I am thrilled to be doing work that aligns with my personal ethos of moving toward a more sustainable and equitable world through service.

But of course there is a cost incurred by pursuing such a simplistic, idealistic lifestyle. Continuing to be broke, for instance. It’s hard! It’s frightening! Both in logistical terms–like where the hell am I going to live–but more distressingly I worry whether my decision to live in such a manner has irrevocable consequences for certain friendships as various friends and I move farther apart into disparate worlds, chasing not only different but outright opposing objectives.

Being destitute and temporarily homeless while relocating to a beautiful new place for an exciting new project? Stressful. Hectic. Frightening. But not beyond my capacity. Losing friends across seemingly nebulous ideological boundaries that have tangible, life-altering implications? Devastating.

Don’t send me money. Give me your earnest consideration, please.

To those of you out there fighting the good fight–I believe is all of us in some capacity–keep fighting. I see you. I am grateful for you. I love you.

Loving yours in spirit and in the struggle,

Isabella