First up: the nitty gritty trail details!
Life is good out in the backcountry. So far, I’ve hiked 177 miles on the official Pacific Crest Trail and 15 miles off of it on what we call “side-quests.” I’ve seen ten snakes (five rattlesnakes, three garter snakes, one glossy snake, and one I couldn’t identify before it slithered away), made eleven friends, and drank two milkshakes. I’ve done laundry twice and showered as many times. I’ve hiked countless switchbacks and drank from streams of varying appeal. I’ve climbed to 8,000 feet of elevation in the morning before shuffling – knees afire with protest – back down to 5,000 over a mere two miles. I’ve slept next to a skunk den and weathered a high desert sandstorm and howled at the full moon.
In essence, I’ve been busy being me!
Most of all, I’ve spent a lot of time diving into my thoughts. I’m shocked at how infrequently I listen to music; most of the time I find myself motivated to hike in a state of silent contemplation. (note: ‘silent,’ as used here, is subjective. If a girl talks to herself in the forest, does it really make a sound?? I digress…)
My most interesting thesis so far is the internalization of ‘community’ as a verb, rather than a noun.
On trail, there’s a common saying: hike your own hike. Despite being a key tenant of the thru hiking world, this simple concept is often difficult to put into practice. The people you meet range from adventurous to eccentric to downright batty, but in one way or another they are almost always cool.
Once you find people you jive with, however, it isn’t always easy to stay with them. A myriad of factors come into play: off-trail obligations, injuries, sicknesses, and general hiking pace and style can all peel you away from folks you start to consider your “trail family.” In trying to stay with others, you can start to lose track of your own journey.
You may skip parts of trail or exciting opportunities, operating at the whims of your group, or get injured while trying to keep up at an unsustainable pace. Alternatively, you may slow down to stay with people you enjoy and end up missing important weather deadlines that inhibit your ability to finish. Long story short: hiking your own hike ensures you are the driver of your own experience.
That’s not to say that people aren’t a huge part of this trail! The friends I’ve made along the way have single-handedly made my experience what it is… and I’m only 12 days in. But my most recent examination of what people mean on trail is teaching me an important lesson: who I’m with is less foundational than who I am. And, specifically, how I show up as that person I am within this 2,650 mile web of fellow humans.
I’ve begun to think of community as being less about the constitution of groups of individuals, and more about the action of being within them. In this way, community becomes akin to an ecosystem – a meticulous yet serendipitous webbing of action, dependence, annoyance, transformation, and support. To ‘community’ is to exist within these social ecosystems, showing up with your skills and your strengths and your needs and your peccadilloes.
What’s more, coming to the table as your full self (rather than your most perfect self) produces the most holistic rendition of community-ing. By showing up completely, regardless of who else constitutes the social and environmental fabric within which you find yourself, you open yourself to the benefits and opportunities this ecosystem provides. The symbiosis in this state provides a feedback loop, a state of giving and receiving in measure. Community, now that I put this into words, is very similar to love. Not every day will be (metaphorical) mountaintops, and there will be low points you find within yourself and within the broader collective. But to show up, fully and authentically and generously, is community. And that is what hiking your own hike is beginning to mean for me: showing up fully and community-ing completely, regardless of who may be at my side.
Off to races early tomorrow, and many more thoughts to come!