5/16/2023 Tuesday
I had a rough night at the campground. The tent-only walk-in sites are away from the loud generators, but not away from all noise. A thick fog rolled in by 1AM. It turned what few lights there were into glowing orbs.
I don’t want to leave here today. It’s so pretty and the lodge has a “feel” to it that I want to take time to explore. I booked a room for tonight while I ate breakfast. I decided to spend the day writing the speech I’m set to give this weekend at a friend’s retirement celebration.
In between paragraphs, worries about the trail push through. I still struggle with the mileage/pacing thing sometimes. It gnaws at me. I’m mostly able to listen to my own voice on this matter, but it’s hard sometimes. It’s hard because there’s no one else around me doing what I am doing. My priorities aren’t speed or saving money. I want to take my time, rest, and do the best writing I can, because it’s such a joy and it is healing.
Maybe what I’m feeling is imposter syndrome, too. As silly as it might sound, I find myself wondering, is what I’m experiencing the right kind of AT journey? Am I a real hiker? Should I be pushing harder, trying to finish sooner? Where are the other folks who see things as I do, who hike as I do? I can’t find them. I’m sure I’m not the only one like me out here, but it’s tough to listen to your own body, heart, and mind when you’re surrounded by people with a set of priorities so different from your own. I talked about this issue in another context with my therapist and she laughed (kindly) and said, “it’s because you’re not 40 yet.”
Well, until I reach the grand, wise threshold of 40, I’ve got some work to do. I’m in this weird liminal space where I know what I want, what’s right for me, but I still struggle to hold on to the rightness of it in the face of competing voices and without external validation. That’s part of my hike too: working on making choices more directed by my wants/needs than others’ expectations. I will get there.
My room wasn’t gonna be ready until four so I bummed around the lodge writing. I sat on an Adirondack chair, typing on my phone, looking up to watch people come and go. Sometimes I look at people, just random people, and feel like I am seeing them. Their wants and hopes. Their fragility and vulnerability as human beings. Their intrinsic worth. Sometimes it causes me to experience an empathy so strong it hurts. It becomes too much, and I have to look away.
By the afternoon my speech was mostly written and my brain was an overstretched piece of taffy. I ate a salad and checked into my room for a shower and a nap.
Later I talked by phone with my husband Ben, who always has my back when I know a thing (like “hike your own hike”) but can’t yet fully practice it. If only “hiking your own hike” were as simple as spouting that cliché! I’m sorry to tell you that understanding that idea intellectually is the easy bit. Putting it into practice? Much more difficult.
Project Eveningland 
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