The Comfort of Familiarity

 I anticipate the twists and turns of the road, I can get to the store without my phone, and even the trails seem to say, “Welcome back, old friend.” I still observe, explore, and am overflowing with curiosity and deep appreciation, but I feel settled…and home. My thoughts last year came at me quick. So many questions for myself and nature, and a sense of urgency to answer them all. This time though…this time my thoughts meander slowly, as I loop my heart and body into the conversation. I walk quickly when my legs want to move fast, I stop when the thumping in my chest signals it’s time for a rest, and I eat when I’m hungry. What a gift it is to integrate all of me into such a grand experience. 

So as a tribute to Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee and myself, here’s an ode to the mountains, this present moment, and my own 12 month evolution. 

1.  There are worse things than being alone - but are there *maybe/possibly* better things than being alone, too? Last year I could not even fathom not being alone. I noticed unhappy couples everywhere. Scowling or arguing or walking 10 feet apart. Couples fighting in front of their kids. How awful, I thought, to be in such poor company. Everything struck me as worse than being alone. Checking in, making plans, considering what another person may want to do in any given moment. No. And this year I still noticed a large number of unhappy couples, but I also noticed the happy ones, too. And when I volunteered to take a photo of one particular couple, I noticed I was free from cynicism or sympathy for their coupled state of affairs. They were cute. Happy. Their future may hold something different entirely, but I celebrated their present happiness, and I smiled as I walked away. This trip I’ve experienced (very brief) moments of wishing there was someone with whom I could share my super funny jokes, someone to appreciate the sunset with the same depth of gratitude that I did, someone to walk next to in silence. As an added bonus, having my son and his girlfriend here for three days gave me the opportunity to take risks that I wouldn’t take alone - and I did indeed bust my ass climbing down a waterfall. (It’s no joke. Those rocks are slippery as hell when wet.) 

2.  There is really not much for me to *figure out.* My past is not a riddle that I will solve with rational thought, I will never unravel the mystery that is my future, and all of my scientific questions can be answered by Google. (I’m keeping a list, for when I get back to stable and quick internet.) Last year I arrived with a to-do list of things to “figure out” about myself. Almost all of those big questions remain unanswered, because they simply don’t have an answer. 

3.  I hate feeling lost - always. This year, last year, all the years, it is truly one of my least favorite ways to feel. So when I made the trip down to Atlanta to see a friend play a show at Eddie’s Attic, I gave myself 5 minutes of wandering around aimlessly before I asked for directions. I’m not fucking around with feeling lost anymore when the answer is just one interaction with other human beings away. It’s so easy to smile, say “excuse me,” and ask the question. While hiking, this year I take a moment to snap a photo and draw red arrows on my phone when I know I’ve reached a crossroads that might lead to a sense of lostness on my way back. Just in case. No need to feel lost unnecessarily. I thoroughly research the All Trails reviews for tips on finding the trail head, parking, and other helpful bits of info. How could I possibly know these things without prior experience?  And I’m not kicking my own ass about any of it anymore either. I’m good at lots of other things that don’t involve directions. I make concessions for and offer grace to other people all the damn time. I can extend the same courtesy to myself. 

4.  I can do what I want, and what I want is acceptable - no questions asked. Last year I felt a tremendous amount of pressure to maximize every moment. It was the first time I’d spent so many consecutive days alone in my whole life. Surely there was a *perfect* way to spend every second. This year I ventured out in search of solid internet to get work done in the morning, I read when I wanted to read, I hiked when I wanted to hike, and I went to bed when I wanted to go to bed. 

5.  The half second before I look over my shoulder to make sure I’m still alone on the trail is still terrifying. But there were fewer of those over-the-shoulder checks this year than last - and they were usually prompted by my thoughts falling down a rabbit hole. 

6.  I rolled into 2021 committed to saying “yes” more than I ever have before. I still hold the awareness that saying “yes” to one thing means saying “no” to something else. I woke up one morning, gazed at the mountains, and realized that there were at least ten different places I could’ve feasibly woken up that morning. This year - more than ever before - I know that where I am is exactly where I’m suppose to be. I can trust myself to navigate my journey. I am a good captain of my own ship, and I’m not too proud to course correct when needed.  

7.  At present, I have four kids in four different locations. We are scattered across the US, and none of us are together. I’d love nothing more than to gather them all here and lead them on my favorite hike. But to do so would mean taking them off their path, and I want that less than I want to have them all near me. (I was talking to my oldest the other day and told her that parenting - on paper - is not the best deal. But the joy of watching them grow and learn and find their own way in the world pays off in ways that are simply beyond words.) *this is not a new thought, but last year three of them were in the same state.* 

8. I much prefer hiking uphill than down, and how did I not notice that last year? Yes, uphill is a greater expenditure of energy, but I have so much more control. The inertia of my own body weight when hiking downhill is jarring. Which explains a lot - like why I feel like I’m only moving forward if I’m struggling and out of breath. Each step calculated and thought out. What a metaphor for my whole life. Well played, universe. Well played. 

9.  I think I’m ready to be happy now. Last year there were too many things to sort out and I really wanted to have all the answers. 2020 was something, and the first half of 2021 gave me a serious case of decision fatigue, as I wrestled with and made some really tough decisions that impacted my trajectory. But I am digging in my heels on my desire to travel lightly. I am also even more committed to holding people and plans loosely. (I expect the same in return.) This is not to dismiss intentionality. I set some super thoughtful intentions this trip, and I did not throw caution to the wind. For myself and others. Decide what you want before the moment of opportunity arises and you’ll have a much better chance of seeing it through. Phone a friend for accountability if you must. (That’s what I did. Worked like a charm.) 

10.  “I don’t know,” is an acceptable answer to some questions. I don’t fully know what I want in every area of my life, I don’t know why I can’t read for one hour and then put the book down and go to sleep, and I sure as hell don’t know where I see myself in 10 years. But I don’t have to have it all sorted today. Some trails have a great view at the top, and some don’t - that’s why I trust and enjoy the process. Sometimes there’s nowhere to arrive. This moment - which is all I really have anyway - I can look out over the vastness of the mountains, take a deep breath, and exhale gratitude for the journey. 

So here’s to riding out the remainder of 2021 saying “yes” and “no” and also “I don’t know.”