I'm Done Being With Myself

Dear B & V,

The hum and beeping were a distraction from the question being debated in my head - "should I stay or should I go?".

I was in my fourth day of a six day hike on the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail (LHHT) in Pennsylvania. During the trip, I faced multiple obstacles: a lack of sleep due to busy mice, storms and noise pollution and the Mid-Atlantic being gripped by the biggest heatwave in years. However, these were not causing me to ask this question. It was loneliness.

I chose this solo trip to discover if I could break my four day record of being on the trail by myself. A few years prior, I had hiked the Appalachian Trail (AT) during an extended weekend. The difference between the LHHT and the AT is the amount of traffic. Each day and evening on the AT, I crossed and shared conversations with new people. Traversing the LHHT, I encountered a dozen hikers. On day three and four, I saw no one until the end of day four. I spent 36 hours by and with myself.

Through most of life, I never wanted to be with myself because I didn't liked myself. During my fourth decade, I've been learning to love myself. It has taken years to first recognize and then slowly chip at the dislike. It's been a process, like adding oil to a glass of water, the volume of oil finally displaces the water. I'm still on this road of growth and probably will be forever.

Around DC it is difficult to find solitude on trails and this is often what I seek now. At first, I started hiking alone in familiar spaces for short periods of time. With confidence and comfort, I drove further from my home and spent more time until I was able to do a long, solo day hike in Pennsylvania and backpack the AT.

I remember that PA solo hike. I chose a twelve-mile circuit on underused trails. My brain and heart didn't relax that day until my trek was half complete. As my feet pounded the miles, I replaced fear with heightened sensory observations. I absorbed the big and small along the trail from the views to the sparkly webs in the morning light. I met no one until the last mile, passing a couple hiking the opposite direction.

Each day on the AT, I walked with the conversations in my head but at night I shared trail experiences with new friends. I had hoped for something similar on the LHHT with the challenge of a six-day solo trip. On day one and two at the campgrounds, I left solitude to share meal time with another hiker, happy to swap stories. However on day three, I found myself alone, not even a straggler appeared at dusk. I had already spent 24 hours by and with myself. The campground felt lonely, particularly as the sun fell. I had to fight back familiar thoughts and feelings, ones I'd been working through for a lifetime: fear, loneliness, dislike and not wanting to be with myself. I processed and fought these feelings through the evening, even writing down reasons to complete my journey or go home. With maturity, my emotional decisions are less impulsive. Instead now, I sit with and simmer them.

It was difficult to sleep that night. It wasn't due to my mind but that of a nearby stone quarry's 24-hour hum and trucks persistently beeping in reverse. Occasionally though during my wakeful moments, my head conversation churned "should I stay or should I go?" I rose at daybreak with no answer, still letting the mental conversation simmer.

On that fourth morning, the air was thick. I hiked through clouds as the cool streams met the warm humid air. I self-imposed a deadline and began processing my thoughts and feelings again as I felt the rocks under my feet. My mental conversation turned to, if I "quit" will I be okay with this decision; the "failure" of not reaching my expected outcome to solo hike the 70-mile LHHT. I listened to my choice of words, quit and failure, two words I've never liked to accomplish and often fear. I questioned choosing these words and wondered if I could be okay with telling family and friends that I didn't finish the LHHT and why. Not a dishonest why but the real reason, "I'm done being with myself."

Challenging my body is much easier than my mind. I chose to challenge my mind with this decision to "go", to be okay with not accomplishing my six-day solo goal and to share the honest reason when asked. I chose to fail and thus discover my internal conversation.

With each solo journey, I gain new personal insights and find ways to grow my roots and shoots. This time, I learned: I find joy in the solitude of my body moving along a trail, I like to share my trail experiences with others at day's end, failure is my learning experience, and I'm still growing to love and be content with myself.

Love & peace,
Mom

Ohiopyle trail head