I take deep breaths, half because of physical exertion, and half because the air is dense with the musky-sweet smell of fallen leaves. So lush and luxurious- that scent that so many fall candles try and replicate but fail every time. The failure only truly noticeable when you find yourself immersed so deeply in the real thing.
Fall in New England is not overhyped. Returning back to the east coast and stepping into my favorite time of year has my heart feeling so full. Franconia Notch State Park has this beautiful 9.3 mile trail that summits Mount Lafayette and two other peaks. This is the trail that I am tackling today. It is a highly trafficked trail but for good reason - It is a gorgeous challenge. When I tell my parents that I'm leaving before sunrise for this hike, their brows furrow and they arm me with an arsenal of pocket knives and bear spray (even though bears aren't a huge concern in the white mountain, especially coming from Wyoming). When people start work at a corporate job, they are met with congratulations and approval. But when embarking on a solo hike, it can be met with concern and warnings. It largely depends on who it's coming from, but generally people see the prior as a safer bet than a challenging hike. Sure these two are very different ideas, but the overall concept remains; The chance of a slow invisible death on the inside from ignoring your passions in some random job, or a quick and obvious death from the jaw of a bear or a wrong step off a cliff. Which is more favorable? I'll surely be eating my words when I have a kid who is off on adventures.
I am about an hour into the hike, and I already feel a sense of clarity. This clarity is one of the reasons that I enjoy hiking so much, particularly solo. My thoughts that are normally swirling around in the whirlpool of my mind finally clump together and are so compelling to me that I am pulling my phone out every ten minutes and recording a voice memo. The irony is that in these moments where I feel the most sane, I probably seem the most insane to a passerby. When words seamlessly come together to form something beautiful, it is a rarity that anyone who loves to write jumps at. This is the time where I come the closest to that rarity, and I feel the most compelled to write. I would love to call myself an author someday, a novelist. Over the past 2 years I have started the first page of the same story close to ten times. Each time the story has a different voice, narrator, tone, point of view... I never get past the first page. If I keep this up I'll have a novella by 2035 composed entirely of first pages. When I am hiking, I feel confident that I could complete the novel by the time I reach the bottom... If only I had a wonderfully lightweight desk and chair to set up every few miles. That is for sure the only thing stopping me from becoming a novelist...
While hiking I think to myself that if I was a kangaroo I wouldn't have to carry a backpack on this hike, I could keep everything tucked away in my pouch.
I hike this trail the opposite way from what people normally do because I find that during the entire ascent I rarely see anyone, as most people go the other way. The only people I pass who are also going up are an older couple. The man is wearing a ridiculous looking sun-protecting floppy hat, and I love it. He and his wife give me the biggest smile, and he says, "Hello there! What a magnificent day isn't it?" I reply, "Yes, absolutely beautiful - Can't complain!" And we're practically embracing each other with our words, tone, and mannerisms. I am especially warm to people hiking up the same direction I am. In my mind it means that they are also seeking solitude, and I warm thinking about how we share similar mindsets in our quest for peace. The greetings people give when they pass me on a hike is something that I look forward to greatly. Sometimes it's a bland one - A smile-lacking and curt, "hey." Sometimes there is no greeting at all, completely averted eyes. But many times I am met with the warmest and most radiant greeting that makes my heart squeeze with delight and sometimes brings tears to my eyes the only way group workout classes and smoothly moving traffic does. It's something about the feel of unity in something that we are all doing together. Such a small thing, but it makes me feel a commonality with complete strangers which reminds me of the point of being human and what a special gift it is to be able to communicate and work together in both simple and complex ways. When the world is divided so much, it makes it difficult to see and remember this unity. It's in these small moments that we can catch a glimpse of the togetherness that reminds us of all we are capable of.
When I begin the steepest part of the ascent to the first peak, Mount Lafayette, my stomach begins to growl like a beast separate from myself. I toss it an apple to chomp on, and it seems appeased, for now. I love a good simile. I remember that a professor of one of my writing classes in college told me that my writing is too flowery - That I use too many metaphors and similes. I do believe that less can be more in writing, but I love similes like a raccoon loves marshmallows (see what I did there?) Similes can take mundane sentences and elevate them to become fantastical, absurd... beautiful.
I once met a person who I witnessed buy hundreds of dollars of hiking gear over the course of nearly half a year, but never went on a hike. Identities are created so easily, with no action-based-evidence required. You say you're a hiker if you buy the boots, the poles, and a vibrant flat-hat that has the outline of an ambiguous mountain range paired with a T-shirt that says "The mountains are calling and I must go." You can say you're a devout Christian if you have a tattoo of a cross on your shoulder and carry around mini-bibles that you earnestly hand out to every ripening youth. You can even be an environmental activist if you carry around a metallic reusable straw in your bag, have a sticker on your reusable water bottle that says "Love our mother earth," and every now and then repost on social media a national geographic blurb about an environmental disaster. It is so easy to label ourselves, and we start to believe these labels because they oftentimes directly correlate with consumerism. We can easily buy all the props to trick ourselves, and others, into thinking we are the labels we assign ourselves. I think about this as I hike today. Am I a hiker? I'd rather think I'm just a gal who likes to hike. But then also... What does it matter what labels people give themselves... Do what makes you happy. It's when those identities mutate into something so reliant on products, or catapults us into denial or blissful ignorance - That is concerning.
An inchworm is attempting to scale a rock on the path. I walk by it, and I am instantly filled with guilt for not helping it on its journey up. I don't turn back though. I'm scaling my own rock. Does that thought make me selfish, or absurd?
I am almost back to the parking lot. I pass a group of three teenagers. A girl and two boys. The girl gives me the most scalding glare that only teenagers can muster. I try and remember if I was like that at that age. All girls seem to go through a phase, brief as it may be, where they view their fellow women with wary eyes. Some never seem to give this up. Society pins women against each other from the start, natural comparisons and jealousy given extra fuel by social media and advertising campaigns. That whole topic could be its own post. Many women fight this though, and instead adopt the most powerful behavior of all; connecting with other women, lifting each other up, and celebrating their femininity, creating a nurturing place for it to flourish. I pass an especially vibrant woman on the trail, she seems to glow. I smile at her and she smiles back, her eyes lighting up with warmth. Her assumed boyfriend follows behind, his head down. I wonder if he knows how vibrant she is... I wonder if she knows.
I finish my hike in 5 hours, my heart lighter, and my head clearer. I think to myself that I wish I could feel this way always. However as cliché as it sounds, with every high there is an inevitable low. What goes up must come down, just like my hike up this mountain. Accepting this truth is one of the key ways to get through difficult times, and to also not get too caught up in the good times, forgetting that the bliss cannot continue without a dip. On that note, I'll close this with a solid simile: The views on this hike made my heart come alive like an AED operated by a Siberian Husky wearing a baby blue sweater.
