Letter from a Region in My Mind

Written Wednesday - August 31, 2016

Once again, I find myself sitting comfortably in Kelly's apartment in Salt Lake City. Before me lies all the gear I am planning on bringing to the John Muir Trail, which awaits me, dauntingly, at the end of this week. Tomorrow will be my last day in Utah, and honestly, I feel as though I have already outstayed my welcome. This is not necessarily because I feel that I am intruding on Kelly's hospitality and home, but rather because I feel that I should be packed and on the road heading to California, stoked and ready to hit the trail - but instead I am terrified. Will the gear I bring prepare me for the environments I am about to encounter in the Sierras? Is the knowledge I have collected these past few months of preparation adequate so that I can make the right decisions in the face of adversity? Will Mother Nature be kind as we put one foot in front of the other down dirt paths, or will she whip down harsh winds and rains or even fires to block our progress? Some of these questions are under my control and some are not. I think back to Iceland and wonder whether I was as worried then as I am now. I feel as though I was not as scared, because I had five other wonderful ladies that had packed, prepared and worked with me to help me believe that I was ready. Today, I am scared because I feel worried that I have let my partner down before evening getting on the trail. The decision to hike the John Muir Trail came quickly after I decided to take this leave of absence and with Sarah deciding to join along, I felt like I could afford to focus on all the other aspects of my time off while Sarah researched the trail to prepare us.

Sarah - If you are reading this, I love you and thank you for everything you did to get us ready for this epic adventure. I will attribute our success to your attentive and fervent fact-finding skills. I apologize that I did not plan for more time to prepare things with you side-by-side and look forward to 21 days in the wilderness together.

I became overwhelmed as I laid out each item on the floor of Kelly's apartment and realized I had to exit this space in order to clear my mind, decompress from the past few weeks and prepare for the weeks to come. I picked up "The Fire Next Time" by James Baldwin from a local bookstore and instead of catching some extra Z's, I am up late - distracted by his beautiful prose and my anxious, anxious mind. The first letter in the book is entitled, "My Dungeon Shook: Letter to My Nephew on the One Hundredth Anniversary of the Emancipation". Just as the reviews on the back cover stated, Baldwin's words are biting and raw, as his uncle makes great gestures to encourage his nephew to see past a society that plastered his destiny onto him due to the color of his skin, in order to be the man that he ought to be. The second and last letter in the book is entitled, "Down at the Cross: Letter from a Region in My Mind" (blog title). Here, Baldwin speaks on his loss of faith after a period of complete and consuming devotion. What struck me most about this loss was his acknowledgement in how his vanity played into the enjoyment he gained from preaching the word of the Lord. He felt power from loudly proclaiming his belief in God and used this power to fill voids within him. At this time, I am also reading another book called, "Toward a Psychology of Awakening", in which John Welwood comments on a practice he termed, "spiritual bypassing". This is a term associated with the tendency for those to use spirituality or faith or religion as a way to overlook deeper rooted problems by instead focusing on very particular aspects of their beliefs to attain comfort. In essence, it is the act of losing oneself in something outwardly deemed as "holy" or "good", instead of truly acknowledging or facing one's internal struggles.

Stick with me here. Some say that people find their religion on the trail. I am not sure whether this is because you are surrounded by nature at her most pure or because of the people and perspectives that you encounter, but I cannot help but wonder whether this will happen to me. This thought of spiritual bypassing somewhat brings me back to my second blog, in which I question: "If I find something on the trail that I can believe, will it be sustainable and stay with me after or will it sink into the ground from whence it came?" Will I find my religion because I will be free in the mountains without any other concerns or worries besides immediate and primal needs? Will this be an honest religion, one that I can find conviction in and live by despite any obstacles I face in the next chapter of my life? What balance will I be able to achieve in my life once I have returned to it and how can I ensure that I stay true to myself and my passions while still pursuing a challenging and fulfilling career? Does me taking these six months off of work mean that I should not take any more time off work once I return? Will I have had my fill? Should I be satisfied with what I was given and ask for no more? What changes will I have to make to how I live to reach the equilibrium I seek and what will I have to sacrifice? These big and overwhelming questions are scary to face. I fear the trail because I know that it will change me emotionally, physically and mentally - but I also embrace it and welcome it because the changes are already within me and are just waiting for the right opportunity to unfold themselves.

Once upon a time, I grew up in a small town in the most northeast county of New Jersey; today I sit, greater than 2,000 miles away from home and less than 72 hours away from a great journey. Here I am, telling myself that it is only 211 miles and there are people out there currently on mile 1,800, quietly progressing toward their objectives whether they be walking the Continental Divide, the Appalachian Trail or the Pacific Crest Trail. I am trying to reason with myself that what I am about to do is not that bad, because there are people out there doing larger and grander things. But regardless of those people out there doing those things, the John Muir Trail will be mine. My obstacle, my mountain and my valley (literally).

Who will I be on the other side?