Change of Path

I decided to stop hiking the Pacific Crest Trail last week. I could no longer ignore my inner voice that knew it just wasn't right for me. I hated the thought of letting Easy down, letting my family down, letting all of you generous donors down. Being a "quitter," again.

And, at the same time, I could feel so deeply that pouring my time and energy into thru-hiking just wasn't for me. I'm not sure where in the 800 miles I made this discovery, but it never quite fit me. I kept on trying to make it fit, and as my friend Sarah said, it was like trying a pair of shoes on over and over again that were just too small. There were many moments on the PCT that were inspiring and indescribably beautiful. The trail offered me peace, solitude, and a deep connection to nature that I had never experienced. My experience gave me the confidence that I CAN hike 20+ miles in one day, and that feels great! The trail is where Easy feels most alive and it was an honor to witness him in his element. It was a rare opportunity to get to take on a grand adventure with my sweetheart.

I made the decision to stop hiking after just returning from a week off in Oakland and San Francisco with friends. Easy hiked the difficult section in the Sierras from Onion Valley to Reds Meadow near Mammoth Lakes while I took a break. Getting away and reconnecting with good friends was just what I needed after a terrifying week in the Sierras. There were multiple times during that stretch where one wrong step would have deadly consequences (and has in some cases). After surviving that week, I decided that I had had enough of the Sierras' unusually large amount of snow this year and swollen creeks. I decided not to hike anymore of the Sierras section. It wasn't safe for me and triggered overwhelming anxiety in me. There were multiple times that week that I was hyperventilating, shaking, and needing to distract myself through music or once even talking to myself. I couldn't help but ask the question: "Is hiking this trail worth dying to me?" The answer was a loud and crystal-clear NO. In Lone Pine, I told Easy that it was very unlikely that I would finish the entire 2,650-mile trek and also rare that I'd be able to keep hiking through the month of October.

I'd thought that after my week off I would want to return to the trail and see if I could reach a personal milestone of 1,000 miles ("only" 200 more)! I was also hoping to try another section of the trail. After our reunion in Mammoth Lakes and giving myself permission to fully feel my pressing need to invest my efforts in next steps (my job search), I realized that hiking 200 more miles would just be another attempt at getting that too small shoe to fit. And that need to go further was primarily propelled by my fears of disappointing others. Not worth it.

For many miles before we reached the Sierras, I thought it was just the fact that now I was being challenged to "be" instead of to "do." What was someone who needs and enjoys productivity and the feeling of "doing a good job" going to do with days and days of walking? What would it be like to have so much time off work? Is the PCT the right way to try thru-hiking for the first time?

As time went by, the isolation of walking for miles and miles sometimes without saying any words started to wear on me. I crave connection and kinship. I love building relationships with others and I love the opportunity to be open to the surprise of every stranger. Thru-hiking is very solitary. It's you and the trail and there isn't a lot of connection with others. Even while both Easy and I shared a common goal of deepening our connection as a couple I realized my love language and form of connection is through talking ("words of affirmation"). His love language seems to be quality time – he enjoys sharing experiences together. There was a two-day stretch on the hike when I listened to an audiobook while we hiked. While I could still take in the scenery and get the exercise, I felt so disconnected from the world. I know that a lot of hikers listen to podcasts and audiobooks and music while they hike and I could certainly do that for the duration of the hike, but then where's the connection? Easy is very introverted and does great with the solitude of thru-hiking. I initiated most of our conversations on the trail, and they often started with "Hey did you see that tree" or "Wow look at those flowers." Easy was great about sharing his words of encouragement with me. He’d say "You're doing great" at least once a day (more often on the hard days). I had a habit of yelling out "Helloooooo!!" to oncoming hikers far before they were close enough to hear me because I was craving connection so badly. In spite of the silence, this journey absolutely made us closer and gave us many memories and stories that we'll never forget. I did find that writing my blog became a source of connection - thank you to all of you who followed along. Over time, I learned that the goal of reaching the Canadian border wasn't motivating enough to outweigh my need for more connection.

Another challenge for me with thru-hiking is that I don't feel useful while doing it. There's no team of people waiting for me to show up because they are counting on my unique skills. The goal to get to Canada doesn’t feel extremely impactful to me. While I know that self- discovery and growth are a large part of thru-hiking, there's something about primarily facing inward that doesn't align with my sense of purpose. Regena Thomashauer wrote a blog about "The Hero's Journey vs. The Heroine's Journey," which I've found very applicable to the PCT. She talks about the lone hero's quest towards a goal that is the entire focus of the journey at all costs. The "hero's journey" doesn't consider the feelings and emotions around the journey, just the one goal. While I was raising funds for The Breathe Network, I felt really useful. I felt like my story was making a difference and I was deeply inspired by all of you who had the courage to step up for survivors of sexual violence. I did not anticipate reaching my fundraising goal before finishing the hike and I'm still so in awe of Easy’s family’s incredibly generous matching donation! Launching the fundraising campaign was a big part of how I wanted to make hiking the PCT my own (instead of tagging along for Easy's dream). I hadn't asked myself what it might feel like once the campaign was over and there were still 1,850 miles to go. Part of why I felt so comfortable leaving my job in March was because I hadn’t felt useful in that role. I was responding to customer feedback and while I certainly brought my own unique flavor to that role and enjoyed the connection with others, my gifts and passions, for the most part, weren't really being activated.

When we made the decision to hike the PCT, get out of our lease early, and leave our jobs, we didn't talk about a contingency plan if it turned out that I didn't align with my first attempt at thru-hiking enough to walk 2,650 miles. We were hopeful that we'd both love the experience and that this trip would be the adventure of a lifetime. I hadn't thought about what we would do if I ended up not liking it and need to "go home" without that actually being possible. I hadn't thought about what it might feel like to have my things in seven different places. I hadn't thought about what the next steps might look like if our original plan didn't pan out as we'd hoped.

One of my honest fears is being too good of a quitter. I remember quitting a play in high school because I decided I'd rather be on the dance team than memorize a lot of lines. I quit playing the cello in high school because Orchestra wasn't very "cool." I'm also the kid that would conspire with my sister (let's be honest, it was entirely my idea) at swim practice to make up a fake doctor’s appointment on occasion so we could get out of practice early and quit with the laps in the freezing cold pool already.

I come from a family where my parents and sister picked jobs they stuck with through ups and downs, thick and thin. They make commitments and they keep them. There have certainly been times in my life that I wished I had more of their dedication. A couple of months ago, I saw a necklace online made by a Colorado jeweler that said "Never give up." I thought about buying it because it seemed so fitting for a PCT hike. I thought about this necklace a lot while I was on the trail and about what kind of message I would want my best friends' daughters to hear. And when I got quiet with myself, "Never give up" isn't the primary message I'd want to encourage. I'd rather buy a necklace that says "Give it a try" or "Keep going until it's not fun" or "I trust my own path” or “I can change directions” or "I'm trying something new."

I also got to thinking about the irony of walking 200 (or 1,850) more miles while fundraising for an organization like The Breathe Network. As a survivor of sexual violence and as a woman, there are times where it feels way more comfortable / encouraged / supported to suppress that inner voice. Especially when there's fears like "Easy I be letting others down?" Or "What if Easy stops hiking if I do, when it's clear that thru-hiking is his passion?" I felt like I had inadvertently driven out of the range of my inner voice and that my radio couldn't quite find that same station again. My dear friends helped me reconnect with myself and find it again. After making the decision, I'm realizing the value in reinventing myself and leading a life that's somewhat unpredictable, fueled by curiosity and courage.

To all of you who followed along on our adventure, to all of you who donated to The Breathe Network, and to all of you who love and support me no matter what, I am so grateful for your big-heartedness. I feel so lucky to have the best pit crew a gal could ever dream of. Thank you for cheering us on both on and off the trail.

With lots of love,

Stacy