Campsite at mile 1614 to campsite at mile 1637
I am standing armpit deep in shrubbery. The dense overgrowth presses onto the trail from all sides, obscuring the narrow ribbon of dirt from view. The only way I can sense where I need to go is by pushing forward into the most forgiving portion of the green wall, assuming that it is the trail. I am surrounded on all sides by thick green bushes, wildflowers, and big leafy green stocks which look somewhat like corn plants without the ears. If someone were to view the scene from above, I imagine I would appear like a large purple and blue flower in the center of a green carpet. But of course there is no such spectator. Keith is a few miles behind me taking care of business. And Backstreet Boys—what I’ve dubbed the three-pack of shaggy haired young men we’ve leapfrogged all day—are somewhere even further back than that.
In a moment that drags me to a stop and makes my shoulders relax, I realize I am completely alone. That I am likely the only person for a mile. It is like taking a lungful of air after discovering you have been holding your breath for a while. The lifting of the gaze of another human feels like shedding a heavy coat in the familiar front hall of your home. I have missed being alone in nature, more profoundly than I had recognized before. Which is not to say that I do not love hiking with Keith, far from it. I feel so incredibly grateful that he is on this hike with me, having him out here has made this trip easier and more achievable than it would have otherwise been. But simply because one thing is true, doesn’t preclude another, conflicting thing from also being true. I can be happy to be hiking the trail with Keith, and also miss spending time alone. It’s not either/or but rather both/and.
Constant contact with other people is draining on me, like wearing a damp paper bag. It’s not the worst, it’s certainly not going to kill you, and some folks are more damp than others. But no matter how tolerable, how much you might enjoy that paper bag and barely notice that you’re even wearing it, it still feels nice to take it off. It still feels nice to be well and truly alone for a little while as you trod through a soggy bramble of flora. To not have to perform or consider anyone else, but to be just yourself, existing away from the eyes and thoughts and expectations of people. In a childlike way, it feels like disappearing. Following the logic that if nobody can see me, than am I even real?
You are a figment of your own imagination 🤔😂😊
In a way it’s true, you live the life you invent with and without other people.