Category: City Life

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Goodbye, Los Angeles

Goodbye, Los Angeles. What a ride it has been.

I was 21 when I arrived in this city. An ugly, sprawling mess of a city hidden under a blanket of smog, rimmed by barely visible mountains and populated with some of the most careless drivers I have ever seen. I remember the first drive across the city, from east to west, cars swirling around me, concrete flashing below me, the sun blazing down from on high. I was overwhelmed and wanted to love it, but I couldn’t, I never did, and I still can’t. The novelty of palm trees and year-round sun wore away quickly under the constant strain of living in the overpriced heart of the film industry. Within a year of arriving I was looking for a way out, though it would take me another seven years before I could fully conjure my escape.

I came to Los Angeles with dreams, as so many do, of life in the entertainment industry. Weekends spent beneath towering palm trees, and days spent crafting the future of cinema. I was eager and sure of myself, and also deeply insecure and afraid that my dreams would all come to naught, that I’d be seen as the creative fraud that I feared I was. That I still fear that I am. But I had dreams, and so I leapt into the unknown. Knowing that I could swim for my life if I must, but hoping it wouldn’t come to that. I wanted to find success here, praise, and perhaps even community. In the end I found all of these and none of these, for life is not the highway that I believed it to be, but rather a reckless flailing about, a grasping. Weather purely through fault of my own, bad luck, or changing tides I could never hold on hard enough to make myself happy here.

First, I was a film student, eager to please and prove myself. Then, an underpaid and often unpaid set lackey, taking orders from my peers who sought to impress the famous among us. As though the way to the top were paved in stepped on toes and screamed orders. Perhaps they knew better than I, as many of those same peers are measurably more successful than myself. Next, I became an advertising industry wanna be, and though my career there ended in what can best be described as burnout and knockout, I was deeply happy for a time. So many days my work felt like creative summer camp and I stayed longer than I should have. Under the mentorship of a workaholic and acutely inspiring boss I grew and learned and in a way found my voice. Eventually, I learned that hard work and early mornings don’t pay the bills, that drive doesn’t make you valuable enough to withstand budget cuts, and my agency decided they could do without me. The leaving broke my heart, but also taught me so much. I’m ending my time here as a corporate shill, bored on a daily basis, uninspired and overpaid, scraping together creative projects on the side to keep myself stimulated. And yet. And yet! I cannot define my time in Los Angeles purely on the basis of a lackluster career. If my graceless forced departure from the advertising industry taught me one thing, it is that we are so much more than our job titles.

What I never dreamed of is the friends I would make, and the love I would find. To those I met in college, I want to say thank you. Thank you for taking me in, giving me my first home here, allowing me to express myself and grow creatively. Thank you for the early hours and the late nights, the drunken discussions and the sober editorial sessions. I have so many happy memories from the two years we spent together, and if I regret anything it is that I didn’t hold tighter to your hands as we stepped out into the wider world. And to my professional friends, I owe you for helping me become who I am today both personally and professionally. Our relationships were occasionally adversarial, but more often they were inspirational, educational, and illuminating. You showed me that I have a voice and ideas that are worth expressing. You taught me how to defend an idea and, more importantly, when to concede and compromise for the sake of the work. And finally, you taught me not to define myself by my career, that desire doesn’t equate gain. It is because of you that I learned failure is not the worst thing that can happen to a person, not as much as clinging to something you don’t fully believe in. Though, I am not sure you ever planned to teach me that last lesson.

Interspersed between my work friends and my college friends, are my true friends, those of you whom I hope I will never lose. I owe you a great deal more than I can express. You know who you are, and you should know that I love you. Thank you.

When I think back on my time in Los Angeles, I’m struck by how nothing turned out how I planned. The comedy of my hubris is laughable now, as though any five year plan could have anticipated the rollercoaster of experiences that I’ve had the pleasure to live through in my nearly eight years here. My time in this city has been full of firsts and for that I will always be grateful.  Beyond that, the barely controlled chaos of living in such a massive city has mellowed me in some ways, and radicalized me in others. I am no more the person I was when I arrived here, than the person my 21 year old self dreamed I would become. I’ve let go of so many of the things that I thought I wanted, and in doing so have set the basis for the person I hope I can become one day.

My time in Los Angeles has taught me that the best thing you can do for yourself is to believe in something. Anything. Believe in your convictions, and your knowledge of what is right. Believe in your partners and your friends, and let them surprise you. Believe that we can change the world, that things are getting better and that we are the building blocks that the future will stand on. Believe in yourself, your value, your worth, even when no one else does. And believe in your right to speak up for what is right, walk away from what is no longer serving you and seek out the answer to that calling deep inside you. Believe in that bone deep ache that is calling you towards something bigger and better.

Today Keith and I are leaving Los Angeles, onto our next adventure, onto the future of our lives together. So little in our future is certain and I’m eager for all the surprises that are in store for us. When I arrived in Los Angeles I never believed that it would bring this kind, generous, funny, caring man into my life. And while I cannot say I have loved my time here, I love him and if it took eight confusing years to get to this point, than it will have been worth it.

Goodbye, Los Angeles. I can’t say I’ll miss you, but I can say that I’m glad of our time together.

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When Your Career is on Life Support, Sometimes it’s Best to Pull the Plug

“What about your career?” They said.

They have been my bosses, my friends, my relatives, and some complete strangers who just feel the need to voice their opinions. They have been confused that a young woman who just jumped from a big advertising agency, to an even bigger marketing company could simply be pulling the plug on what outwardly appears to be a smooth career trajectory from elite college graduate to a career headed towards more money, fancy job titles, and the cushy world or corporate credit cards and personal assistants.

But the truth is far less glamorous, and perhaps, a little more relatable. The truth is that my career has been a walking corpse for the last year and a half. The truth is that I have lied to the faces of many a person, told them my decision to leave my ad job – a job that I actually loved and was good at – was my own choice. I told them that my decision to take a job at a massive corporate marketing company was for the money, and the relaxed hours. And I’ve told  those same people that I was moving my career in a new direction, that it was done intentionally. But that is not the truth. Here is what really happened:

In early 2016 I was given the opportunity to start working as an art director at the advertising agency where I had worked as a video editor for three years. I was told that this would be a trial assignment, and that if I did well I’d be given a job as an art director. I worked so hard. I remember waking up at 4am to put in a few hours work before going into the office where I’d sometimes work until 10 at night. I held down my new duties and retained my old job, holding the edges of my career together with sheer force of will. For close to six months I worked two jobs within the same company. But it worked! The clients loved the work, they wanted to buy and produce some of our best ideas. I was thrilled! I bought champagne, I told my boyfriend that I’d done it, and that just like everybody told me, I saw that working hard gets you ahead.

But then before we could move into production, our client had a massive internal shake up. People lost their jobs, the project folded, and I was back at square one. I was disappointed, but grateful to still have a job, no complaining from me. So I started again, and my agency was all too eager to allow me to work myself into the ground. After all, it’s not like they were paying me more money. And while it would be easy to paint myself as the victim here, the reality is that I knew I should have left in the summer of 2016. But I loved the people I worked with, I liked the work I was doing, and I was being told that if I just hung in there I’d get the career I was so desperate to have. I was young, and hungry, and blind.

For the next 10 months I worked hours and hours of overtime, what would amount to two full months of OT hours in the span of a year. Two jobs, one company. I tried to launch new initiatives within the company, I tried and succeeded in impressing the most senior members of my agency. And then I got in my car and cried on the drive home a lot of nights. I took on freelance work to boost my flagging salary, I was passed over for promotions and raises because I wasn’t fully in anyone’s department and nobody took responsibility for me. I was a young woman in man’s world and I didn’t know how to speak up for myself, yet.

And finally, finally, after nearly a year and a half I saw the writing on the wall and I told them they either needed to offer me an art director position, or else I’d be stepping back into my editor role. Our talent manager tried to feed me a line about budget and getting the money for my salary but I wasn’t having it. It took me nearly two years to stand up for myself, but I finally did and it felt awesome! I went back to working under my old boss, I tried to launch a new production arm, I tried for the zillionth time to prove my worth, I continued to impress the leadership of my company, and I received the best review of my career. All of which I’m still very proud of. I was planning on leaving for the PCT in 2018, and I resolved to grit it out until then, be helpful, be the best worker bee I could be.

And then they laid me off.

I thought I was going into a meeting to negotiate a raise and instead they canned me and told me they hired my job out from under me to a 20-something dude from Dallas – talk about reading the room wrong!

And I never told anybody but my closest of close friends and family because all I could see was my personal failings. I was so humiliated. Laid off at 29. Who get’s laid off at 29? Probably lots of people, but nobody talks about it – I didn’t want to talk about it – because we’re so career oriented that I couldn’t bring myself to tell everybody how I’d failed.

When this new job offered me a decent salary, a close location, and a good title, I jumped at it, even though I knew that it wasn’t a good fit. My highest priority was getting to the start of the PCT in 2018 and getting out of LA. What I told everybody was a career leap was really more like grabbing a tree branch to keep yourself from falling off a cliff. I know that I’m lucky to have landed on my feet, that many people who lose their jobs have a far more precarious financial situation than I, and I am grateful that things turned out so well for me. Truly.

So, what about my career? Won’t hiking the PCT leave a big gap in my resume? What will employers think about a woman who gets a new job, works there for six months and then up and quits to romp through the woods for half a year?

Frankly, I don’t care.

I spent the last three years chasing the approval of those who told me my career should be my everything, and I have nothing to show for it.

Beyond giving corporate life the big middle finger in 2018, I’m also resolving to be more open and honest about it. Because if everybody was just a little more honest about work and life and the lie that work/life balance is a thing, then maybe we wouldn’t feel so hurt and scared when our careers fall apart. At least we’d know we’re not alone. Maybe you’re 23 and getting a degree you hate to appease your parents, maybe you’re 40 and you’ve just been canned from your dream job – the job you built your identity around- maybe you’re 60 and you’ve just been let go and woken up to the rude reality that your company never cared about you as a person. Whatever your reality, I bet you’re not alone.

Perhaps hiking the PCT will be the single worst thing I could do for my career, but somehow I don’t think that’s the case. Maybe placing our worth and identity at the center of what we do 9 to 5 is the worst thing we can do for ourselves. So I’m electing to try something new. I’m done believing that if I just put enough hard work tokens into the career machine that a shiny badge a validation and corporate success will pop out. I want to get out of a city where the first and most important question is: where do you work? And I’m ready to give this irreverent dirtbag life a try.

What’s the worst that can happen, they fire me?

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Don’t Call it Spontaneous: The Financial Reality of Hiking the PCT

My announcement of my plan to thru hike the PCT with Keith has kicked off a veritable whirlwind of activity. We’ve started to pack away our apartment, we’re preparing to leave our jobs, anxiety/excitement has been on the rise, and I’ve been hearing one thing over and over again: “What? you’re leaving?! This is so sudden, so spontaneous!”

To which there is only one honest reply: No it isn’t.

I decided to hike the PCT in April of 2016. Which means, by the time I get on the trail on March 27th, it will have been nearly two years since I made the choice to attempt this trail. The reality is, this only feels spontaneous to the people I’m telling about it now, and there are a handful of very good reasons for that. The first being that employers really don’t want a worker bee who is going to up and leave in a few months/years. As they say in the advertising world: it’s bad ROI. The second reason, is that a million things could have happened between deciding I wanted to hike the PCT and actually leaving on the trip. A million tiny little things that could have derailed this entire dream. I don’t want to be the kind of person who says she’s going to do something and then bails, so I decided that I’d only tell a select few people in my life about my plans until they were all but certain. And frankly, when you talk about thru hiking, almost nothing is certain.

The third and biggest reason for a two year gap between deciding to hike the PCT and actually doing it: money. Yes, thru hiking is cheaper than living in a big city like Los Angeles, but that doesn’t mean it’s cheap, and it doesn’t mean it’s free. The financial reality of undertaking a trip like the PCT is something that is rarely discussed in the hiking community, and as a result planning a trip like this can seem incomprehensible. However, I think it’s important to be more honest about where our money goes and what we spend it on, and this post is a stab at doing just that. Below you can see how I’ve saved for and budgeted for this trip, and since this post has the likelihood of getting a little long, I’ve broken it down by topic.

Estimating Cost:
Based on my calculations I needed to save a minimum of $10,000 in order to hike the PCT.  If I could get closer to $15,000 that would give me some much appreciated wiggle room for after our hike, since we’ll be relocating to Seattle, WA and I will be jobless upon arriving.

If you do a cursory search for what it costs to do a thru hike you’ll find that not many people are talking about this in concrete dollar amounts, but those who are estimate around $5,000  for their entire hike, including things like food, gear replacements, getting a hotel room in town, and rides to and from the trail. Then how did I settle on $10,000 for my hike?

Student loans baby!

At the writing of this post, I have close to $25,000* in student debt (down from nearly $47,000 when I graduated college). Those loans need to be paid come rain, shine, unemployment, thru hikes, and in some cases even death. When I started saving, I paid close to $650 each month in student loans, now I pay closer to $450 since I’ve been able to pay a few loans off. Furthermore, I assumed I wouldn’t get a job right away upon finishing the trail, so I threw in a couple more months of payments, rounded up for sanity and ended up at another $5,000 that I needed to save just so I could continue to pay back my loans while on the trail.

NOTE: I’m sure some of you are thinking, with $15,000 in savings you could pay off a lot of that debt! And you’re not wrong. But I could also be hit by a car tomorrow and killed, so I’d rather pursue this dream now. Also, I didn’t ask for your opinion or approval, so kindly keep it to yourself.

The Savings:
Time for honesty! Saving money is not sexy, it’s not cool, and it’s not fun.

To save for this hike I stopped buying new clothes for close to two years, I didn’t go on vacations, I packed my lunch every single day for months and months, I set budgets for myself for every single thing in my life and tried my best to stick to them. I said no to fun things like concerts, weekends away, and little treats. It was stressful, and lame and boring at times, but that’s the truth of it.

In addition to being more frugal with my spending, I also started freelance writing where I made $100-$150 an article. For the last nine months I’ve been constantly pitching and writing articles – a task that often felt like I had two or more jobs at any given time. Beyond writing, I took any and all overtime work I could get, I got a new day job with a higher salary, even though I didn’t love the work, and I said yes to any paid gig that came my way. Because I am good at video creation and editing, and built a solid reputation during my time in advertising, I was able to snag some lucrative projects from old contacts which served as big capital windfalls (around $2500) that helped me reach my $15,000 savings goal. Sometimes this meant that I was exhausted, working multiple jobs, and sleeping very little. Again, it’s not sexy or fun, but it’s also true, and it’s what it took for me to pursue this dream.

Pre-Trail Costs – Gear:
Lucky for me, both Keith and I are avid backpackers. This means that when I set out to hike the PCT I already had a lot of the gear I needed, much of which we used on our JMT hike in 2017. So this was a cost, but not one that came in a big lump sum. Instead it was handfuls of little to moderate costs strung out over the last two years*.

An added bonus, is that Keith is an incredibly generous and talented human being and he made many of the items that we’ll need on the trail. He designed and made me my own sleeping quilt and gifted it to me for my birthday, as well as making gaiters and a pack covers which are nicer and cheaper than ones I would have bought. Keith is also the most frugal human I’ve ever met, which means he knows how to score a deal! When we settled on buying Mountain Hardware Ghost Whisperer Jackets (MSRP $350) we waited for a sale, and then bought our jackets in kinda weird colors – allowing us to get the jackets for less than half price. And since we’re doing this hike together, we can split the costs of things like our tent and stove (this also saves pack weight). I know I wouldn’t be starting the trail half as well prepared if it weren’t for Keith, so he deserves a huge amount of credit for all his help.

*NOTE: I did not include gear purchases in my savings calculations for this hike. Another note, if you’re planning your own thru hike, or simply want to get into backpacking in any capacity, don’t be an idiot and buy this stuff off the shelf at REI. Shop around and use the dozens of discount gear sites like MooseJaw, Backcountry, Sunny Sports,  Steep and Cheap, Sierra Trading Post, and even Amazon. Paying MSRP is for fools.

Below is what you could expect to spend on your set up for the PCT (around $2,000). Some people drop serious cash to get the lightest gear, other people prioritize savings instead of pack weight, it’s up to you. But I prioritized pack weight and comfort over money, and then looked for deals to cut costs.

Backpack: $250-$350
Tent: $200-$600
Sleeping Pad: $150-$200 (but you could go as low as $40)
Sleeping Bag/Quilt: $300-$800
Hiking Outfit (daily wear): $150
Shoes: $80-$120/pair*
Trekking Poles: $100
Thermals top and bottom: $100
Misc. Other Clothes: $60-$100
Rain Jacket: $150-$200
Down Jacket: $120-$360
Water Filter: $40
Hat: $10-$40
Sunglasses: $20-$150
Pack Cover, Gaiters, stuff sacks, sleeping pillow, other random crap: $200

NOTE: Shoes, socks, and sometimes clothes will have to be replaced during your hike, so take those costs and multiply them by 4 or 5.

Pre-Trail Costs – Food:
Part of hiking the PCT is mailing yourself resupply boxes – these are boxes of food and gear, which one typically sends themselves in areas that are more remote and don’t have a proper grocery store. These boxes probably cost $400 per person for food, buying the boxes, and the shipping costs of mailing them first to my parents and then buying postage for my parents to mail them back to us. Backpackers are a weird lot, and resupply boxes epitomize that.

While $400 is a lot to spend on food that I won’t even eat for five or more months it works out to just about $7/day. We cut costs here by making our own freeze-dried and dehydrated meals instead of buying a brand name like Mountain House or Backpaker Pantry which can run $9 for one meal. Also, instead of buying snacks at the store, we purchased things like candy bars in bulk online where you get a discount for buying 48 candy bars at once.

As someone who cannot eat gluten without *ahem* unpleasant side effects, my food costs will likely total more than Keith’s since gluten free food is much more expensive than standard food. Furthermore, I’ll be supplementing my boxes on-trail with potato chips (aka backpacker super food) which are easy to find almost anywhere, but were too bulky to mail ahead.

Costs I’m Avoiding:
I’m doing my best to strip away any costs that I don’t need to pay for on the trail. We’re giving up our apartment, which also means no utilities or wifi bills. I’ll be parking my car off the street in a private lot, which will cost me $100 each month, but will save me the need to register my car or pay for car insurance, in addition to cutting down on gas money, oil changes and maintenance. My mom is generously paying for my phone bill (she’s the best!). And we’ve also elected to sell the majority of our furniture and possessions (aka return them to the great Craigslist circle of life) instead of storing them while we’re on the trail. The $100/mo I’m paying to store my car will also cover storing the trailer with all our stuff inside.

Health Insurance:
This is a big, scary topic, and one that I wasn’t fully prepared for. With the start of the Trump administration, and the removal of the personal mandate from the ACA, everything around health insurance shifted in 2018. And while I’m pretty sure the elimination of the personal mandate will ultimately lead to the destruction of the ACA as we know it – a system that relies on the payments of young, healthy folks, to subsidize the higher costs of older folks and those with chronic illnesses – it was a massive relief for me personally. I feel really conflicted about even saying that, but the truth is, I could not afford any of the options available to me under the ACA when I checked back in 2017. I was looking at around $380 a month in premiums through The Marketplace. Most of the plans would have failed to cover me if I was more than 100 miles from home, or needed to seek healthcare outside of my primary provider. In short, they were nearly useless given my situation, and would have meant incurring massive payments for coverage if I needed healthcare on the trail, in addition to the already sky high premiums.

Ultimately, I am electing to purchase health insurance through the ACA/Covered California when the plans shifted in 2018. What I have purchased would be considered ‘major medical’ or ‘catastrophic medical coverage’ which means that while my monthly premium is low, my deductibles are very high. This is the type of insurance that only serves to safe guard you should you become seriously injured or ill and need elaborate medical care. Up until 2018 I’m pretty sure these type of plans didn’t even qualify as fully insured under the ACA individual mandate. Furthermore, I only qualify for this plan because I am under 30, rarely use medical services of any kind, and am willing to pay out of pocket for any small to medium medical costs. In short, I will pay $155/mo for a PPO plan that gives me the right to not be bankrupted should I need significant medical care. My deductible will be $6500 in network, and $25,000 out of network, and the coverage I will receive is basically all out of pocket until I hit those deductibles. Like I said, this isn’t a great insurance plan, but because I am young, healthy, and very rarely go to the doctor it’s an option that is open to me. It’s frankly a bit of a  risk, but much less so than forgoing insurance entirely.

On top of major medical insurance, I’d suggest every person traveling in the outdoors buy the American Alpine Club membership. Spend $80 for a full year of insurance and you’ll get coverage for things like trailhead rescue coverage, and domestic rescue coverage in the backcountry for any land-based activity. It’s the sort of coverage that no standard insurance company offers, but one that backcountry travelers can really benefit from should you need an evacuation – helicopter rides are really expensive.

One of the other options I explored was to get travelers insurance through a company such as World Nomads. Companies like this one offer insurance for those who are traveling internationally or domestically, and participating in activities that typical insurance companies will not cover. They will also do things that no standard insurance company will cover, such as emergency medical evacuation from a remote area. These plans are only intended to be ‘secondary insurance’ and not stand in for being insured in another way. The main problem with such insurance plans is that they work on a reimbursement system, which can take six months to a year to fully resolve. This means that you need to pay all of your medical bills up front, and then submit a claim for the insurance company to pay you back. While this arrangement certainly isn’t idea, I figured that I could always get an 12 month 0 APR credit card to put the balance on until the company could pay me back. I recognize upon writing that how bananas our health care system is.

The other insurance option for a thru hiker is to buy insurance individually through a standard company. However, unless you can shell out big money, then you’re basically left with a pretty garbage plan and praying you don’t get injured.

_____

The above more or less details where my money will be going on the trail, and what I did to accumulate it before the trail. Leave a comment below if you have any questions on gear, money, or the trail, and I’ll do my best to answer them before I leave.

 

 

 

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Kara and Keith Hike the PCT – One Month Out

On March 27, 2018 Keith and I will start hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, commonly known as the PCT. Getting to the trailhead is the culmination of a dream nearly two years in the making, a dream that has involved substantial frugality, planning, organization, packing all our possessions away, and leaving our lives in Los Angeles. Upon completion of the trail Keith and I plan to relocate to Seattle.

There, now that the basics are out of the way, we can delve a little further into the plan. As I mentioned, the PCT is a really complex undertaking, and something that I’m guessing most folks aren’t super familiar with. I’ve constructed this post as an imagined conversation between myself and y’all and I’ll try and answer the most common questions people have. Note: I totally co-opted this idea from Vanessa’s blog, which you should 100% be reading because she is great.

What is the PCT anyway?
The PCT is a hiking trail that runs 2,650 miles along the height of the country from the Mexican to Canadian border, and can be hiked either northbound (NoBo) or southbound (SoBo). Keith and I are heading north, which is by far the most common direction. The trail follows the pacific crest, which is a natural feature, something like a spine made of mountains and ridges that run north to south through California, Oregon, and Washington.

If you’d like to know even more about the trail, I’ll direct you to PCTA.org, which is the nonprofit organization that maintains the trail, issues permits, and is the repository of knowledge about planning for the trail.

Rad, how long will that take?
A successful thru hike, defined as hiking from one end of the trail to the other with minimal skipped mileage, takes most folks 5-6 months to complete. This is somewhat of a inaccurate description, since the majority of people setting out to hike the PCT do not, in fact, finish the trail in one season (or at all). Most estimates put the finishing rate at around 30%.

Most NoBo hikers start between late March and early May, and look to complete the trail before late September – for SoBo hikers the timeline is closer to mid June to early November.

The reason for this timeline is due to the numerous environments that the PCT runs through. Going north from Mexico hikers must traverse desert, high alpine forest, the Sierra Nevada range, the ridges of northern California, the arid semi-desert of southern Oregon, the lush rain forest of northern Oregon and Washington before finally ending in the North Cascades and the Canadian border. If you start too late you’ll bake in the California desert, and may not finish before the snow starts in Washington. If you start too early you won’t be able to safely enter the Sierras due to snow.

What do you need to go backpacking?
When backpacking one takes everything they need to survive with them in a pack on their back, hence – backpacking. Between us we’ll carry a tent, sleeping bags, stove and fuel for cooking, clothes for hiking in, sleeping in, and extra layers for when it’s cold, first aid kit and miscellaneous electronics like headlamps and battery packs for recharging items, and some other stuff like mosquito head nets that I’m probably forgetting to mention here. 

Mmmm, so do you stay in hotels along the way or….?
That’s a great question! The answer is typically, no, though on some trails like the Camino del Santiago one can stay in hotels or hostels the majority of the time. However, since the PCT is pretty remote most nights we’ll be sleeping in our tent near the trail. Hotel stays will be reserved for when we’re in town resupplying.

What am resupplying?
Gosh, so many good questions imaginary person that I’m having this conversation with! A resupply stop is when a hiker heads into town to get more food and to rest. Since it would be impossible (and way heavy) to carry all of the food you need for a full thru hike, most hikers will head into towns near the trail every four to 10 days to stock up.

There are two kinds of resupplies, one where you head into town and buy your food at a regular grocery store (just like regular people), and one where you mail yourself a box of food ahead of time and pick it up at a post office or general store that holds boxes for hikers. The second method is good for areas with either no store, or one with very limited options like a gas station. Pre-mailed boxes will only make up about 35% of our planned resupplies because frankly they’re kind of a pain to put together and then find someone who will mail them to you, and then who knows what you’re going to still like eating in one to five months time. Some people elect to do all their resuppling from boxes, but they are typically folks with dietary restrictions.

What does a typical day on the trail look like?
In short: walking up and down mountains while snacking.

In long: We’ll wake relatively early (6-7am), eat breakfast and break down camp before getting on the trail. The majority of the day will be spent walking down the trail, occasionally stopping to rest and eat snacks and refill our water bottles. Towards sunset we’ll begin looking for a campsite where upon we’ll set up our tent, make and eat dinner, fart repeatedly, and then pass out into our sleeping bags before 9pm because hiking is hard work and sleep is awesome.

What happens after the trail?
Ah, you’ve stumbled upon what it perhaps the scariest aspect of thru hiking, clever you. As I mentioned previously, Keith and I will be relocating to Seattle, WA for at least the next few years. Keith has been offered a position at SpaceX’s Seattle branch because he is smart and talented and they thought (correctly) that he was an employee worth holding on to.

I on the other hand will probably travel for a bit (Thailand, anyone?), because I have very little interest in jumping back into the corporate world and enough savings to allow me to dick around for some time. Honestly, I don’t have any concrete plans for after the PCT. No job lined up, no apartment, no real concept as to what I actually want to do with my career. I’m trying not to think about it too much because I’m an adult and that’s how adults handle looming life changes.

One month to go, what are you doing to prepare?
At this point we’re pretty well set with our preparation. Our gear has been purchased and assembled, Keith has a job lined up and next week I’ll be handing in my notice at my job, our resupply boxes are packed and ready to ship to my parents, and our landlord has been told that we’re leaving. There are dozens of small things that still need to be handled such as finding an insurance plan I can actually afford, registering my car as non-operational, and last minute dentist appointments just to name the few that I can remember at the moment.

The remainder of our prep will be to get our apartment packed into the trailer we’ve purchased to haul our junk to Seattle, and doing training hikes on weekends. I’ve also been trying to visit with friends more and do any of the last things I’d like to see/do in Los Angeles before we leave. In some ways it’s like any move, and in some ways it’s like running headlong into a tidal wave of apprehension and barely concealed glee at leaving my city life behind. Spending time in nature is something that is central to who I am as a person, and the plan to spend months simply walking and being outside is one that is inexpressibly appealing to me.

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Men Lighting Fires in the Desert: The SpaceX Christmas Tree Burn

A great leaping tongue of fire illuminates the desert hills of Jawbone Canyon, eliciting cheers and gasps from the dispersed crowd. The flame lashes violently at the dark sky before fading, as quickly as it came. Christmas trees after all, are mostly kindling; a powerfully bright flash which dwindles to near nothing. And burning Christmas trees, hundreds of them, is why these folks gather in the desert every winter. It’s the annual SpaceX Christmas Tree Burn. And recent years has seen it grow to near cult status.

From the outsider’s perspective this ritual is endearingly bizarre. Dozens of affluent young men gathering the discarded remnants of the most capitalist celebration in American society: Christmas. Then dragging these trees, like worker ants into the Mojave desert; a desert which by name alone conjures images of desolation and solitude. But this event is anything but lonely, despite its seclusion.

Both curious onlookers, and the wealthy Burning Man community have become aware of the SpaceX Christmas tree burn in recent years and begun to infiltrate its ranks. As with any sacred practice, the intrusion of outsiders is changing this yearly celebration. In the early hours of the revelry, while onlookers poor into Jawbone Canyon, the fire like the affect of the party, remains docile. It will not be until these interlopers have vanished that the real, effusive, profound nature of this jubilee will swell into full effect.

Even at a distance the Christmas tree burn is obvious. Hundreds of bodies surround a converted school bus. RVs both rented and owned, and trailers stacked 20-deep with discarded Christmas trees dance on the horizon. The vehicles circle around the blaze like so many covered waggons. Their hulking metallic bodies are backlit by the fire, which rises and falls like the tides, as trees are added and consumed. Intertwined with the dancing orange glow is the distinctly artificial thrum of neon rods and hoops which pierce the air and twirl along the arms of costume clad people. Rolling trance music echoes through the campground, occasionally caught and blown away by the howling teasing wind that roars off the mountains and down through the valley, before finally blowing itself out miles to the east among the lonely Joshua trees.

Pushing against the wind along a winding dusty road, one is deposited amongst the thronging crowd. Swelling, and retreating as another tree is consumed and the fire forces the revelers back into the darkness with its stark heat and light.

The main party in attendance are SpaceX employees who have driven up in droves for the weekend of revelry. The converted school bus and RVs are only the start. Within the limited eye shot offered by the dancing fire are expensive sports cars, a bivvy of lifted jeeps, studded-tire motor bikes, and more than a few gleaming Teslas. These toys belong to the grown employee-children of Elon Musk, who are by and large young, male, white, and so nearly uniform as to be comical. Clad in their SpaceX jackets, hoodies, ball caps, and t-shirts one could be forgiven for thinking the burn is a company sponsored event instead of a carousel of irresponsible freewheeling masculinity.

Juxtaposed against the backdrop of skinny white 20-somethings with beards are the fans, the groupies, the stumble-ins who look both delighted and alarmed at having found themselves included, by good luck, in the wildest party that almost no one has ever heard of. These interlopers are distinguished by their relative sobriety and appeasing laughter. Later, when the the chilling wind becomes too much they’ll return to their Saturns and Suburbans and disappear into the night.

Then, things can really get started.

The party crescendos into near insanity. The fire flings itself into the sky, sparks swirling on the wind, and enough social lubricant has been applied to the engineers that even the worst ideas seem bright and promising. Music drones. Fireworks light the sky. Plumes of pot smoke twine through the crowds buoyed along by hysterical laughter. Shots are taken, and again, and again. A young man takes a running start and hurls himself over the flames and the crowd erupts into a celebratory din the noise of which could shake the stars from the sky.

Away from the curious eyes of interlopers, these wealthy white urbanites can taste something very nearly like freedom. As Junger posits in his book Tribe these men need a communal bonding of sorts, an expression of masculine community that is so rarely afforded to them in their indoor fluorescent lives. In a society that no longer requires a ritual sacrifice to achieve manhood, perhaps throwing yourself across a flaming pit while your coworkers shriek like banshees is a worthy surrogate. Perhaps the artificial danger of intoxication mixed with dirt bikes is enough to jumpstart the civilized brain back into its more primal state. Perhaps in a society that exalts productivity over fealty, we have turned the extended celebrations of a prolonged adolescence into the closest thing the working millennial has to ritual. If the SpaceX Christmas tree burn is anything, it is a ritual.

 

A remarkably docile scene greets the sun as it cracks over the surrounding hills. In the light of day the debauchery of the night before is nearly erased. The frenzied charisma of communal connection replaced by the daytime persona of stayed company man. The fire pit smolders as bleary eyed former revelers stumble around the campground picking up bits of litter and loading themselves back into their expensive cars. One by one they depart back down the canyon, returning to their urban lives, the stink of booze and furor following until that too is washed away and washed down with Monday’s coffee.

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Your Adventure Doesn’t Need to be Sexy

 

Look at this fucking shit! You could go see this! For real!

I recently told my boyfriend that I harbor a secret fantasy. One in which every young person I see driving a Sprinter van, or a Ford econo-line is a total dirtbag, living out of said van and traveling the world, and that I’m incredibly envious of these fictional people that I’ve created in my mind. He was kind enough to burst my bubble and inform me that no, these people are probably just working delievery jobs and that not every 20-something is living the #vanlife and traveling the country. But it sometimes feels that way, doesn’t it? How many times do we check into social media only to see beautiful images of professional athletes in remote countries, or that one friend who just #wokeuplikethis to a stunning view of the Grand Canyon? Isn’t everybody traveling to some remote place without me?

The answer is simple: no.

And it’s probably for the exact same reason you’re not quitting your job, traveling the world and giving the proverbial middle finger to this capitalist quagmire that we’ve told ourselves is so important. It’s because they have debt, jobs, and responsibilities that they have to attend to. And besides, who has time for a real adventure like that! I mean, doesn’t every true adventure require quitting your job, or at least getting a job where you get paid to be a talented athlete and travel?

Again, the answer is a simple: no. Actually, it’s longer than that. It’s a fuck no, and I’m going to tell you why.

The internet is full of the best and worst versions of humanity, but what people tend to really fixate on is the best. Instagram and Pintrest are especially good at propping up every beautiful person who is #livingthedream in their #vanlife with their #adventuredog. These people are aspirational sure, but they’re also not real, or at least, they’re not honest. In the same way that the abs on whichever actress is on the cover of Glamour this week are not real, nor are they an honest representation of what that woman looks like. Those images are nothing more than the best snapshot of an event, with some heavy-handed photoshopping or filtering done before you get to see it.

The problem with these social media adventurers is that it gives us the impression that you have to chose between an epic adventure and an average life. That small adventures aren’t worth it, and that you as a “regular human” can’t attain them. But nothing could be further from the truth.

Your choice isn’t between climbing Everest and watching Netflix at home. Your choice isn’t between quitting your job for six months to hike through the Amazon, and sitting in a cubicle working forever. Your choice is as simple as choosing to go home and watch Netflix, versus hiking up a local trail and spending the night camping. It’s not all or nothing. It’s something attainable or nothing.

These small, everyday adventures are just as valuable as grand expeditions for one simple reason: you’ll actually do them. And better yet, you can do these small adventures and still be home to watch your kids soccer game. Yes, they will require some sacrifice, typically in the means of time, money, or energy, but if a small investment is enough to put you off of trying something new, then have fun beating level 12,456 of Candy Crush, we’ll be sure to put your high score on your tombstone.

Still reading? Cool.

Think about the time you have that isn’t already dedicated. The time before and after work, the weekends, the moments you spend watching TV or playing garbage games on your phone. What could you be doing with these moments instead? What could you accomplish if you forced yourself to do something new every weekend, or every day on your way home?

And look, I hear you life is complicated and hard and it takes planning and maybe you don’t have every weekend free, maybe you’re a mom with kids and you can’t get away that frequently. But just because you can’t get away every weekend doesn’t mean that you should never try.

Change is scary, trying something new is scary, stepping outside of your routine is scary. But you know what is also scary? The idea that you’re on this planet for a very short time, and that your ultimate goal should be to conform as strictly as possible. That’s a crazy fucked up idea! When was the last time you even looked around at how beautiful, how insanely incredible this planet is?

Let’s just take a moment to appreciate the fact that you live on a planet that has elephants, and ice cream, and pizza, and freaky fish with lights on their heads, and also giraffes, and balloon animals, and flowers that smell good, and fruit that smells like ass but somehow still tastes good, and blue skies and fuzzy slippers, and grass that just grows out of the fucking earth like a giant green carpet, and you’re telling me you’re fucking bored? That you’re “too busy” for adventure?

Well fuck that.

 

 

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A Motionless Purgatory

This was one of those rare days where I was powering uphill away from Keith. Normally, I’m the one in the back, slowly working my way up the hill as I watch Keith’s butt stride away from me. My method has always been: move slow, rest infrequently. My body is slow to warm up, and quick to cool down, meaning that a 15 minute rest doesn’t equal recovery, it means I now have to spend another mile getting my body warmed up again. Beyond the inner workings of my cardiovascular system, this hiking method works for me. I get bored really easily and I detest sitting still.

But, today was one of those rare days, and so I waited patiently for Keith, slowed my pace and stuck with my buddy as he has done countless times for me. Actually, what really happened is that I took the lead, put on the soundtrack to Hamilton and proceeded to have my own Broadway show as I danced and sang my way up the trail. Nothing slows you down quite so much as attempting to belt out show-tunes at 7,000ft. I think it’s fair to say that I’m an absolute joy to hike with.

Our original plan for the weekend was to practice snow safety skills with my brand new ice axe. But as we climbed it became apparent that as much snow as we had this winter, it was going to be hard to find a slope to practice on. With poor snow conditions and a tired boyfriend we opted to set up camp and spend the day relaxing in the mountains. It was certainly a novel concept, and I’m open to trying anything once.

With the tent pitched, pads inflated, and sleeping bags unfurled we were all set. Well, Keith was all set to nap, and I was all set to LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND! WHAT THE HELL DO PEOPLE DO FOR HOURS! WHAT EVEN IS RELAXING? LIKE, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? While Keith dozed, I was in my own personal purgatory.

To most people the idea of sitting in a beautiful campsite overlooking an expansive valley would sound ideal. These are the same people who plan beach vacations, who use phrases like “time to unwind,” enjoy such “activities” as sunbathing, and that nebulous and insidious word “relaxing.” I don’t trust these people. I am not these people. I do not relax. I move. I walk. I interact with my world via passing through it. I appreciate nature and our wild spaces almost exclusively by traveling and being challenged by it.

How I passed the afternoon I can hardly recall. The pot that I had left in my food bag probably helped.

Luckily for me, Mama Nature is nothing if not a provider, willing to look after even her most fidgety children. That evening she put on the most spectacular sunset just for us.

Perched on a large rock just outside of camp Keith and I watched as the sun began to dip behind the hills and the high cirrus clouds were lit afire with the fading rays. The green pine tree-clad hills dipped to a royal purple, a distant lake glowed a shocking pink, and Catalina Island rose up from the golden waters of the Pacific Ocean like an ancient beast. As the scene dipped to black the lights in the valley below began to twinkle into life, a few at a time, and then all at once. In the dark we were the only two people on that mountain, holding court above the thousands of people below, evident only because of the lights of their homes, and cars, and parking lots.

As my butt fell asleep on that cold rock I thought about all those people down in the valleys and basins of Southern California. Did they even know we were up here? Do they look up to these mountains and feel the same pull that I do?

To me, these mountains are my home, my safe place. My heart lives in the mountains. And they have ways of teaching me things that I could not have learned myself. Without even noticing it I had sat on that rock, motionless, as I watched the sun set. I had found a way (or been forced), to relax for once and enjoy the moment, the company, and the view. I guess today was just one of those rare days.

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Monday Action Post – March 6, 2017

Look, the world seems messed up and scary right now, it’s crazy and I totally hear you. I also know that it can seem so overwhelming to reach out and do something without any guidance on how best to spend your time, efforts, and energy. Again, I totally get it. But let’s make a collective move from Freakout-Ville and take the productivity train to Change-Town! It will be fun, I promise.

Each Monday I’ll be doing a quick post that helps you get involved, and better yet, gives you an asset or information for something you can do right now.

This week I want to draw your attention to something really cool that my cousin and her husband launched in early 2017 with the hopes of making political activism easy. Like, super easy. Like, there is really no reason not to take action, easy.

A trip to YouLoby.org goes something like this: you are prompted to enter your zip code, this you are directed to a page where you can select the issue you’re interested in talking to your representatives about. Topics include: LGBTQIA rights, Climate Change, the Travel Ban, and Women’s Rights, along with a handful more. You’re then provided with the contact names of your representatives, and a script, yes a script, so if you really hate talking on the phone, or are just unsure of what to say, they’ve got you covered. And here is the really nifty thing, the script actually changes based on who your reps are. Calling a Republican who voted for DeVos? They got you. Or maybe, you’re in a Democratic state with Democratic reps and you still want to make your voice heard? Yeah, there’s a script for that too. It’s literally, and I mean literally in the literal sense of the word, so simple that you have exactly zero excuse not to do it.

And while I’m here, I’d like to mention that today might be a very good day to call your reps about education, as Republicans just introduced a bill to Congress that could very well affect the future of education in this country. You can learn more about that here.

Bonus Reading: This article from Rolling Stone is crazy-town banana-pants about a group of Americans who are abroad right now fighting extremists in Syria.