New Year, True You
“This year, I am thankful that life had different plans for me than I had for myself.”, I recited silently as I stared at the waxed “4” and “1”, neighboring one another atop my fruit tart.
After tagging along all day, the memories of last year’s celebration took a palpable seat beside me. They whispered, “You did it, kid.”
My conversations of December past were grossly hiking-centric. “I may leave my position at the hospital in the Spring.”, I declared to Lionel. I could feel her “gulp” through the cell towers. I carefully primed my mother and father for the seriousness of my contemplation to hike. I asked my confidants to champion me, their understanding aside. Some were capable. Others housed a skepticism that rang loudly. A skepticism of my campaign to leave their lives while putting myself in harm’s way. Fair. I loved them through what they couldn’t see- that passing on this opportunity would have been far more dangerous. I wept to Nicole, feeling adrift. Tina petitioned, “But can’t you just do little bits at a time?”, in the most maternally endearing Tina of ways. The answer to her question? Objectively, it was “yes”.
But in my reality, it was categorically, “no”.
It is not a full marathon if you run 2 miles, 14 times, separated.
Both successes. But with vastly different personas.
Last year, for my 40th birthday, I received Shinola’s iconic Detrola 43mm and a BearVault BV450 bear canister.
The watch went into storage.
“If it makes you happy and gives you purpose, it doesn’t have to make sense to other people.”
Advent is the season of waiting. In the words of a very special friend, Jay Speca, “But this “waiting” is not a passive waiting- like sitting in a doctor’s office…or standing in line at the grocery store- but rather, an active one. One that requires preparation- like awaiting a special someone who is coming for dinner…this requires cleaning the living quarters, preparing the food, finding the right outfit to wear, and perhaps even gazing out of the window to see if they have arrived.”
I am an Advent child.
I returned to Pittsburgh in late October, compelled to oppose any premature commitments. Commitments to home. To career. To others. To self.
I channeled my inner Advent.
And I actively waited.
I cleaned house. Prepared to break the bread. Put on my Sunday’s best. And I listened. Listened for my guest to arrive.
My guest, my intuitive sense.
I was giving the same voice that led me to Georgia full carte blanche over my directionality into life thereafter.
It spoke.
I want to reestablish my home-base in Pittsburgh. For now. I want to be surrounded by my possessions. My things. The things that bring me joy. Grandma’s dishes, my black leather bomber, and vintage ARs. I will donate the rest. Don wallpaper and dabble in horticulture. I will live simply. Keep my “pack” ultralight. Less clutter at hand will yield less clutter upstairs. I need to support myself. Feed my mouth and my wanderlust. I will practice anesthesia half-time. 2 days per week in my scrubs will allow for a comfortably modest living and 5 remaining still to exercise my right brain. To use my voice. To have the space to understand where exactly it is that I wish to go.
There are no bounds.
There is both a desire and an expectation to adopt a life post-trail that contrasts the canvas of the one that you painted before you left. An obligation that can feel like failure if not fulfilled. If I am not subscribing to van-life and planning my next thru-hike, was I unsuccessful in my quest? What if I accepted a travel position at UCSF? Then my sabbatical would prove itself?
No.
Success isn’t San Francisco.
Success lies within.
Within our mental framework.
“You’re not the same person as the one who began in Georgia last Spring. You try to explain, but you have little more success than you had last winter when you tried to explain why you must do this.”
Just as divorce unearths you. Transforms you. Delineates friend from Judas, and pins you down while holding your face to a mirror, only to drop you from your collar into a new pasture. The dissolution of the marriage that you had to the trail brings a sense of loss, grief, and change.
I returned to civilization feeling a puzzle piece that so reflexively desired to squeeze herself right back, smack-dab into the middle of a 5,000 piece Mosaic. The exact same space where she had so effortlessly fit before she left. I pushed. And I pushed. Ouch. I looked to others to adjust their own borders so that my edges wouldn’t tear. Borders that they may have had to redefine in my absence.
How is it that I can feel unequipped to manage feelings of exclusion and social inequity upon my return, yet found it innate to remain unruffled by serious threats of the mountains’ weather, nightfall and solitude? I am so strong. Yet, how can I feel so weak?
A crowded room can bring a loneliness that never once threatened me while within the walls of my tent. To be misunderstood, is to be alone.
A fellow pupil of the AT Class of 2021, Kara “The Beast” Kirtley, said it best, “And when it’s over, you become homesick for a place that no longer exists. The trail will be there, but the same friends won’t.” They may no longer be sharing your bunk- or you, their sunrises, but you continue to share the same experience with one another. They are still there. Call them. Check on them. Confide in them.
As this new year begins, breathe in the new. Deep into your lungs. Surround yourself with the idealists.
Let go of the old. The tee with the pit stains that you “only” wear to bed. You can’t feel good in that. Get rid of it. And your overthinking? Toss that right into the trash too. You already know what to do.
Your body is a machine that you depend on to execute the accomplishment of your will. Your will to put pen to paper. To run. To commute. To raise the wine to your tongue. To laugh. To embrace the ones that you love. To hike the Appalachian Trail. Your body obeys your command, mostly without complaint. It certainly did everything that I asked it to. Love your body. Don’t disrespect it with insecurity. (With inspiration from The Handmaid’s Tale, Dir. L. Garbus).
Accept change. Embrace it. In fact- command it.
New Year’s Eve brings blatant opportunity to reflect on your last 365 and manifest your next. What worked for you? What didn’t? What do you want to pack for your next trip around the sun? Which people? What mindsets?
The suitcase is only so big.
Choose wisely.
Get quiet. Patiently wait for your guest to arrive. Listen to what it has to say. That “twinge” that you’ll get deep in your gut- the one that is telling you what you know to be true but may not want to accept- that right there…that’s your “thru hike”.
Now get yourself to Georgia.
I had the honor of being interviewed by Steve “Mighty Blue” Adams for the year-end episode of his hugely respected podcast, Mighty Blue on the Appalachian Trail. Both humbling and awe struck to be a guest on the very platform that I was a pupil of as I prepared for my own thru hike. You can tune in here.
An evening with the Minney’s!
A shared moment with Paige in a city where she didn’t feel that she fit in 12 years ago, when she first relocated here. “And for so long along the way, I judged so many people whom I eventually came to love. Was surprised by so many. You being one of them. This beautiful little surprise that I never expected to connect with.”, she shared with me.
Meet Clemmie. Clemmie pioneered Redstart Roasters, a bird friendly coffee roaster. Bird friendly is a certification developed by the Smithsonian for a farming practice that mitigates clear cutting. Most coffee farms reside in old growth rainforests, which are also migratory bird habitats. The farmers that Clemmie sources his coffee from try to plant “as is” and preserve these natural habitats.
He aspires to integrate “Clem’s Pens”, a community centered stationary shop centered around the pen, ink, and paper. He feels that writing is a technology, bringing an outlet for self-reflection, growth, revelation, and societal impact.
THE Jimmy Stitt! A mentor of mine, he treated me to a Christmas Ale & kale, and I coached him through his candle buying escapade.
Joe Triebsch, a very special friend, invited me to his home for homemade risotto and trail talk. Joe taught me the backpacking basics that allowed me to get on the trail for the very first time in 2019.
My first walk. The storybook forest, exchanged for telephone poles. The loons, for motors. The view from the top, for my breathlessness. When there are no more white blazes, you start where you are.
My sister and my mother 🎁.
Dad!
Azorean Cafe’s finest display of horticulture 🌿.
Barbie Dunn, I thank you for the cremes, spritzes, and shower bombs 💥, but mostly for your support and your time 🤍.
Snail mail from Ging, Clark, and Raver!
Busted. I crafted a ramen bomb outside of the confines of my tent.
And it was delicious.
My old stomping grounds.
It took a pandemic and 2,200 miles to spend an afternoon with my cousin, Joe. Take the time to connect with the ones that you love this year 🧡.
An afternoon with Claypoole and Lucas at The Frick!
So what if the roof leaks? It was my first one, don’t judge.
Nicole & April sharing cranberry mules and my birthday with me 🎈.
Little and Arielle.
Wallflower for the W-I-N! When you say that you’ve never received an Edible Arrangement and your hiking husband listens, you get THIS on your special day 🍍.
On December 21st, I tested positive for Covid despite having had the vaccination and the booster to follow. A monoclonal antibody infusion preceeded a long period of solitude. A 12 day quarantine, in fact. One that left me separated from my extended family for the duration of the holiday, while leaving my parents exposed. I traded the wild for Omicron. My tent for a set of walls lined with boxes. I sat still. And in stillness, we stir.
With love, from Suellen🌲. She surprised me with a little Christmas “to-go” since I was in isolation 💚.
Hops on boxes 📦.
The innards of my mind and what these posts look like in their infancy ✍🏻.
🥃 Courtesy of Mr. Dave Modranski!
And to my storage unit, I toast! Cheers to the home that you gave to my most favorite things. Cheers to the beautiful change that these boxes represent. Cheers to growing out of you. Just, cheers.
Yup 👆🏻🦄.
