And Then I Walked
On January 19th, 2021, I made the decision to design my own life.
For 2 reasons, I had chosen to walk to the hospital that morning- 1.) Simply because my shift was beginning at a humane 9am, as opposed to my usual 6am, and 2.) because I was giving my new shorts a test run. In 26 degree weather. Completely reasonable (“look away people, nothing to see here!”). I mean, when you’re often the victim of “chub rub”, A.K.A. untoward inner thigh chaffing, it would be wholy irresponsible NOT to take your brandy new shorts out for a spin when you’re contemplating hiking 2,190 miles in them.
With quiet confidence, a numbed nose and wind-chapped legs, wearing a leopard tossle cap and my new 6” Patagonia Nine Trails (which passed their probationary trek, by the way), I walked directly into my boss’s office from the cold. It was then that I told Helen that I would be resigning from my position of 13 years as a Nurse Anesthetist.
Not to seek gainful employment elsewhere. Nor as a result of relocation. Certainly not because of job dissatisfaction. Quite the opposite, in fact. I made the decision to very willingly subscribe to joblessness, as well as legitamate homelessness, at the age of 40.
I decided to put down the manual that was handed to all of us with our welcome packet to adulthood and instead be the author of my own.
My belongings will go into storage in their entirety. My vehicle to Aunt Sandra and Uncle Roy. My mail to Monica’s. My house plants to Fauls. The dinnerware to Joyce, the wicker sectional to Shane, the bread maker to Suellen, the essential oil diffuser to Taylor. 180 pairs of Acuvue dailies ordered. Netflix subscription terminated. Doxycycline, Flagyl, Keflex- check. Blunt cut and color scheduled. Mom’s tuna noodle casserole and apple cinnamon pancakes requested.
I am going to hike the entire Appalachian trail. Referred to as a Northbound thru hike, I will begin my journey on Springer Mountain, Georgia and end atop Mount Katahdin in Maine, the Northern terminus of the iconic footpath. My goal is to finish in 6 months. Lofty. To learn more, lean on The Appalachian Trail Conservancy for a plethora of information.
I will now let you in on a secret.
I don’t like to hike.
Then why in God’s grace am I taking this bold leap, you ask? It has little to do with the hiking and all to do with my enthrallment surrounding self-sufficiency, grit, and perpetually living far outside of my comfort zone. The first time that I stepped foot on the AT (roughly a year and a half ago), I was instantly taken aback. Speechless. Enamored. Obsessed. So much so that within 5 minutes I called out to my wingman, who I am most often trailing behind, “Katie! I am going to walk every inch of this thing before I die! Mark my words!”. I wanted to rely solely on my body and my mind to get me from point “A” to point “B”, and in this case, nearly the entire length of our country. From that moment forward there hasn’t been a day that she has said “if you thru hike…”, it has only been “when you thru hike…”. This made a difference.
I returned to Pittsburgh after this very first backpacking jaunt of mine pensive, changed, and inspired to live differently. To make moves. Time, circumstance and courage would lead me to commit to the unthinkable. Each time that I attempted to convince myself that a series of section hikes would satiate my hunger for walking the entire span in one clip, my intuition told me otherwise. I was feeding myself with excuses, and deep down, I knew it. The visceral alarm system that we’re all gifted with was screaming loudly, and I felt a calling to listen. I grew into wanting it more than I was afraid of it. It wasn’t that I was wedded to the quest itself but instead became completely unwilling to NOT get myself to the starting line. For the first time in my life, I’m staring ambiguity in the face, not with fear, but with excitement.
Whether I make it to Katahdin or only last for a handful of weeks, I have already succeeded. My success is in my attempt. Attempt defined by my willingness to leave behind a life of both predictability and comfort for a journey into an abyss. I’m not running from anything but conversely would be if I were to shelter from this opportunity. I am already in love with the places that I haven’t yet reached and the people who I haven’t yet met. I believe that they are waiting for me.
I am emancipated.
And now, in 5 weeks, I will walk.
“Don’t wait. The time will never be just right.”
