rückkehrunruhe: the feeling of returning from an immersive trip only to notice it fading rapidly from your awareness, as if your brain had automatically assumed it was all just a dream and already went to work scrubbing it from your memory.
-The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
Miles passed with each footfall, memories piling and building on top of each other like snow on the mountaintops until the sun came out and melted all but the strongest.
It all feels like a dream.
Through fading memories, I am left with the lessons and perspective that accompanied these trails. I sit down to summarize what it was like to complete the big three, to try to wrap up this accomplished dream into a succinct bundle of words. It feels impossible. How do I describe the feeling of being so alive? How do I explain the primal hardships and joys, the uncloaked friendships and loneliness? How do I portray seeing genuine goodness of humanity? How to I express the relief of a rainbow after a hail storm, the perspective awe of staring into a vast landscape, the contentment of sitting by a fire with a full belly, the amazingness of putting on a clean pair of socks, the thrill of glissading down a mountain, the loneliness of knowing there is no one around for miles, the fear of life-threatening animals and weather, the peacefulness of a meadow of flowers on a sunny day, the gratitude of a sink with hot water, the delight of a trash can, or the joy of walking into town and resting with friends? I have attempted to share lessons, triumphs, and struggles through my stories of the trails. At the least, the stories are entertaining. At most I manage to express a profound thought that makes one pause. But if even the best author tried to put into words the impact of these trails or how it has shaped them, they would not succeed. Nothing can quite capture the totality of a thruhike. Still, I will try one more time, jumbling words into sentences that will tumble onto a screen and will likely fall short.
Each trail reveals lessons to the hiker as needed. Though all a long-distance footpath, each trail taught me something new. The AT gave me confidence in who I am, and a taste of what true freedom is. The PCT gave me community, and allowed me to understand how strong I can be. The CDT gave me opportunity to make decisions, choose my own path, and courage to lean in and walk into unknown and scary things. Each trail carries its own challenges and unique "personality," but they all share a common theme: purposeful freedom. Hiking a long trail creates a defined sense of purpose; even if it's so simple as putting one foot in front of the other for thousands of miles. When you step onto that trail, you are stepping out of the ordinary and into a new world, free from societies' expectations and burdens. Alongside like-minded folks, you discover contentment, and what really matters in life. It is hard to worry about answering a flood of emails when you have no service to see them. The heavy traffic on a commute seems negligible compared to the heavy breath that comes with hiking up a mountain. At the end of the day, you are still more excited to dig into that Knor Rice Side than that fancy dinner you attended last year. All things stripped away, the trails allow you to simply be.
And be simply.
I will end this series with a metaphor from the CDT:
On this walk, a lot of trails will divert and merge from the main path. The trails will all be different: some better, some worse, and some of equal value. You don't know exactly what each trail holds, but can only see what the people before you have done and learn from what they've said to make the best choice. Sometimes there is no information and the choice is akin to randomness. Sometimes there is a plethora of information and you choose confidently. You decide to take the beautiful route sometimes.. It may be a little bit longer, but worth it for the experience and the joys. Sometimes you take a shortcut-- because maybe that's what you need, and maybe that shortcut pays off; or maybe that shortcut will send you through a thicket of vines and brambles and you emerge scratched and shorter on time than before. Sometimes you take the long way and figure out that wasn't necessarily necessary and the short way was just as good. On occasion there is no path and you forge ahead, unguided, until you pop out onto something familiar. Despite the route you took on the tangle of trails, they all merge together in the end. They all bring you to the finish line.
The trail doesn't end in Canada or at Katahdin. It never has. The trail will continue on as I move forward in life, sometimes it will be a well-marked path that many have traveled. Sometimes it will be a faint or nonexistent trail where I guide myself. Either way, I will move forward.