I woke up in an empty Airbnb ready to do something else, booking the cheapest flight I could find. 24 hours later I landed in Newark, with the vague plan of hiking the Appalachian Trail north into Massachusetts.
With no definite plan, there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do. I drifted, taking the AirTrain in the wrong direction, riding it back, then packed myself into a commuter train toward Penn Station. I followed the current of people up 7th Avenue, through Times Square, across Bryant Park, past the library and into Grand Central.
The air was alive. Tourists, beautiful people, the constant hum of traffic, and the intoxicating smell from the multitude of food carts wafting on the late summer breeze.
Standing outside Grand Central Station, Googling directions to the trail for the first time, I felt soft, pale, out of practice. I carried no tent stakes or trekking poles due to airline restrictions, only a pack, some steak-flavored potato chips, and a liter of water. No bug spray. No destination or campsite in mind.
That’s the part I like. A hike without error is just exercise. The unknown is where the flavor lives.
Expectations only dull the edge. Better to throw yourself into the fire, let nature and chance remind you you’re just a guest, not the main character. Even in your own story.
Let yourself feel strong enough to fail.
Allow yourself to be vulnerable. Take a risk. Break yourself once in a while. You’ll survive, or you won’t. Life continues with or without your plan, without your rules about how it all should work.
The afternoon light fell at new angles between the buildings. Somewhere to the north, the trail waited. I shifted my pack and started walking towards the Harlem train.
Life continues.
#appalachiantrail #NYC #wandering #hikertrashforlife