Long before sunrise I sat in a Waffle House just outside of the Jacksonville airport, feeling like I had just been released from a pressurized capsule, the hatch swinging open to reveal the vast expanse of the cosmos beyond. I was drifting into the cold vacuum of deep, black space, weightless and untethered… alone.
I’d just finished the Florida Trail, again. Having hiked all of it once, most of it twice, and now, some of it three times. I’d celebrated the achievement with dozens of other hikers, some of the most amazing people I’d met in my life, and yet, despite the camaraderie, a sense of failure gnawed at me.
“Just rip the bandaid off,” Longshot had said, and perhaps he was right. I’d gone through post-thru hike depression before and the best thing you could do was recognize that part of your life was over. It was time to move on.
Truth be told, I was already late for meeting friends in Las Vegas, so why was I lingering in Florida?
Was it because I hadn’t been writing?
On the trail, objectives were clear and immediate, each day a series of solvable challenges. Life, however, presented a more complex array of long-term aspirations often overshadowed by immediate needs. Without writing, that backlog of unfinished business clouded context, making it easy to feel lost.
Yet, as I typed these paragraphs, the oppressive silence of the universe began to yield to the comforting rhythm of words, providing a semblance of clarity amidst the infinite mystery that surrounded me.
#FloridaTrail #FTthruhike #writinglife