Mexico
Thru hiking goes like this. If you close your eyes and take a deep breath in, then keep your mouth closed and let it out real slow – thats the feeling. A calm, pure wave. I got to live four months of that feeling, and will be grateful for it for the rest of my life.
Post-Bliss Train
I finished the trail a week ago, and since then my brain has been a frizzle frazzle mess. Ever play with one of those clear globes in a science museum, where you set your fingers on it and the electrical current spews a bunch of staticky lightning that follows your fingers around as you move your hand over the surface? Thats what my brain feels like, that zzzzzzzzzz that pulses where the fingers make contact with the glass.
Yesterday I had my first post-trail breakdown (Im realizing now that my blissful terminus photos are a stark contrast to this, but bear with me). I drove home from work, parked in the driveway and took a deep breath, and when I let it out there were tears that slid out with it. Ever since, when I try not to cry, I end up with a massive headache. Suddenly Im back to working and driving and making new plans. Should I go to the dentist? What kind of health insurance do I want? Where do I want to live? What happened to Taylor Swift?
It feels so good to cry. I cried more on trail than ever in my life, moreso out of gratitude and surprise than anything else. But now I cry because Im realizing that theres no other place to feel the raw comfort of a thru hike other than on a thru hike. Theres no other place to feel the intersection of fear and euphoria, to feel so grounded in gratitude, to have your heart cracked open by the kindness of strangers.
Solidarity
Talking to other hikers has helped. There was a thru hiker meetup in Denver and I had half a mind to drive the 15 hours just to be in the presence of hikers again. Thats how strong the pull is. Thankfully the internet creates a space where we can keep in touch with each other, commiserate on the end and support each other by walking through this flimsy, uncertain space in solidarity.
For now, Im here again in this space between no longer and not yet. Its easily my least favorite space (weve talked about this), but Im trying to honor it for what its teaching me in its own way. Im trying to pull lessons from it like Im in that last desperate oxygen-starved push from underwater, breaking through the surface because I dont know what else to do with this feeling. With it comes the sad realization that in the stretches of time when we miss and look back on things, were bypassing opportunities to create new memories, to appreciate the space were in right now, even if its tough. And boy, its tough. So much of my energy is pushing towards the future, towards figuring out my next big thing, instead of taking a moment to sit here in this painful place without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. This right here is the hardest part of thru hiking: the end.
What it looks like
Well, it aint pretty. The other day I was talking to a fellow thru about the joy we embody on the PCT, that untouchable happiness we carry with us for so long, and then we reach the terminus and BAM, its gone. Where did it go? How can something that feels so genuine, that feels like its mine forever and ever and always, disappear so quickly into thin air? Why does reaching the end feel so hollow?
Now Im back with my dog, and I get some peace from listening to her little sounds while she snoozes the days away. I went back to work a couple days after finishing the trail because I wasnt sure what else Id do with myself. Im fortunate to have a job that I can do from anywhere and a boss who supports my ever-wandering spirit, but Im also paralyzed by choice. I drive to the ocean to watch the sunset, try to run on my busted knee, write in my journal, walk on the beach. I drive home, get my dog from inside and bring her out to the car with me. We sit in my car while I write because I dont want to live in a house, dont want to be in a house, and the car just feels better.
Ive spent a lot of time alone, which makes me miss the bustle of Seattle, where there was always something to do. Wasnt I always alone on trail, you ask? I was, but I wasnt. Solitude when its just you is so different from solitude with a thousand people around. Ive found myself reevaluating my friendships here, trying to figure out where they fit on the kaleidoscopic spectrum of feeling. Theres the issue that I havent lived in San Diego for a while. Seattle moved me into a new space, then the trail moved me into a newer space, and now many of my relationships in San Diego feel really far from where I am now, I feel far from the person I was when I lived here. So, so far.
What feels right and what doesnt? I havent had conversations about anything substantive in so long, its been interesting to tiptoe back into that space and really discern who it is I want to be having these conversations with. Who do I want to have in my life? What would I be better off leaving behind?
The Last Miles
The last miles of the trail were beautiful and forgiving. The weather cooperated and made it easy to push big miles even as the days grew shorter. The water carries werent so bad, I loaded up on my favorite snacks, and everything just felt like home. Everything I needed, right there with me. Side note: writing this is making me pretty profoundly sad.
Because walking happens so slowly, the end of the trail is this predictable beacon that sits far in the distance for a very long time. Hikers can mourn the end of the trail for as long as we want – a month, a week or even a day before it ends – because we know its inevitably there. But actually reaching the end feels so heavy and hollow, no matter how long weve tried to prepare for it. Our emotions are a graph that flies real high and then plunges like the back side of a Sierra pass. Ive seen hikers reach the terminus and take a nap while they wait for a ride. Ive seen hikers get showered in champagne and love from family, looking a little shell shocked by the burst of enthusiasm and company. And Ive heard from hikers that they reached the monument, tapped it and said well, I guess this is it.
However we choose to celebrate it, we all leave with a broken heart. This amazing journey weve gone on, thats given us more than we ever couldve imagined, has ended. We reach the razors edge between sorrow and joy, having anticipated it but not entirely sure what were in for. The comment I received that resonated the most when I finished was, Sorry for your loss. A primal love, gone.
Advice? Lean the fuck out
Hey, you. You a long distance hiker? Finish something really big and amazing? Thats awesome. Youve changed. Youve changed. All those people in your life who didnt come along on your big adventure? Their lives probably havent been turned upside down and reworked like yours has. Tread lightly.
Sometimes when we come back from life-altering experiences, we like to poke the bear a little bit. Churn the dirt, revisit old spaces, dip our toe in just to see how it feels now that were in this new brain. Test the resiliency of the ways weve grown over these past months, try to show the world (and ourselves) that the things that once knocked us down can no longer do us harm. My advice? Lean the fuck out.
Weve done ourselves the amazing favor of gifting time for self growth, now we owe it to ourselves to safely harbor it. That guy will STILL break your heart. Youll know when he cant anymore. The place where that tragedy occurred is still going to hurt. A friendship that was lacking that thing, that element, is more far gone now than it was before. Your feet have grown two sizes, your old shoes still arent going to fit.
Ill be first to admit that these things are easier to write than they are to practice. My friend Julia will tell you that I was struggling hard with some of these just yesterday. Dont poke the bear, Kate. Do not poke the bear.
Breathe it all in. Let it all go. You owe it to yourself, you really do.
One more little piece
Ill try to embody a serious tone with this one, because its more… serious. Im not a doctor or a therapist and I cant speak for any mental health except my own, but I will say that Ive crashed damn hard from some very joyous times in my life. One thing that Ill applaud the thru hiker community for is that theyre pretty open about post-hike depression, and seem to host a safe space for hikers to seek advice and struggle with uncertainty as they step off trail.
Ive experienced depression only once in my life, and once was plenty. One thing I learned from situational depression (chronic is a whole other beast) is that it can be avoided. Ive heard the avoidance described as a walk along the edge of a steep drop off into a bottomless abyss. That abyss is depression, and once youre in it, its a long and brutal climb out. Im going to be bold here and say that most hikers come out on the edge of depression, not in it, and this piece is for them.
Yes, the abyss can be avoided, but you really have to work at it. Pull at the building blocks of your life, even if it feels like youre reaching in the dark, and put something together. It doesnt have to be pretty or permanent or make any sense. What youre doing is creating steps away from that edge that I promise you really, really dont want to go over. Reach out to other hikers, buy a coloring book, go to a yoga class, plant flowers in your old hiking shoes, turn off your computer monitor and type it all out, cook something new, dream up the next big adventure. I promise it wont feel this way forever, happiness is just going to be a bit of a chore for a while. Tend to it.
Next Steps
Where from here? Well, Im working full time again as a programmer. Ive accepted an offer to become a Writer at this fine site, so if you have any topics youd like to see me babble about, shoot them my way! Stoked to keep up my passion for writing.
I have a visa thatll allow me to live in New Zealand for a year, but I also have New York on my mind. I was going to climb Kilimanjaro in January with a couple friends but my heart fell out of it, so Im sitting with the possibility of doing the Annapurna Circuit next month. I have an interest in Colorado, and southern Utah has always had some shimmer. Id be lying if I said Seattle hadnt crossed my mind too (read: foot in mouth). I looked up the CDT and the Arizona Trail and the JMT, feeling so unsettled in this buzz of energy I have to rocket out of here. Yesterday my mom came home and told me that I need to say goodbye before I leave, I cant just pick up and go. She knows me well.
Doing the Pacific Crest Trail felt 100% right. I had no doubt that what I had chosen was the right thing for me at the time. I dont feel that way about any of the options that are in front of me right now, and its an unsettling place to be. I know that things will be okay eventually, but right now theyre sad and tough and not very pretty. And thats okay. Im working on having faith in the gifts my next step is sure to bring, and holding fast to those Ive been given.
Cheers, dudes! We made it to Mexico! Vaya bien!
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Comments 8
Congratulations on finishing your PCT hike. Really enjoyed your blog. David Odell AT71 PCT72 CDT77
Kate kate kate kate kate! The Chermaks are very proud of you and our door is always open. Looking forward to seeing some more writing from you!
Thank you for the wonderful stories. It has been amazing to follow you on this journey. Keep on seeking new adventures and never look back on your life thinking I should have done something different you are always right where you are supposed to be. You have inspired many to try something they never thought they could do. I am so thankful that at 58 years old I don’t look back at my life and think boy I wish I could change something. I look forward to my new adventure every day and thankful God has kept me around this long!!!
Love Ya
Jimmy
Thanks so much for all your efforts blogging from the trail! Did you do all your updates on your phone? Advice for mobile bloggers? Keep wandering and writing 😉
Congrats on successfully finishing the PCT! I cannot even imagine how difficult it must be for you at the moment for it to now all be over. Your writing skills are truly amazing, hope you continue writing!
Congratulations!! You have such an incredible talent with words. I look forward to reading about all of your future adventures. 🙂
Hey Vaya!
I’m a trail angel, not a through hiker, so I don’t possess the through hiking experience you have, yet your article has touched me in a deep, visceral way. Thanks a lot; now I’m depressed! (or at least, I feel your pain). When you expressed the way all of the rapturous joy you had just vanished the moment you left the trail, it reminded me of the letdown a person coming down off of a drug high feels. Maybe it is because some of the euphoria you felt while on the trail was, in part, due to the endorphins your body and mind produced in response to the physical exertions of hiking. Regardless, you are now left with the psychological reality of going back to your old life and picking up where you left off, which may seem like going backward, not forward; like you were always going while on the trail. Maybe a song by Cheryl Crowe could help you: “Every day is a winding road….I get a little bit closer….to feeling fine”. Maybe, like the song says, you could treat life back in the Maitrix (to borrow a term from A.T. through hiker, Early_Riser_71) like a winding road, which is another word for ‘trail’, and take the mindset you had while on the trail to the higher dimension, applying it to the rest of your life. Or, maybe I could just be full of baloney! In the end, like all hikers, you could default to the old, HYOH philosophy and figure out your path on your own. Either way, I wish you all the best in your adventures and in your life, and look forward to your future articles in The Trek. Bloodhound
Congrats on the finish of your journey. You are quite entertaining as a writer. You shared a lot of deep feelings and thoughts. Hope to see more of your writing somewhere. Thanks for unselfishly taking all that time to write. Keep your followers informed about your next writing job.