So, while I could take this space to update everyone on the day to day happenings of our travels since my last post I will instead opt for a long diatribe on my personal interests, namely hiking. As a child growing up in western North Carolina I was destined to spend my fair share of time hiking. I was surrounded by woods, rivers, mountains, and copious amounts of fresh air, all the necessary ingredients. I don’t think I went a weekend of my childhood without at least some form of time in the woods. As a child this time in the great outdoors was something I took for granted. I failed to appreciative all the wonderful qualities inherent to it: family bonding, exercise, time in nature (something that growing up in the woods/a small town made me also take for granted), time with the dogs, time away from the time, motivation, and energy suck that is television (a vacuum that I have become all too familiar with), time away from the stresses of everyday life (even though I didn’t really have any at that age, besides maybe trying to get the attention of a cute girl in class), and most importantly for me, time to let me imagination wander. As I tread the well worn path of a hiking trail or as I forcibly blazed a new one of my own over streams and through brambles the untarnished natural landscape that was spread before me became a blank canvas upon which I could project my wild and rampant imagination. Hiking was a time of freedom.
Fast forward 8 years and I am a freshman at Chapel Hill. I am caught up in the thrills of college life. I’ve got independence. I’ve got amazing new friends (like the three layabouts on this trip with me. I’ve got parties. I’ve got enthralling classes and inspiring professors. I’ve got the visual feast/work of art that is UNC’s unfairly good looking female population. But I was missing my that freedom I knew as a kid.
(I know this photo isn't actually from freshman year)
It took me a while to put a thumb on that missing element. Eventually I found my way back to trails, back to hiking. Unfortunately, Chapel Hill does not offer the greatest opportunities for those who wish to lose themselves in the outdoors. Chapel Hill is a wonderful and beautiful many things, but a haven for outdoor enthusiasts it is not.
Fast forward again. I am planning a post-grad trip with three of my best friends. They all agree they’d rather spend time in the country than the cities (check). They are all an athletic bunch (check). They all love me enough to forgo other possible uses of our time for hours on our feet, rain or shine, through bug bites and sweat, through near dehydration in Iceland and open wounds in Scotland (check). I’m lucky.
On our fourth day in Scotland we set out to hike Ben Nevis, the highest peak in the UK. Now, as much as I would like all of you to think very highly of us, the highest peak in the UK is not as impressive as it sounds. Ben Nevis is only roughly 500 meters shy of the highest peak in North Carolina, Mt. Mitchell. That being said, it still made for a tiring and rewarding hike, and was my favorite day of the trip thus far.
Being able to set out on a trail for a few hours gives me the sense of relaxation and personal well being that many would require a spa day to achieve (for Zeke Saber it only takes healthy serving of 8 to 16 chocolate chip cookies). Hiking is my meditation. The physical component of hiking is mindless. It’s as simple as one foot after the other. Thirty minutes into a hike and I am unburdened. I mentally check out. Any stress I have is gone. Any lingering tension I perceived between me and my traveling partners whom I have spent the past 336 hours with is completely gone. My friends on the trail with me rib me concerning the customary 8 to 10 feet that I hike in front of them. I wish they could read my mind during this time. I’m not trying to competitive, nor do I intend to be rude. Hiking is meditative. As I march forward, mile after mile, an open trail in front of me allows me to return to my childhood as my imagination runs free. I work out any internal angst. I move past mistakes and aggravations that have lingered, nagging me from the back of my mind. I relive my fondest memories. I fantasize about new ones: new worlds to explore, new loves, new travels, new challenges. I storyboard films. I writes stories. I reach out my hands and can feel by childhood dogs' fur between my fingers. I can hear my dad’s unique footsteps on the trail. I can almost see the fantastical worlds of Redwall and Lord of the Rings into which my adolescent mind propelled me head first.
I at times wonder if my time on the trail could be better spent in conversation and jest with my friends whose laughter behind me sets the soundtrack for my mental ramblings. But I know what hiking is for me. And when I summit the mountain I am able to turn around and have my best friends right behind me, reflections of myself: red faced, drenched in sweat, smelling terribly, and smiling from ear to ear. We eat lunch and radiate happiness.
Hiking is my therapy. I don’t know what it gives to my friends. But I do know that I am immensely grateful and happy that when I come out of my mind to reality I have them there with me to relish in the stunning scenery, to make jokes, and to share my good mood. Hiking Ben Nevis was amazing. It was peaceful. It was beautiful. It was therapeutic. There are no three people in the world I would have rather shared it with.
Evan, I think it's interesting that you approach hiking and being outdoors as a therapeutic activity. I've thought of running that way often in the past few years. Even though I don't mind going on a run with other people from time to time, I think I prefer going alone, just as you like to be several yards ahead of your buds. I enjoy being alone with God in the incredible majesty of creation (which is why I vastly prefer running outside to exercising on a treadmill--eww), and I often feel like my prayers are most heartfelt and pure when I'm trotting along, drinking in a clear blue sky and marveling at the intricacy of the trees above. Often, that time with God during a good solid run outside is all I need to take me out of a mental slump and set me back on track. I'm a bit jealous that you get to do your therapy in beautiful Scotland, but I'm very happy to hear that yours also includes time with friends who bring you such joy. I'm glad you and I were able to share so many happy memories as kids in our woods: Twisting Snakes, the Jungle Gym, the Treehouse, the Creek. Love you, bud--thanks for sharing.
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