I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. It's safe to say that Emerson didn't think too much of those who undertook recreational travel. Perhaps Emerson would look more kindly on backpacking. Backpacking takes us into the wilds not only geographically but spiritually as well. In such a setting it's nearly impossible to avoid recognizing who you are and coming to terms with yourself.
Nature provides an unusually uncompromising mirror.
I suppose this could also be experienced in a solitary cell at your local state prison, but backpacking is a much more pleasant way of accomplishing the same thing. Unless you've done it, it's hard to understand the experience. Everything necessary for your survival you must carry with you. Your shelter and the level of comfort it gives you are up to you as well. My wife and I recently returned from a three-day trip in Big Sur, California, which was also my first backpacking trip.