Date: 2004-12-06
To: Post-Trail Life, aka Where the Blazes End
Miles today: 0.0

Well, it's been almost four months since I got home. It's hard to believe that I've really hiked the trail-- looking back on those five months is almost like looking back on a dream. But the dream is real; I have the photos, scars, and worn-out gear to prove it.People still seem surprised when I tell them how easily I slipped back into "civilized" life. Whenever I talk to someone, they ask me: "Was it hard adjusting back to civilization?" They clearly expect me to say yes, and seem surprised when I share the revelation that real food, daily showers, clean clothes, and a comfortable bed aren't hard to get used to at all.I do occasionally get nostalgic for the trail. When I'm walking my dog along the paved greenway that runs through the woods behind our house, sometimes I look up at the now-bare tree tops and imagine for a moment that I'm back in the mountains, and that the asphalt path under my feet is nothing more than dirt and rocks and roots. I try to remember what it's like carrying my home on my back, with nothing to do except keep walking, but I can never quite recapture that feeling. I think the further I get from my time on the trail, the more I'm going to miss it.Sometimes people ask me if I ever plan to do the trail again, and right now the answer is "No." It was fun, but as I have often said, I just don't see myself ever wanting to go out into the woods by myself for five straight months again. Maybe I would do it again with a family member or a good friend, but I just don't see that happening right now. There are definitely certain sections I would like to see again-- the White Mountains in New Hampshire, the Roanoke Valley in Virginia, the Roan Mountains in Tennessee, and the Green Mountains of Vermont all come to mind. Someday I will almost certainly return to those favorite places of mine-- maybe next year, but maybe not for thirty years. Someday.In the meantime, though, there's work to be done. I'm doing some IT work for my Dad's real estate appraisal company right now, and while that has actually been fairly enjoyable, I would really like to find a more permanent position somewhere else. When that happens, I'll have to move out of the house and really start living independently. I've already been independent once, in my trail life, and I hope that soon I will be independent in my other life, too.It's this journey-- this journey to adulthood-- that is proving to be the real challenge. Hiking the Appalachian Trail, when you get right down to it, was extremely simple-- there was never any uncertainty or doubt about what to do next. Each day I knew what had to be done: put one foot in front of the next until I reached my destination. Then eat, and sleep. Sometimes I had to buy food, and that was about as complex as it got.On the trail, there was always a white blaze showing me where to hike next. But life has no white blazes, and no path for me to blindly follow. Here, I have choices to make, and none of them are marked with a clear white blaze. Should I keep looking for a job, or should I consider going to graduate school? If I look for a job, where should I look? If I go to graduate school, what should I study, and where should I go? If I keep trying to find a job, what are the chances that my search will eventually end in success? And, if it does end in success, how stable will my new job be? See, that's another thing-- not only does life have no path, but there's no guarantee I will even be able to reach the destination I choose. (It doesn't help that my chosen field, computer science, has a weak job market, and that my best bet to find and keep a job is probably to move to Bangalore, India.)This is the hardest thing about adjusting to life off the trail: the lack of a path, the lack of white blazes, the lack of a goal. On the A.T., my goal was always Katahdin. But what is the next Katahdin I want to reach for, and how do I reach it? The A.T. taught me about confidence in myself, and it taught me about independence, but I learned nothing about how to make decisions, nor did I have any great revelations about what I want to do with my life.Ah, but it's not as bad as all that. I'm enjoying life, and I enjoy being back around my friends and family. I'm extraordinarily lucky that my situation is secure enough that I even have the ability to choose my own path in life. Still, though, there's no doubt that things were simpler on the A.T. Maybe that's why some people keep going back to it year after year-- undoubtedly it's why so many people head out there in the first place.I think if there's one thing I miss most about the trail, it's the people I met and the friends I made out there. I've e-mailed back and forth with Skyline and Sundance, Squish, Scorpion, Running Bear, and Lucky Dog; we've exchanged greetings and pictures and memories. But I have to wonder if we'll still be in touch in ten years. The optimist in me says yes, but the realist is not so confident. I hope we do. The friendships out there ran deep, and all of us shared a special bond. For when the rest of the world looked at us with a raised eyebrow and called us half-crazy, we could turn to each other and smile, knowing that in reality, it was probably more like two-thirds crazy. And while being crazy wasn't always easy, the friends we had out there at least made sure that it was fun. I will miss them all.So that¢s it¢my time on the Appalachian Trail is over. It¢s still too early to say just how the trail has affected me; I have little doubt that my time on the trail and my experiences over those five months will continue to have an impact on my life, but I cannot yet grasp how deep that impact will be. There is only one thing of which I am sure: while the adventure of the trail is over, the adventure that is my life is just beginning, and I believe that the latter will be harder, greater, and in the end, more rewarding than the former could ever hope to be.Con queso.