Date: 2005-03-09
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

8:30pm3.9.05So, I check my voice-mail this afternoon, and there¢s a frantic, garbled message from a panicked, harried-sounding Mom. Something about hikers. And helicopters. And hypothermia. Once I string together the disjointed clues, and siphon out the underlying panic, I process the gist of the message -- Mom had heard about the college students who had run into trouble in the Smokies. ¢Well, shoot,¢ was my first thought. ¢I was hoping she¢d somehow manage not to hear that little tidbit.¢ But, Mom can be a positive bloodhound, about the most inopportune things. And, hearing about hikers stranded in the mountains, suffering from hypothermia, a scant three days before I depart for the trail, definitely not good for maternal nerves. Judging from the voice message, I figured Mom¢d be a basket case by the time I was able to call her. I¢d been following the thread on trailforums, so I knew that everyone was safe and out of the woods, but I had still been hoping to shield Mom from the news; knowing her penchant for fussing and fretting, I didn¢t think she needed any more ammunition. But, for whatever reason, the media chose to make this incident national news. So, Mom saw the story on CNN while sitting in the waiting room of the vet (where she discovered that Woody and Dugan both have worms, most likely from eating bird feces. Gotta love the refined palates and discerning appetites of dogs¢¦) Hence, the frantic phone message. But, amazingly, calm has been restored. And, even more amazingly, through no action of my own. It was the thread of trailforums, of all places, that reassured her. Mom may be completely internet-unsavvy, but once she¢s got a site bookmarked for her, she sinks her teeth into it like a pitbull. And never lets go. TJ will be a lifeline for her, in the months to come. But, despite my fears that this incident would completely unravel her placidity about my hike, my worries seem largely unfounded. She told me she¢s not worried about all the things she fretted over last year. (She tellingly didn¢t mention what she is worrying about this year, but knowing her, there¢s a list. A long one.) Actually, I was talking to her, about how I feel remarkably calm about things. Almost guiltily calm. I mean, I¢m leaving in 2 days -- shouldn¢t I be fretting and angsting over, well, something? Anything? This is not to say that my stomach isn¢t performing acrobatics, b/c it is. Olympic caliber gymnastics going on, right in my midsection. And I¢m not denying that I¢m incredibly, indescribably excited, nervous, impatient, jittery, (insert adjective here), b/c I am. I feel like I¢m perched on the edge of a cliff, preparing to dive into a pool of reflective water, its surface a shimmering mirror displaying a distorted image of myself. I sit on this precipice, staring into my own eyes staring back at me, and I feel as if I¢m suspended in that one moment, where the decision to jump has been made, and muscles have tensed in anticipation. That split second where your brain relinquishes control, hands the figurative keys over to some more primeval, instinctual command. That moment, just before freefall and gravity exert their physical laws. I remain frozen, in that anticipatory position, waiting for some unseen hand to release the ¢pause¢ button, waiting for the inevitable stomach-plummeting fall, and the ensuing splash and shock as my body enters the water. And the resulting ripples and waves that will blossom from the point of impact. So, yeah, I¢m tightly coiled, teetering on the edge of a precipice. But, I¢m not worried. And, coming from me, the chronic, poster-child of the worry-wart community, that¢s something. In fact, I¢m so not-worried, that I¢m becoming worried about not being worried. (Welcome to the circular logic of my brain¢¦) I mean, all my fellow soon-to-be departees write about last minute, unanticipated concerns and troubles -- Longhaul¢s woes regarding his stove seemed eerily reminiscent of my own experience last spring, in which I nearly set my parents¢ patio on fire. I feel excluded from the gang; it¢s silly and illogical, and if something actually did go wrong, if some piece of gear spontaneously decided to implode and malfunction, I would totally freak out. And yet, some irrational part of me is seeking and desiring that inclusionary panic. So, when I get to Georgia in three days, and I discover that my water filter is cracked, just direct me to this entry, and say, ¢See, look, your dearest wish was just fulfilled.¢I¢ve been trying to remember exactly what was going through my mind, those final days last spring, what thoughts were stampeding across my brain, what emotions invaded my body (the acrobatic butterflies are definitely a returning visitor). I wish I had begun my journal earlier last spring, captured more of my pre-hike turbulence. But, the past can¢t be re-written, right? Just learned from. Hence, my verbosity this year. I asked Mom what she recalled from that last week. She said that the dominant feature was the sense of calm and assurance that, in her words, I ¢exuded¢. Now, I may not recall the specifics of my emotional state then, but I certainly wouldn¢t characterize it as ¢exuding¢ anything, other than perhaps a sense of tenuously restrained panic. Nearly burning down the house did little to allay my fears that I was going to kill myself out there by my ineptitude. But, Mom didn¢t detect it. She said I seemed so confident, so prepared, I had a well-reasoned, well-supported answer to each and every of her concerns. (Hey, I talked her out of the cell phone, and Dad out of the pepper spray.) In sum, I was ready. Except it was all a front, a fa§ade, behind which a swarm of doubts and insecurities plagued me. But, I guess it was a damn good one, b/c it not only duped my parents, it also sheltered me, enough to allow me to plow through those first days on the trail, where I had to confront those very fears face-to-face. And, I survived the encounters. I conquered that bloody stove. I promptly traded it for a lighter design at Neel¢s Gap, a mere 4 days into my hike. But, by golly, I mastered the little bugger first. Mom told me that she had no idea about the concerns besetting me (or the fact that they nearly lost their house to a camp-stove initiated inferno), until I shared my journal, months later. But, this year, I don¢t feel the presence of that fa§ade, that false front. I definitely feel more exposed, bared to the world, posting my journal, my thoughts, my emotions online. (Last spring, I kept a hand-written journal, but didn¢t post it on TJ until after leaving the trail.) But, I think the very act of keeping this pre-hike record, and sharing it, has forced me to be more honest w/ myself, forced me to confront what I¢m feeling, not dodge it as has been my habit. Which has been remarkably enlightening, a remarkable process of self-discovery. Intimidating as hell, staring down your personal demons, but unquantifiably rewarding. I just hope that I can maintain the courage to continue doing so, throughout this upcoming journey. B/c the physical trek of walking the trail is only the external manifestation of the mental, personal, spiritual exploration I embark on. My feet will traverse the wooded landscape, while my mind traverses the corridors of my soul.