On a warm Friday morning, just before a holiday weekend, an old friend and I set out for a six day section hike on the Appalachian Trail (AT). Leading up to this adventure, I sat with, processed, and navigated many emotions, stories, grounding exercises, and preparatory practices. Though I knew, intellectually, that some of my processes were simply the invention of stories rooted in anxiety and the human wiring for survival, being in the forest is where I truly felt the difference between what I needed and what was merely fabricated.
My training and experience have deep roots in nature, stemming from my childhood growing up in the rural woods of Georgia through my personal and professional adult life - being a Certified Mindful Outdoor Guide, leading workshops, retreats, guided experiences for others, and intentionally immersing myself in forests and coastlines to deepen my connection with nature and the vast life within it. One humanizing trait that continues to humble me is the recognition that no matter how much nature-based and clinical training or experience I have, parts of me remain very concerned about my survival; therefore, evoke states of anxiety (both purposeful and irrational).
Long have I dreamed of spending months at a time on the various backwoods trails spanning this beautiful land, namely the AT. Obligations, responsibilities, old injuries, and attachment to creature comforts all play roles in inhibiting that dream from becoming a reality. Aside from numerous day hikes and weekend camping adventures, what’s more realistic for me in this stage of life is spending a few days at a time exploring sections of trails like the AT. After some deliberation over which section to explore, my friend and I decided the best place to start this journey was at the beginning. Off to Springer Mountain terminus we went.
A Mindful Pace
Some hikers set out to reach the summit of a mountain or “conquer” rough terrain, maintaining specific agendas, and often prioritizing the physical fitness aspect. Some hikers take to the forested trails to escape pieces of their reality that are causing stress or discomfort. Some hikers pursue a journey to fulfill what they’ve been told is healthy. The category I fall into is one of slowly exploring and navigating, activating all of my senses, feeling connected to the abundant life around me, and moving at a pace slow enough to appreciate beauty I would otherwise speed past on my way to some destination. All of the above hiking intentions are great, and there is no option more “right” than the other. With that said, the latter in these examples certainly
offers a sense of restoration, gratitude, and connection that’s more difficult to
integrate compared to the others.
Many of us move through our daily lives at a pace intended to get somewhere else - a destination of some kind. On to the next goal; advance or fall behind. Even when we don’t mean to, many of us find ourselves caught in the whirlwind of scarcity - chasing completion, achievement, status, etc. without embracing where we already are. Hiking up and down mountains with 30+ pounds on my back provided a consistent reminder to slow down, whether intentionally or because my body and gravity were competing for the title of stronger force. One doesn’t have to be a scientist to know which of the two wins that competition.
Noticing my surroundings, deeply breathing the air that has been recycled on this planet longer than humans have been on it, feeling the pain and discomfort yet moving through it, hearing my breath as part of nature’s chorus, and smelling the piney citrus aroma of Eastern Hemlock... My senses were alive; a reminder to notice that I too am alive - not just surviving, but thriving. Each moment and experience was all to its own, while also a significant part of what had already passed and what was coming next. I was truly able to appreciate the difficulty of what I had just done, as well as the relief I experienced on segments of flat terrain.
Planning, Control, and Letting Go
One thing every outdoors person deeply knows and accepts is that weather is not truly predictable, and one must prepare for various scenarios when spending several days in the backwoods. If you’ve never spent hours hiking in the rain, or sleeping in it, I recommend you try it. As a global race, we humans have become so conditioned to comfort that we’ve forgotten we don’t melt in the rain. Is having wet gear and sleeping in soggy conditions ideal? Absolutely not! Can we adapt and learn to manage without going to catastrophic mindsets? Yes, we sure can.
There are plenty of factors one encounters in nature: weather, wildlife, terrain, injury, other people, etc. It’s important to note that planning and preparing are not the same as controlling. Hiking in 75 degrees with sunshine, no bugs and no risky wildlife encounters may be ideal. This ideal is also not predictable. By embracing the elements as they were, my friend and I were treated to harmony in its natural form. The rain cooled the temperatures to be more enjoyable. The abundant wildlife provided awe and amusement. The bugs, sleeping on the ground, and being wet for much of the trip all awoke a deeper sense of gratitude for the creature comforts we have become so used to. Before leaving, my expensive mattress designed to keep me cool and comfortable was no longer doing the trick - I was hot and restless. Five nights of sleeping on the ground with who knows what walking just outside my tent, as well as waking with the sun and dawn chorus of birds provided a rhythm that was both familiar and forgotten. Returning to my bed in my air-conditioned home was epic! We need balance in our lives to truly appreciate what we have.
We are far better served by preparing for what we can, letting go of what we cannot
control, and embracing our ability to navigate our experiences when needed. Trying to
predict every possible scenario out of fear does not prevent the feared event from
happening. More often than not, it just causes us more stress while said fearful event
isn’t happening. Having these experiences in nature reconnects us with our inherent
deep knowing - a familiarity that is reignited from returning to our natural habitat.
We no longer fear the ominous stories of all that “could” happen, and begin to settle
into what IS happening. We use information from this experience to aid in the next.
Rather than needing to prepare for every scenario, we prioritize based on what is truly
important.
Connection and Gratitude
Regardless of religious or spiritual affiliation, humans tend to thrive when we are meaningfully connected. Additionally, we feel better when viewing the world through a lens of being grateful for what we do have rather than focusing on what we don’t or what is being “taken” from us. Michael Easter’s new book, Scarcity Brain, provides great examples how this mindset can impact our functioning and quality of life.
While immersing myself in nature, there is a significant awareness of gratitude that envelops me. Studies show this phenomenon is not a coincidence. Scientists in Japan and Korea have been researching the effects of being in nature, and have data to support an increase in gratitude, among a plethora of other benefits, as a welcomed consequence from being in forested areas. Is there hardship, death, injury, gore, etc. in nature? You bet there is. There is also an acceptance of the circle of life. All life has is very crucial function and place in this circle, and all life is trying to survive. There is no misinterpreting something someone said. There is no known stress over status. Instead, there is survival. Sometimes, that means vying for alpha. Other times, that means continuing on with what is given. Not the most “powerful” does not result in the sabotaging of an entire pack or race. There is no meaningless killing over
ownership. There are no titles. There is just life.
I am just as susceptible as the next person to wanting more in my life. After all, I like comfort, gadgets, and shiny new things. I enjoy entertainment. However, when I peel all of that way for a few days in the forests or unpopulated coast lines, I remember what is most precious to me, and prioritize it.
As we continue to navigate life, my only hope for these words is that readers are inspired to return to our natural habitat as much as possible, with at least some of those times being at a slow, intentional pace where senses are alive and unnecessary burdens are released.
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