AWOL on the Appalachian Trail

by David Miller

I’m not unhappy, and I’m not hiking to escape from anything. My life is precariously normal.

My opinion of “later” is jaded.

There are more stars than sky, beaming through the leafless branches.

When the path is clear to pursue a fledgling goal, the path is also clear for deeper insight into your desires.

I am shamelessly setting myself up for venerated trail magic. “Trail magic” is a broadly used term covering any form of serendipity encountered on the trail.

My attitude about this is not rigidity for the sake of principle or unfeeling discipline done out of habitual compliance.

When you attempt to capture the highlights without burdening yourself with the tedium, the highlights lose the foundation that elevates them to the status of “highlight.” Analogies abound because a focused attitude defines the quality of all that we do. In playing a game, dieting, or hiking the AT, you benefit most when you commit yourself to it, embrace it.

Experience is enriched by reliving it, contemplating it, and trying to describe it to another person.

Thoughts are the most effective weapon in the human arsenal. On the upside, it is powerful to realize that goals are reached primarily by establishing the proper state of mind. But if allowed the perspective that our endeavors are propped upon nothing but a notion, we falter.

Anything that we consider to be an accomplishment takes effort to achieve. If it were easy, it would not be nearly as gratifying. What is hardship at the moment will add to our sense of achievement in the end.

Our vision becomes so narrow that risk is trying a new brand of cereal, and adventure is watching a new sitcom. Over time I have elevated my opinion of nonconformity nearly to the level of an obligation. We should have a bias toward doing activities that we don’t normally do to keep loose the moorings of society.

There are always miles to be walked.

The AT is what it is because of a collection of independent efforts by dedicated people like Jim.

There seems to be a fundamental mismatch between the design of shoes and the feet that go into them.

The news won’t change because I’m not watching it.

The fewer responsibilities we have, the less free we are. Communism and democracy differ in this only by a matter of degree. We can vote away freedom as easily as it can be taken away.

Simply sitting unhurried in the shade of leaves is an irreplaceable moment. It is a joy in itself to amble through the woods for hours, even when views are limited to the dense trees surrounding me.

Humans are creatures with a longer history of living in the outdoors than of living within the confines of concrete and artificial light. We have an atavistic sense of well-being when immersed in the natural world.

Rain can be as mesmerizing as a campfire. It splatters off the table, frees pebbles from the earth, showers the trees, and drums on the roof. Puddles form, and muddy little streams snake downhill.

This seems to be an attitude worth striving for when I return to work, to perform my job as if I was doing it under my own guidance—as I would want it done myself—not to limit myself to the role of employee, and not to refrain from giving more of myself to the job than is warranted by my pay. It is I who would benefit. Time is most enriching when spent industriously.

My mind’s eye sees shelters I have visited from a chosen perspective, regardless of their actual orientation relative to the trail.

Mars is shining brightly, more prominent than any star. The red planet is closer than it has been to Earth in sixty thousand years.

The sky is blue, and large ponds, a deeper hue of blue, dot the expansive landscape visible from the rocky mountaintop.

Ruggedness can often be equated with unspoiled wilderness, but in this case, the difficulty is due to the poor trail routing and the trail’s popularity.

Alpine vegetation has already been singed by the cold and is deep reddish brown and orange.

The coming of fall is increasingly evident; we crunch through fallen leaves, and the maple trees, still holding on to their red and yellow leaves, stand out like torches.

Still, it is important for parents to continue to live their own lives. We can’t sit by and say we’ve already made our decisions, done our striving, and dish out opinions on the doings of our children. Words alone lack authority, and we risk making them surrogates for the life we’d like to lead. We can better relate to the budding aspirations of our children if we follow dreams of our own.

It is disturbing how tenuous our potential is due to our fervent defense of the comfortable norm.