Epilogue: Summary

Photo of Patch in Maine by Scott "Stoker" Braddock

I summited Katahdin just over six weeks ago.  Since then, I have found my way home, re-connected with a number of people, and started to get my "normal" life going again.  I understand now what people mean when they say that there is a period of "re-entry," an adjustment back to the life I left.  (More on this later.)

I wanted to spend some time going over some of the "big picture" thoughts from the trip.  I have been asked many times if I had any sort of "epiphany."  The short answer is "no."  While time alone going through an experience like this is amazing, it's more the case that I sharpened my model of the world and did a small amount of re-prioritization.  There was no wholesale shift.  I like who I am and the general direction I'm going already.

Summary of Thoughts

So, some thoughts and lessons:

I had a great life to come back to.

There are a few people on the trail who are running away from something, hiding from reality, getting out of situations or environments that are not ideal.  I was extremely fortunate to have an amazing life to come home to.  My friends, family, and work colleagues were extraordinarily supportive of me through this effort.  I knew this intuitively before I left -- I try to be grateful every day -- but it stood out in high fidelity relief when I was away and when I returned.  I'm happy with my life and work to the point of being almost giddy about it.

I have a new appreciation for the sheen of civilization.

Nutritious food.  Air conditioning.  My own bed.  A car.  On the trail, even drinkable water is not a given, and insects are absolutely everywhere all the time.  Frankly, I think everyone could benefit from going without for a while.  Walking into a restaurant and ordering food (fresh fruits and vegetables!) and drink, then enjoying it in a clean, cool, pleasant environment is a very lovely experience.  Showers and shaving and clean clothes cannot be overrated.

My material "needs" weigh thirty pounds and fit in a pack.

Everything else is "extra," something I can live without, a "want."  It is unbelievably relaxing to think of the world like that.  To be sure, some of these "wants" are pretty important to me.  My home is a wonderland of comfort, and it contains many memories as well as things I just like.  But the "things" don't hold status or mind share beyond what they deserve.  In fact, I'm trending hard towards a LOT less "stuff."

Health is the one fundamental "asset."

Most of us were given bodies that are capable of completing The Trail.  I'm very happy to still have that capability, and ever more deeply frustrated at how thoroughly and cheaply our society sells off health.  It's easy to give in to gravity and stasis, but that is Step 1 in the process of dying.  Never give up.  Ever.  Health is worth the investment.  If I'm not healthy, then I'm a drain on others, not a benefit to them.

Joy is better than fear.

I was confused that so many people thought I was taking this huge risk by taking an extended walk.  I did not (that I am aware of) get eaten by a bear.  It's not like I was doing something truly dangerous, like driving a car.  I would, however, happily take the risk of that any day over the risk that my joy would be consumed by incessant political bickering.  One of the greatest aspects of being away from media of all types was that the sickness of political fear and hate wasn't infused into my being the way it seems to be for those who have been more "connected."  Fear makes us desperately cling to people who lie for a living instead of believing in ourselves.  All-consuming and pervasive hatred is shocking to come back to, and the depth of it is more than a little bit upsetting.

Accomplishment is great, but legacy is better.

I felt a huge surge of accomplishment when I touched the sign on top of Katahdin.  It was such a huge thing in the moment that the swirl of emotions was disorienting and took days to wrap my head around.  That conversion from "get there" to "I got there" is not instantaneous.  But during the last two months of my trip, I was increasingly feeling like the same amount of effort, directed into some sort of lasting legacy, would be even better.  I'm still working out what that might be.  I know I can handle the effort, now the question is:  "can I figure out how to direct it?"  We shall see.

Big efforts are better than floating along.

I have a tendency to throw myself into things before I have figured out how I'm going to get through the experience.  It gets easier to do the throwing as I make more and bigger deposits into my account at The Experience Bank, confidence growing over time.  But the effort to get through these experiences increases as I pick larger and more difficult efforts to attempt.  While I'm slightly worried about what situation I may find myself in next, anything is better than stasis and entropy.  Life is passing oh-so-quickly, and the time to "go for it" is now, whenever "now" is.

Conclusion

This trip was far more important to me than I realized while I was actually doing it.  It was harder than I thought it would be, both physically and mentally and represented a renewal of a "go for it" attitude that was beginning to attenuate as I aged.  The experience has been feeding lessons to me in a slow drip since I returned, and the impact may continue to ripple through my life for years.  I certainly hope so.

I'll likely do more hiking in the coming years, but this was The Granddaddy of hiking trips.  Grander adventures await, but I doubt any will have quite the wild and independent feel that this had.  It was an experience of a lifetime, and it was worth the effort and the cost many times over.