I ran down to the trail, past the parked cars and swarm of people headed towards the famous Clingman’s Dome – the highest part of the 2,185 miles that make up the Appalachian Trail. I ran with the force and impatience of a child; it was finally time to escape into the woods.
You see, I was born as, and have come to be, many things in my life thus far. A singer, an artist, a storyteller. A humanitarian, a loyal friend, a curious traveler. A flawed over-thinker; an adventurer.
And I’ve always been a wanderer.
But just like every other human being on this planet, my identity extends way beyond these labels I have written on stone for myself (brace yourself – we’re about to go deep).
It’s true that I – you – are a culmination of history, memories, man-made pressures, decisions, and beliefs. But let’s face it – we’ve all been seriously duped! We’ve been trained to walk through our lives as though these things are concrete; without even realizing it, our identity becomes a fact – a strange bubble of comfort that makes us feel safe and assured. We respond to situations in a certain way because “that’s just who we are” and “how we are supposed to feel,” forgetting that for the most part, pressures, decisions, and beliefs all come down to some form of perspective. And we always have the power to change our perspective and our behavior, and thus: our identity. We forget that beneath all these boxes of behaviors and labels we have trapped ourselves into is actually something so exciting, and freeing, and pure: a limitless, label-less, fearless human being with literally incomprehensible potential.
This is the person I become when I am on the trail. Instantly humbled in the midst of mountains. Quickly reminded of my place in such an infinite world.
And the time had come in my life where “stuff” was starting to pile up again. I needed to step back and free myself from a bout of trepidatious life-clinging and overwhelming heartbreak. I needed to walk through the mountains to shed the layers of bad habits and thought patterns. And I had to go it alone. I wanted to remember what it was like to feel comfortable in the unknown – to rest easy in the quiet air of aloneness. I pictured myself walking back into simplicity and natural wonder, and ultimately getting lost in my own solitude again.
A mere two days, one night – this was all I had to detach from the material world and get lost in the mountains and lush greenery of the Great Smokies. I realize two days may seem silly to speak so dramatically about. But there’s just something about traveling alone as a woman in the modern world – other women reading this will likely understand. It often requires dusting off a 2nd pair of eyes and keeping a slight sense of caution at all times. It’s this feeling of constantly having to watch your back and monitor your trust. Yes, traveling solo as a woman is an entirely unique experience in the vulnerability it brings. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t also see this 2-day trip as an opportunity for a unique, balls-to-the-wall adventure – and I live for adventure!
So backpacking alone in foreign woods, forced to figure out my way/problem solve if need be, represented a challenge that stimulated me in the most primal of ways. The simple thought of it triggered such an energy in me.
I loaded up my pack on the Saturday night of July 4th weekend and headed out the next morning. I would walk two separate trails, making my way up to Clingman’s Dome in between.
The trail was quite crowded at first. And though I went into this trip with visions of roughing it in the bone-chilling quiet of the woods, I admit I found it rather enjoyable meeting stranger after stranger, engaging with people as though we were all in it together. It’s funny how we can have this mapped out, detailed view of the experience we want; but the Universe will lay out the exact circumstances we need. We can either resist it (and likely feel some form of suffering), or let go of our grasp and flow with it (and likely feel some form of peace).
I practically ran down that first trail, driven by the pure feeling of freedom – freedom from the chains of the “real world”. I felt like a bird, or a child, or a nomad. Nobody and nothing to answer to – layers shedding. And truth be told, it all felt more real than anything in the “real world” anyway.
At one point, I found myself chatting with a professor from Tennessee who was leading a hiking group of about twenty Chinese foreign exchange students. The group made me laugh, as when we reached the main vista on the trail, they were more interested in a baby giggling nearby on the grass than the actual view ahead. “Can I take a picture of the cute baby?” one student asked the mother. And before you knew it, a horde of students were huddling around the baby, mumbling in Chinese, snapping photos of her like she was a movie star; she smiled and giggled at them the whole time.
When I walked back up the trail and reached Clingman’s Dome, I didn’t stay long. It was a gorgeous view, but the crowds were stifling and I wanted more trail. So I snapped a token selfie and quickly headed down the AT again.
I walked and walked, following the breath of each footstep on that dusty ol’ trail – step by step by step, happily lost. Soon enough, the numbers of people thinned out and I started to lose the concept of time. Everything was present moment. I was singing to myself, talking to myself, amusing myself, walking along in a quiet meditation with myself… I heard birds, I smelled pine, and I felt the slight stickiness of the summer day, gently muted by shaded trees. I saw some of the lushest greenery I’d ever seen, and I felt a sense of easy peace – nobody to answer to, no resistance, no emotional confusion. After so much clouded confusion, over-thinking, and pain over the past few months, could finding such peace and presence really be so easy? It couldn’t be…
So I stopped and asked myself aloud, “Ok Lia, why are you out here?” I repeated it again to let it sink in, “Why am I here?” I continued, “What is my intention? What is it that I need to think through? What do I need to sort out and learn from?” I began to speak aloud the thoughts that came to mind – the emotional pain, boundaries, and confusion I had been feeling. But to my surprise and disappointment, after analyzing it all, nothing felt sorted out. No answer to my questions, no clarity to my confusion. So I continued walking until I came upon a hidden clearing.
I spent a good thirty minutes at the clearing, as I was in such awe at the incredible mountain view that I had to myself there, and the fact that nobody seemed to realize it existed. I began meditating on my intention for being in the woods again – this time, I was bound to get some answers! But when I came out of my dreamlike state, though I felt incredibly calm and balanced, I was still left with an echoing silence to my questions.
I heard trickles of hikers passing through the trail behind me and eventually decided I had to give someone else the gift of the view. So I peered my head through some trees and yelled over to a passing couple, “Hey – you two should come check out this view over here, it’s amazing!” They headed on over with immense gratitude and joined me gazing out into the majestic, deep green mountains. I must admit, it was nice to have some company. They were from Jacksonville, FL – a sweet couple. And like me, I could see that eagerness in their eyes to get lost in the exploration of the wilderness. So we chatted a bit, but they didn’t stay long. And neither did I. Tally ho!
About an hour past the clearing, I stumbled upon another young couple; based on their accent, I would guess they were from Germany or Poland. Upon spotting me, the woman spewed out a jumble of words in what seemed like a state of exasperation. I stared back blankly, confused by their English, yet worried they were in need of something; I wasn’t sure what to say back. In response to my blank stare, they put down their belongings and sat on a rock, the man half exasperated but also half laughing at his girlfriend’s stammered speech.
“I’m sorry,” he said overtop his own chuckling, “I think she’s just hungry.”
They then proceeded to tell me about how when they stepped out of their shelter that morning to take their packs down from the line and make breakfast, they walked away for a second, only to return to a bear attacking one of the packs. The bear tore it apart, rendering it useless.
“I watched him eat an entire box of chocolates in front of my eyes,” he said, still chuckling, “And you know all those tricks that are supposed to help? Well… yeah, apparently they don’t work! It wasn’t scared of fire… it didn’t flinch when we raised our arms and screamed at it… his head was just face first in the chocolates, and there was no stopping him!”
Despite the fact that this actually sounded pretty scary, all three of us found the idea of an un-phased, chocolate-addicted bear somewhat humorous. Apparently, the bear only ran away when the entire campsite of people came out and started screaming at it.
I offered them some snacks, but they insisted they had enough to get to their destination. Apparently they weren’t lying, as I watched them eventually whip out a Jet Boil and a couple packets of camping food. I think it was more the visual of the bear and the destroyed pack that shook their nerves, rather than the fact that they were truly strapped for food.
After the German couple, it turned an almost uncomfortable quiet. I heard rustling in the woods and was convinced it was a bear. Then some more rustling. What’s lurking in there? Thoughts come up, and you wonder how much farther you have to walk – alone. Of course, only the worst scenarios pop into your head, and so you just walk faster.
I ran into only two others before reaching the shelter – two shady-looking men. One was short and stout, and the other his skinny sidekick; both had an off-kilter look in their eyes and not a single bag or water bottle or anything with them. But I wanted to know how far I’d walked.
“Hey, did you pass a shelter on your way up? Do I have much farther to go?”
The heavier one replied in a thick, southern accent, “It’s a little ways down, but not too bad. And well…your friends are down there already.”
I misunderstood, taking him too literally, “Oh they’re not my friends, I’m out here alone.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I was kicking myself – how could I emphasize to these strange, creepy men that I was out here all alone? Isn’t that how people get raped and killed?
He replied with a laugh – his friend still quiet, “Well…you’ve got some company tonight…”
Needless to say I thanked them as quickly as possible and got the hell out of there, booking it down the trail as fast as possible. For the first 10 minutes, out of what I’m sure was more paranoia than anything else, I continuously looked back behind me to check that I wasn’t being followed. That second pair of eyes. The constant caution. Welcome to the thoughts of a female solo traveler.
About 45 minutes later, I finally reached my destination. When I walked up, I saw three young men starting up a nice fire and two older men sitting on a wooden table (eventually, two other men from their group would catch up to join us). One of these was old man Walker, and the other his son.
When I met 87-year old Walker at that campsite he’d already been backpacking for ten days like it was nothing. I was taken aback by his presence as soon as I saw him. His sweet, piercing eyes of warmth and vigor rested within the wrinkles of an incredibly wise, lived faced.
“Are you staying here with us tonight?” he asked
“I am!” I replied, shaking his hand over introductions.
“You know…I’ve always dreamed an angel would emerge from the woods like that.”
Another hiker from his group appeared. “So where did you come from, Lia?”
“She just appeared,” said Walker, “out of thin air.”
The night was simple and complete with laughter, wine, and some chatting and food among the group. No ulterior motives felt. Just a night to be shared among hikers converging on a path.
At one point, I found myself in conversation with Walker, discussing the beauty one experiences as an open-minded traveler. I learned about his younger days working as a chemical engineer, his memories in the 60’s hitchhiking in Canada, and I saw the pride in his eyes when he spoke of his daughter and his son. And as he spoke, I realized how purely happy I felt. The energy of the group was light and good-hearted, and I found Walker in particular quite intriguing; a man filled with lessons and stories and open-heartedness – and with a certain ease that can only come from a lifetime of that.
“Really Lia, we are all glad you could join us tonight. Your presence is appreciated,” he said.
I looked at my wine; I took a little sip and then my lips curled into a smile. “I’m so happy right now; you don’t understand how much I needed this. Good ol’ company of kind strangers.” Then, I slipped into my sleeping bag and passed out with a book in my hands, only to wake up the next morning to the that wrinkly little grin and a proposal:
“Marry me.” His mode of persuasion was, “It’s true love, so it’s for life…which lucky for you, in my case isn’t very long.” I gave the old man a smile and hopped out of my bag to gather and pack up my belongings.
“Well I can’t wait ‘til I’m old,” said George, a younger hiker of the group, “So I can say whatever the hell I want and get away with it!” There was some laughter as we gazed out into the smoky haze. And then the call of solitude came, and I knew it was time to jet out on my own again.
The second day of walking took a very different tone. No views. Endless fog (I guess they don’t call it the Smokies for nothin’). But without the distraction of beautiful views to daydream away into, I found it easier to tap into my intention. I asked the hard questions again, “Why am I here? How do I fix this confusion? How can I fix this heartbreak? How do I use this experience to be better, happier…why am I here?” And as I said these words, I looked down and started watching my feet as I walked. I felt the ground beneath me – every rock and uneven patch. I took in the colors and shapes. And then out of nowhere, the most amazing thing happened – an epiphany. The answers to my questions had been there the whole time.
Present moment.
There was, in fact, nothing to “figure out.” There were no thoughts to work through and no pain to process. I had certainly done this enough over the past few weeks, and the only thing that was going to “heal” me was the present moment. I let out an audible laugh at the thought of it. Ever since I’d set out on the trail, I had been living in the present moment, and as a result felt only happiness and peace with what was in front of me. It’s not that the emotional pain and confusion I had been feeling disappeared necessarily. Rather, like a latent virus lying dormant in my body, it didn’t have any power anymore. And ironically, it was only when I stopped to try and find these seemingly non-existent answers regarding pain and past situations that I stopped experiencing any peace.
The clarity was like a gentle whisper from the Universe: “Just be, Lia. There’s simply nothing to figure out right now. You cannot rush healing; you cannot force your pain out or escape to the woods to leave it on a mountaintop. Just be here now.”
The realizations continued, like a strange force of wisdom pulsing through me, “Though it is absent now, emotional pain will likely return again; it may manifest within you as a strange form of emptiness. Don’t resist it; instead, smile at it as you lay it to rest a while to turn your focus to the incredible beauty that surrounds you at every moment. The more you do this, just as you are doing now in the mountains, the more you will live in peace and joy and fullness.” I felt this clarity, and I felt…I just… wow. I must say that everything has been the slightest bit different for me since this moment in the woods.
About an hour later, I reached the top of the trail and walked back to my car, amongst disappointed tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of Clingman’s Dome through the thick fog.
On my drive out of the park, I felt the itch for more walking in the woods. And I had the whole day to kill, so why not? I allowed the fog to pass, loaded my car up with some more fuel, and drove through the park again, this time parking at the trailhead to Charlie’s Bunion.
I was virtually alone for this trail, passing some hikers along the way, but not stopping to talk to many people. And when I reached the top, I literally gasped at the sight of it – it was by far the most beautiful view I’d seen all weekend. Hills upon hills in front of me – vast blues and greens overtaking my senses, folding into a backdrop of infinite mountain layers. I could’ve spent all day up there if I didn’t have to get home.
I have to admit that leaving Smoky National Park, I felt a slight sadness come over me. I didn’t want to break the peace I had created. I didn’t want to lose my feeling of freedom to the “real world.” But then I remembered that moment of clarity I had on the trail, and the literal shift I’d felt in my mind and body: the power of the present moment. And so I smiled, reassured that I had everything I needed to figure it all out. And my smile grew even bigger as I thought of all the hiking and backpacking possibilities that lay ahead. I could always look to nature; it wasn’t going anywhere. There will always be trails to wander and countless adventures to be had. So many songs to write and strangers to meet and stories to be told. And ‘til the day we die, there will always be a limitless string of identities for us to discover.
Now, onto the next adventure. Tally ho!
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