Discovering Absolute Freedom while Confined to 33ft

With a view like this, it is hard not to feel free.

Keep it together, Britt, just fucking breathe, I thought to myself  as I inhaled and exhaled with fervor. I was desperately trying to prevent the inevitable dry heaving that was to come with every rock of this 33ft floating hellhole. Hitting the three foot waves head on, added with the whipping wind, splash of sea water and frigid cold was enough to send me below to deal with this agony. As I continued taking one deep breath in and one extended exhale out, I kept replaying the picturesque sailing life I had always imagined. This certainly wasn't what I had anticipated, curled up in the fetal position below deck in the quarter berth breathing in the methane and exhaust fumes and trying to prevent an upchuck reflex.

A photo from my family vacation, 8 years ago.

I can remember when I first entertained the thought of learning to sail. I was a teenager, glancing over some yacht and sailing magazines while on the deck of a cousin's refurbished boat. All of the glitz and glamour of these excessively tricked out boats interested me. Reading stories about families who just picked up their lives and sailed with the tides, teaching their children through life experiences rather than a text book really appealed to my adventurous nature. My fascination continued when I was 20 years old,  on a summer road trip with my mom going up the New England coast to visit family friends in Maine. We took a detour to Cape Cod, and Martha's Vineyard. While eating brunch by the water in Cape Cod, I could see the sailboats bob in the water with the ebbs and flows of the waves. I watched the water glisten off the hull of the boats as the mainsails and colorful spinnakers opened to their fullest capacities in the wind. That morning, I imagined what life would be like on a boat, sailing open, turquoise waters, the sun soaking my body in its warmth and discovering exotic destinations along the way. Right then and there, I knew I wanted to learn to sail, and dreamed eventually I would have my own boat.

Yet, here I was, the furthest thing from my dreams, in the cabin of the boat trying to prevent seasickness. How did I get in this predicament? I was asked to crew on my friend Craig's boat, to bring it back up to Philadelphia from Solomons Island in the Chesapeake Bay. I jumped at the chance as I couldn't wait to practice my newfound sailing skills. But, if I couldn't hack it in the first hour of being on the boat, how the hell would I be able to fulfill my pipe dream of eventually retiring on a sailboat. My sailing dreams were deflated, my ego dejected and I was so exhausted from deep breathing and waking up at the ass-crack of dawn that I fell asleep.

"....the sun peaking through the wall of clouds."

An hour past. I woke up mentally preparing for the continued anguish to come. But to my surprise, when I stepped out of the cabin, the sun was shining, and the wind and waves had died down. I looked back from where we had come from and I could see the sun peaking through the wall of clouds. Relieved, I started to take in the salty air and settled down on the deck.

For the remainder of the day, I did soak in the sun, slept a bit more, took over navigation and continued to take in the sights and sounds of the bay. As much time as there was to sit back and do nothing, I was never bored. I had more time to daydream about early sailors who would navigate these waters without GPS, or even electricity. Craig, the owner of the boat, and I had long conversations about coastal navigation and the nearly abandoned light houses, relics of the past, that were strategically scattered along the shoreline.

Opening up the mainsail.

Being out on the water allowed me to be fully present and aware of my surroundings. At one point in the near distance we could see a school of fish synchronized swimming, skirting their fins across the surface of the water. This sight continued until a seagull took notice and disrupted their rhythm in desperate search of lunch. When we finally came to Annapolis, the bay was full of enormous boats with inflated, vibrant spinnakers floating across the water. Craig and I sat with a heavy stare watching boats vie for best position, quickly dropping their spinnakers in hopes to be first in a race around a buoy. As we sailed toward the Delaware Memorial Bridge, the sun began its descent below the horizon. The orange glow on the geometric lines of the bridge captivated my attention long before and after we had passed under it. We ate dinner at twilight, still under power in an effort to make it to the intended anchoring point at Cabin John Creek. As the sky became dark, an eerie melancholy air came over the canal. Lights flickered in the distance on the shore line and danced across the water as we moved towards them. At that moment I felt the urge to move to the bow and take in the void. I had never before felt so free, so peaceful and yet so alone. I was so focused on taking in the emptiness that I almost didn't see a barge, its giant, stalking silhouette silently creeping up on us. As we settled into the mouth of Cabin John Creek and lowered the anchor I couldn't help but feel content with the day.  

The next morning we pulled up the anchor and continued along, chasing the rising sun through the narrow C&D Canal. As the sun rose, the light entangled with the fog to create a fiery mist that engulfed any boat in its path. When we turned into the Delaware River, the fog cleared and Craig and I were able to take turns napping in the afternoon sun.  While I navigated the Delaware, Landmarks like PPL park, the Navy Yard and the abandoned warehouses along South Columbus Blvd were obvious signs that we had entered the city limits. Although I have seen these landmarks numerous times before, typically en route to the airport, a sports game or aimless wanderings, I was able to see them through a different lens, a different perspective.

I began to reflect on the adventure and not only did I have a different visual perspective, but I had a different philosophical perspective, more specifically on sailing and the concept of freedom. Before this trip, I felt my freedom was limited to my physical surroundings. Yet, during this trip, as I was being physically confined to a small space, I was able to feel a sense of freedom that I had only dreamed about. I realized that my surroundings didn't dictate my independence, or lack thereof, and that my personal autonomy is only reliant upon my mental attitude. Granted, it's hard to feel free when stuck in a meaningless job, in a dead-end relationship or constrained to the expectations of family, friends or society as a whole. That is why I find myself physically, and now mentally breaking free from it all, to reconnect with myself. All the waves, wind, rocking, sickness, dry-heaving, and shivering cold this life throws at me can't disrupt my personal quest for sovereignty, because I know that precious feeling of freedom is worth the chaos, even if experienced on a 33ft floating hellhole.


*Special thanks to my friend Craig, who allowed my to "crew" on his sailboat, and provided great company/conversation along the way. Hopefully, his experience was as rewarding as mine. I'm sincerely grateful for the opportunity!

Finding Myself While Getting Lost in the Woods

"I need to go to the woods!" I exclaimed in a work meeting, with a few friendly colleagues. The stress of a new year, new management company and new administration was tightening it's squeeze on what remaining sanity I already possessed. My co-workers were not surprised as they had been accustomed to my hippie, tree-hugger, off-the-grid antics such as solo backpacking, white water kayaking or rock climbing weekend adventures. Most thought I was bat-shit crazy. Some were jealous and have made comments about including them in my next adventure. But all of that didn't matter. All I knew, at that moment in time, in that meeting, I could feel myself needing an escape to the forest.

This wasn't my first escape to the woods. I had gone to the Adirondacks last Fall, with a yearning to escape the hectic life I was living at the time. I had gone back to the forest this past Spring, for a solo backpacking adventure in Shenandoah National Park, not only to find solitude but to prove to myself I could do it. Over the past year, every time I felt stressed, depleted, overwhelmed or not centered, I longed to be in the presence of  the forest. This time I knew I had some big girl issues, life decisions I had to reflect on and hopefully come away with answers or a sense of direction.

But why the woods? Why do I yearn to go to the woods to clear my head and find my center?

I reflected on this question, as well as my life decisions, during my short section hike on the Long Trail in Vermont. Talking about it with a few of my friends I had met while hiking and during my stay in Burlington, I was able to narrow it down.

Void of All Unnecessary Distractions:

Out in the backcountry, I am literally away from any kind of physical, mental or emotional distraction that is attached to me in my life. The surroundings are quiet and peaceful. I am not being questioned by students, talked at by administrators, and my to do lists stay at home. My whole focus is surviving and centering myself, finding serenity and joy and maybe finding answers.



Full of Necessary Distractions:

Being out in the woods with only a pack on my back, carrying the few essential items for my survival makes me realize how vulnerable I am. Any lack of judgement on the trail can cause me to sprain an ankle, get hypothermia, contract giardia, get lost, etc. all of which can be potentially dangerous and life threatening if not dealt with properly. Yet, despite the potential dangers and vulnerability, I find comfort in knowing that I am in charge of my survival. It's empowering.

Plus, the necessary distractions help channel my energy in a positive way. I'm a naturally anxious person, but my anxiety seems to disappear when I'm in the woods. My mind has no time to perseverate on the future, especially when the present has so much stimuli to process. Trail difficulty, careful footing, way finding, and just enjoying natural beauty forces me to live in the present moment.







Raw and Exposed

When I am in the woods, especially backpacking, I am the rawest, purest form of myself. I have nothing to hide behind. Literally nothing. My title, my job, my paycheck, my material abundance, everything I would use to define myself in society, none of those things matter out in the backcountry. What I do have is my ingenuity, resourcefulness, my character, and willpower. Although those things may be tweaked, perfected or strengthened over time, they essentially don't change. Some of the people I have met on the trail have seen me at my most vulnerable state sometimes leaving me to believe that they know me better than some of the people I interact with on a regular basis. Maybe the circumstance allows me to fully open up and disclose my dreams and fears. Or maybe because I feel that the other person in which I share a conversation is also exposed and at their purest form, I feel comfortable being myself.



Solitude:

One of my favorite quotes about exploring, and the general nature of explorers comes from David Grann's The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon, where he quoted a member of the Royal Geographical Society, who stated "Indeed, some might say that explorers become explorers precisely because they have a streak of unsociability and a need to remove themselves at regular intervals as far as possible from their fellow men."

Maybe I do have that unsociable streak. Or, maybe, it is just the occasional desire to break free from everyday life, and enjoy the solitude that nature has to offer.


Self Discovery and Personal Growth

All of my adventures usually center around discovering something new, whether it be a location, a hobby or skill or discovering new people. The act of discovering is exciting as newness is attractive and appealing to me. Yet in all of my years of travel, I have not considered that while discovering a new place, hobby or person, I am also in the process of rediscovering myself. There are parts of me that get lost in the responsibilities of life. I neglect certain aspects of myself that need attention in order to develop. Yet, discovering something new, especially out in the woods, allows me to discover my desires, goals, my strength (both physical and mental) and determine my priorities in life.

So what did I discover while I was navigating the strenuous terrain, taking in the beautiful vistas and meeting enthusiastic hikers on the Long Trail?  First of all, I realized how content I was with myself. For the first time in my life, I liked myself, who I had become and where I saw myself going. I am on track to becoming the woman I always wanted to be, and always knew I could be. Part of this realization was knowing that I didn't need to rely on anyone else for my happiness. I am in control of my own happiness. Another realization I had, although I don't need anyone else, I want to find someone with whom I can share my awesome adventures and experiences. I'm not searching for anyone. That person will come into my life when the timing is right.

I have redefined my priorities to include strengthening my relationships with the people I love. I want to continue the relationship I have with my mother, relying on her as a friend and confidant. I also want to be there for her.  I hope to reestablish a relationship with my father, even though our history makes it overwhelmingly difficult as I will have to overcome emotional wounds. And I also hope to strengthen my relationships with my friends, and even open myself up to making new friends. For the longest time, I have kept people at a distance, scared to allow them to get close for fear of abandonment. I have realized that some of life's greatest joys come from having meaningful relationships with others and I hope to continue making and maintaining these relationships.

The final conclusion came as a result of living out of a backpack for four nights. I became very aware of all of the material items I do not need, but clutter my room, my house, or my car. I determined that I would stop buying items that were not a necessity and start purging unnecessary things. All of the money I save by not buying excess will go directly into new adventures. Having adventure be apart of my daily life is more important that any material item I buy. Plus, for each adventure I want to start writing about it, even documenting all of my past adventures. I think I have some interesting stories including having a ska clothing company in high school, and couch surfing/squatting around Europe. I have opened myself up to situations that I think people, on average, would shy away from.

My escape to the woods on the Long Trail, Vermont did provide the clarity and solitude I ultimately needed. The results of my excursion was far beyond anything I had expected. I'm hoping that I won't have to wait for that moment of weakness where I proclaim "I need to go to the woods!" to go on another adventure. Hopefully, more adventures to come in the more immediate future!

To Hell and Back

Hiking Hekla Volcano, Iceland June 2015

"Shit" I exclaimed, shivering in the whipping wind. I was on the verge of tears, but I couldn't let him see me cry. "I guess we are in for a long night."
It was at that point that I realized I might have been in over my head. Unprepared. Naive.  An over inflated ego. What ever you call it, I was feeling it as we both came to the same conclusion.

We had been hiking for over five hours now on Hekla, one of Iceland's still active volcanoes, once thought to be the gateway to hell. Two days before the hike I had decided to hike Hekla by myself. After traveling in Iceland for 11 days with a friend, my last two days I was alone. This was the perfect time to try something new, adventurous, a bit crazy. I wanted to push myself and prove I could do it. Year of no fear, right?

The day before, without an exact location for the trail head, I decided to go and search out the volcano. From the main road it was a visible giant looming over life below. I thought I'd keep it in my sights while driving, and eventually with enough searching on dirt and gravel roads I'd find a sign that might point me in the right direction. Unfortunately, time and fuel passed by as I continued perseverating about hiking Hekla. By 3am I was still without a destination and running on fumes. About to give up and head back towards Reykjavik, out of the corner of my eye I saw a sign that said The Hekla Center. I quickly swerved into the driveway and realized it was an information center. An immediate feeling of relief came over me as I realized I could sleep in the car for the night and ask for directions to the trail head in the morning. I took one last look at Hekla's summit as I curled up, exhausted, in back seat of the car.


The next morning, I inquired at the front desk at the information center as to the location of the trail head.
"Are you all by yourself?" the hostess questioned cautiously. "Will you be hiking by yourself?" again questioning with a nervous gaze.

"YEP!" I said with an overwhelming amount of confidence.

"Do you have the Iceland Emergency App?" she replied. I could tell she was trying to balance the fine line of being helpful while not deflating my enthusiasm.

This was not the first time someone had suggested this app. The day prior I was telling a gas station attendant my plans and he had asked the same question. I figured if the universe was telling me twice, then it was something to pay attention to. I asked about the app and she helped me download it to my phone.

"There have been a lot of people who go out on a hike and end up needing an emergency evacuation. Tourists keep emergency personnel busy this time of year," she mentioned with a scornful grin.  Her words immediately reminded me of my mother, who told me not to die on my 21st birthday. I didn't die but I was damn near close after getting my stomach pumped. She was putting negative thoughts out into the universe, and I didn't want it to come back to haunt me. I thanked her for the app, got information about the trail head and headed to the car. Before I could leave the building a colorful poster caught my eye.

Copyright of this image belongs to Icelandic Civil Authorities (Almannavarnir).

Keeping the advice and warnings in mind, I made my way to the trail head. After turning off the main road, driving the single lane, winding and rugged dirt road through the ominously barren landscape was almost enough to make me turn around. Year of no fear, year of no fear, I kept thinking to myself. Finally, after a half hour of driving while debating if I should continue, I reached the starting point. Luckily, I wasn't alone.
 
I pulled up to find one other brave soul parked next to the trail. We caught each others gaze for a split second, nodded and proceeded with our preparations. After peering at his gear, goggles, gloves, backpack, hiking boots, I felt a bit unprepared and nervous. I started to second guess my decision for wearing my Nikes and wool socks. Maybe I wasn't ready for this?

When he started to hike, I decided to get rolling and stay near him. If anything happened, he would be close in proximity to help if needed. Upon further inspection the whole trail seemed to be covered in snow. I was regretting my decision to not buy hiking boots, but that thought wasn't going to help me now.  I trudged on.

The trail itself was narrow, steep, and slippery, iced-over from the repeated thawing and refreezing. My Nikes weren't cutting it, I was slipping and having to catch myself every other step. My goal was to keep the other hiker in my vision, he was my carrot, my motivation. If he could do it, so could I. Hiking boots be damned.

There came a point when the trail plateaued, and the hiker stopped to catch a drink. I hurried my pace to catch up with him and I did. We introduced ourselves briefly and went on our way again. At first it seemed as if he had no interest in hiking together as he hurried along ahead of me. But to my surprise he turned to me and asked if I would mind trekking together. I was relieved, but kept it hidden and responded with a simple, "Sure."

His name was Peter, a forestry service worker in Germany, located in small town outside of Berlin. He told me of the occupational hazards and moving up through the ranks. Once he almost cut off his foot with a chainsaw, but all he could think about was how expensive his boots were to replace. He has since become a driver, a far less dangerous position. Peter was also traveling around Iceland on his 4x4 vehicle. He had it shipped over from Germany for the trip so that he could get through all of the F roads (interior, gravel roads that are usually impassable by regular cars especially in the Winter and early Spring). We bonded over our adventures and love of the outdoors. He told me of his adventures in Norway and the Swiss Alps, and I shared with him my solo backpacking hike with my dog along the AT in Shenandoah. We also talked about the possible eruption, and the 30-80 minutes window to get off the mountain. We joked that if we experienced seismic activity, we'd be rolling down the mountain to escape. 

As we got closer to the top, our conversation was interjected with breaks to catch our breath, drink some water, take in the view and scout out the best route. By this time the trail was covered under feet of snow and we were improvising our way to the top. We were now looking out for signs of loose snow, hidden fissure and unstable footing. In order to get any kind of footing, we were both digging our shoes into the snow and using all four of our extremities to get to the next spot.

 After about an hour of digging and climbing, we reached the summit! It was exhilarating to catch a peek at the surrounding landscape through the fog, knowing what it took to get here. Peter knelt down to touch the ground. It was warm. We took some summit selfies and bragged about how fast we got to the top. It only took us about 2 hours to reach the summit when the guidebooks said it would take about 3-4. The hard part was over. Or so we thought.

Orienting ourselves on Peter's map proved more difficult to do. The fog was pretty thick, and it was hard to identify the surrounding features below us. He had a GPS, but it wasn't working. We looked around for our tracks leading back down the mountain. A snow covered trail meant we had to rely on keeping our original footprints in sight to get back to the cars. We decided on the direction and picked points on the slope as our guide. Quickly, I realized this was going to be the most challenging part of the trek.

Even though we could see footprints, we were second guessing if they were ours. At one point, Peter and I were torn on whether to head the left around some crags or stay right down the slope. I had this gut feeling to stay left, but I trusted his judgement so we went right. About an hour on this path and we realized right wasn't right at all. We took out his map, tried to orient ourselves again, picked a point to the left and trudged on. A half hour later we came to red markers and we followed them down the mountain. I was comforted to be back on a marked trail. But Peter wasn't convinced this was the way back to the cars. He convinced me that it was a trail to the main road and that we should head to the right, up over some hills and we would catch the trail to the cars there. Against my better judgement, I followed.

In the distance, we could see a trail marker, a long white stick protruding out of the snow. Despite being exhausted and cold, this marker gave me added energy knowing that once we reached that marker it was an easy path down. By this time, Peter and I were silent. I was trying to calm my breathing and keep my thoughts positive. We stopped about 100 yards from the supposed "trail marker" only to find that the reflection and shadows at a far enough distance deceived us. I started to think about that lady at the information center and the Iceland emergency app. Goddamn foreshadowing or law of attraction, which ever it was didn't matter and wasn't going to help me now. I debated whether to send out an emergency signal with the app. My stubbornness prevented me. I didn't want to become one of "those tourists" the woman had talked about with disdain. That was going to be my last resort.

Now, the sky was indistinct due to the heavy fog setting in and the wind was picking up. A light rain started to fall and panic set in. The wind penetrated my layers and my toes were starting to go numb. Peter took out the map one last time in hopes of orienting ourselves with some possibility of recovering the trail. After about fives minutes of deliberation, he suggested we start hiking towards the main road. It was the safest bet, instead of wasting more energy to find the trail. We could see the main road far off in the distance. At this point I knew that this day hike was going to turn into an overnight "adventure."

"Shit" I exclaimed, shivering in the whipping wind. I was on the verge of tears, but I couldn't let him see me cry. "I guess we are in for a long night." It was at that point that I realized I might have been in over my head. Unprepared. Naive.  An over inflated ego. What ever you call it, I was feeling it as we both came to the same conclusion. We had been hiking for over fives hours now. I was mentally and physically exhausted but I knew I had to prepare myself and accept my fate for the evening.

We lumbered on silently. In my head I let out a little prayer to get us back safely and efficiently. We had now been hiking Hekla for six hours. As we stumbled up over a little hill, I saw the red trail markers. We agreed to follow it down, as we had originally thought it would lead us to the main road. Now the road was our new destination. We walked down around the hill and to our amazement we could see a car. My heart fluttered a bit. The car didn't belong to either of us, but it gave us hope. We pushed further around another hill and there in front of us were our cars.

I jumped for joy while letting out a sigh of relief. We were both so excited that we hugged each other. It didn't matter how cramped, or achy or cold my body was, I could see the end of this hike in sight and I was oh so relieved to see it. Peter and I looked like little kids skipping down the mountain. A few times we almost rolled down as we forgot, nor didn't care about the icy trail. Within 30 minutes of finding the red trail markers we were back at the car. In total, we were on Hekla for 6.5 hours.


Peter and I said our goodbyes and wished each other safe travels. I was extremely glad I found him on the trail, as I could have experienced the possibility of being lost and alone on the volcano. I had planned this hike with the expectation of adventure for my last day in Iceland. Man, did I get it and more. 

When the Perfect Doesn't Work Out Perfectly Part 2

In order to get to the top of the second look out, there was a massive, steep, and polished boulder that needed to be passed. B-Dawk couldn't and didn't want to try and pass it. He had become spooked of steep boulders while hiking the AT in Virginia that summer. It was evident that the experience in Virginia had a profound effect on his willingness to climb. I continued to encourage him to climb on his own, thinking he would try to get up the rock if he knew I was up there. I even tried to help him, but his lanky legs resisted every inch. Suddenly, he became so spooked and agitated that he darted off into the thick brush, disappearing within seconds.

"It's okay," I reassured myself. "He does this on trails at home and will always make it back to me."

Five minutes passed.  I continued taking pictures with my phone from the top of the vista.

Ten minutes passed. I walked around the trail and vista point to see if I could find him.

15 minutes passed. I sat, panicking, at the top of the vista, thinking about my mom telling me, "Make sure you don't lose B-Dawk!" Damn, her and her fucking comments.

20 minutes passed. An old, stocky, weathered hiker asked me if he has a bear bell on him. "The bear bell would at least alert the bear, before he could sneak up on it."

21 minutes passed. I'm frantically thinking about B-Dawk's lack of bear bell and how that could prove fatal.

28 minutes later, I hear the jingle of his collar. A sigh of relief came over me, as I had just resigned myself to the notion of coming home without a dog. I tried one more time to get him to go over the boulder, to no avail.


"What the hell am I going to do," I questioned myself. That was the only trail I had considered, my only option. Quickly, I started to trouble shoot. Thoughts of abandoning the trip popped into my head. "I'd feel like a failure if I quit now," I thought. I still had something to prove to myself.

My mind immediately thought of the trail split, at the lake a quarter mile back. I took out the map to evaluate my options. At the lake the trail did split, the trail to Giant Mountain (which I was on) went right and to the left a trail to Roaring Brook Falls. "It is the only other option," I sighed, disappointed that I couldn't follow through with the original plan. But  seeing that I didn't have any other options besides abandoning the hike altogether, I decided to go with it. 

The hike down the trail seemed more difficult than I had expected. The steep incline of the trail seemed exacerbated by the fact that  I was heavy with emotions of anger, disappointment and anxiety.  I hadn't anticipated my dog not being able to complete the trail with me, what could go wrong next?  In addition, each new group of hikers we passed seemed to rub it in that I wasn't going to reach the very top, a subtle yet still painful dig at my self-confidence.

We returned to the lake and I took a minute to take in the beauty surrounding me, while trying to regain composure over my emotions.

I started thinking about my hiking partner, my ex-boyfriend who had been on all of my previous hiking and backpacking trips. He always kept me in a positive mood. But this time I had to rely on myself to keep my emotions in check. This time I had to rely on myself for every aspect of the trip. Fuck. I took a few more pictures to quiet my mind and to remind myself that I am surrounded by pure beauty.

We continued on the trail towards Roaring Brook Falls until I found a decent place to set up camp. After setting up the tent, I emptied the gear, organizing the necessities that I would need for starting a fire, setting a bear bag, making dinner and feeding B-Dawk. I was able to put up the tent and bear bag  effortlessly, a small victory since I had never been in charge of either task on my previous trips. These small victories kept me positive for the time being.

Finally settling in at my "campsite" for the night, my mind continued to race with thoughts of my incompetence. Swiftly, in a desperate rush to avoid the negative loop, my mind shifted to another thought.

"Fire! I must start a fire!"

 I thought if I could start a fire and keep it going, then maybe I would feel less incompetent. To me, keeping a fire going was a matter of my survival for the night. The ground was wet and there was a damp, chill in the air. I was skeptical that I would even get a spark to catch, yet I scavenged around my campsite for any kindling that was remotely dry.  Then in the distance, I spotted a Birch tree shedding its bark, in large, papery stands, perfect for starting a fire. I grabbed two handfuls of bark, and returned to the kindling I had scavenged. Methodically, I broke down the tree branches into more manageable pieces, continuously thinking about how to start the fire. I decided to lay down the largest piece of bark on the ground and tear the other pieces into thin strips, easy enough for any spark to catch hold of it. I put the meager pile of strips down, hoping that my logic would work. I took out my zippo lighter (yea, I cheated, you backpacking purists) and struck the cog. Instantly the spark started to smolder and caught hold of the bark, creating a tiny flame that continued to consume the thin strips. Immediately seeing the flame, I felt a simultaneous feeling of accomplishment and urgency.
"I can't let that flame go out!" I told myself. In my mind, letting the fire go out would add to insecurities and incompetence. I hurriedly yet strategically placed the kindling over the flame, hoping it would grow. Slowly it did.

For 3 hours I sat staring into the fire constantly thinking about life: my recent breakup with my ex of 5 years, a failed attempt at dating a coworker, a run in with a crazy man who threatened me and my dog with a knife 20 feet from my house, a recent car crash that totaled my car, an unstable father and his ailing health and the various emotions that went along with all of that. As much as I was nervous to go out backpacking by myself, I felt like I needed this time. It was time I needed to escape the crazy, to sit in silence and reflect on what had happened, what was happening and try to figure out what needed to happen next.

I started thinking about what all of these recent events meant. I started second guessing my breakup. Maybe I really did want to focus on a family, settle down and that traveling was not as important to me like it once was. I sat by the fire and let the warmth surround me. I hoped it would fill the emotional void I had in the pit of my stomach.  As the darkness consumed the light of day, the fire died down and the kindling ran out. I decided to go to the tent and read to quiet my mind.

 I took out On the Road by Kerouac and started reading. I was temporarily comforted in knowing that Sal, Kerouac's protagonist, would have been able to relate to my fear of being alone despite my quest to find solitude. I read until my eyelids became heavy and then disappeared into my cocoon of a sleeping bag to go to sleep.

Although I was heavy with emotions, I slept lightly. The mixture of the cold air, hard ground, and my own anxieties did not provide a good night sleep. In addition, B-Dawk, who was not equipped to sleep on the cold ground without a crash pad, was shivering profusely. He huddled next to me to absorb any heat from my sleeping bag. Eventually, I ended up giving him my jacket to use as a blanket.

In the morning, I made breakfast, gathered our things and decided to head back to the car. The three day adventure was cut down to one night. My emotional state and lack of gear to keep B-Dawk warm at night prevented me from wanting to stay any longer. We returned to the trail, taking in the beauty one last time before returning to our car. The remaining time, I decided to take a trip to Lake Placid, see the Olympic training center, and then over to Lake George just to say I saw it. I was disappointed that I was unable to finish the trail, get to the top of Giant Mountain and spend a few more nights out on the trail.
When I came back home, friends and co-workers had asked about the trip.

"It was great!" I replied, lying through my teeth. It was better than telling them the truth, I thought.  No body wanted to hear the truth. I didn't even want to admit the truth.  

 

 REFLECTIONS ON THE TRIP:

It has been two months since going to the Adirondacks. Reflecting back, I can say that if I had been in a better state of mind and not dealing with all of the emotional crap, I would have enjoyed the trip. I have later realized that the trip was not as bad as I felt while there. The disappointment of not finishing the trail was the most painful part of the trip, but I have decided to try again in the Spring.  Most importantly: I SURVIVED! I was skeptical that I would even survive a night alone in the woods. I also learned some valuable tips about backpacking/hiking that I only could have learned through experience. Talking to other more seasoned hikers, it only gets easier with experience. In addition, looking back, it was a trip that needed to happen. I needed the growing pains as I learned a lot about myself, about what I want out of life, and my limits physically and emotionally. In the end, the trip wasn't as perfect as I had expected it to be, but such is life, imperfect. It is the imperfections that keeps life interesting. Here's to more life experiences full of imperfections, mistakes and the knowledge, strength and courage to overcome them!

When the Perfect Doesn't Work Out Perfectly Part 1

"You're doing what?!" my mom screamed through the telephone.



"I am going backpacking on my own, with B-dawk in the Adirondacks," I reiterated,  pausing because I knew what was coming next out of her mouth, a list of all the different things that could possibly go wrong.

"How will you get around? Do you know what you are doing? What if something happens to you? Do you know the kind of people that are out there? And what they are willing to do to a pretty girl like you?"

Silently, I thought of each answer. Walking. Kinda. Well, I guess I'm screwed. Hippies and adrenaline junkies. And no, what are they willing to do?

"Mom, I'll be fine. Stop worrying." a half-assed attempt at reassuring her, obviously to no avail. She continued on her tangent of worried thoughts, explaining that she has lived longer, has more experiences to pull from, and that I wouldn't know how she felt until I became a mom.

I love my mother, but after a certain amount of time listening to her ramblings, her voice transforms into the teacher from Charlie Brown, incoherent utterances of something resembling words. My mind just blocks everything out until I hear a question or statement in which I need to respond.

"Hello, you there?" She questioned.

"Ah, um, can you repeat that?" Shit, she caught me.

"When will you be back?" Repeating her initial question.

"I'll be coming home Monday. If you haven't heard from me by Monday night, then you have something to worry about."

My mother wasn't the only one who thought I was crazy for embarking on this trip. My co-workers and friends all tried to talk me out of going, stating some of the same reasons.

I just have to do it, I thought to myself. I have something to prove to myself and to everyone else who thinks I can't or shouldn't do it. But the reservations of the people around me started to eat at my confidence. What if something DID happen? Would I be able to handle it? Questions about basic survival skills bounced around in my brain. By the time Friday came around, my nerves were working overtime. I had tripled checked the route in which I was taking, shared my route with a few key friends and family members, maniacally reviewed my supplies repeatedly until I was sure I hadn't forgot anything.

I left for the Adirondacks after work, on a Friday evening, the sun setting,  an eerie start, almost like foreshadowing, to the adventure. It took six hours to get up to the Chapel Pond Parking lot, where my dog and I were going to spend the night in the car. When we got there, it was one o'clock in the morning and I had barely kept my eyes open the past two hours of the trip. My phone had lost service an hour ago, but luckily my GPS had continued to work despite the loss. I pulled out the blankets and cozied up in the back seat. My dog, who by habit sleeps next to me in my bed, had trouble trying to find a spot that was close enough to me. He struggled to find a comfortable position as I had trouble with nodding off to sleep.  

In the morning, I was startled by the sound of French Canadian hikers, readying their caravan to start the day's trail. Now was a good a time as ever to start, I thought to myself, despite having had an unsettling night of sleep due to the constricting nature of my car and the cold temperature.  I readied my things, double, triple and quadruple checking I had all of my gear and supplies for the trek. I grabbed my dog, asked the friendly Canadians for a quick picture, and we were off on foot.

For the first quarter to half mile, I was surprised to find that I was scrambling up rocks, definitely huffing and puffing, quickly realizing I need to get in better backpacking shape. This realization did not help my nerves. "Am I going to be able to make it all the way?" I scrutinized every detail of my experiences hiking, my present athletic condition and my current mood, as I climbed. Out of breath, I staggered up to the first vista. The first vista point was a nice place to re-energize, take some pictures and reflect. B-dawk and I were able to look down and see Chapel Pond, the parking lot and the starting point to the trail.

"This is actually happening, I am doing this all on my own," I thought. Although, I would have preferred some company, I wanted to do this hike all by myself. I just had to prove to myself that I can do it.

I heard the French Canadians getting closer, so I decided to continue on. At this point, I let B-Dawk off the leash.



After the first overlook, we came to a lake serenely sitting amongst the backdrop of trees on the mountains in the distance. The reflections of the fallen trees and debris caught my eye. After taking some pictures, we crossed a man-made bridge and continued to scramble up more rocks.
Although I was wheezing for air, things were going smoothly. I felt confident about the day, and the trip thus far.


Then B-Dawk and I arrived at the second overlook point on the trail.....

Your Dreams, the Catch. Your Fears, the Cage.

"Don't live your life out of fear," I whisper to myself quietly.

"Don't live your life out of fear," I repeat again trying to convince myself of its meaning while wrapped in my cozy blanket, protecting myself from the penetrating cold and darkness that is this November morning.


"Don't live your life out of fear," I now speak firmly to myself, one last time with conviction, providing enough energy to get myself out of bed, a real struggle this particular day.


Don't live your life out of fear is a mantra I have written on my mirror, where I can read it and repeat it when in desperate need.  Lately thought, it's been used much like a dirty whore, repeatedly and often.

Why is this relevant to my blog post? You may find yourself inquiring. The relevance is that this mantra is what has inspired me to start blogging.


"Oh great, another [insert expletive here] blogger!" you say.


Yea, for the longest time, I agreed with you. Why does the world need another blogger who wants to interject their cynical views on the wide world of the internet explorers?


"Who would want to read my posts? Who cares what I have to say?" the fear continued to keep these conversations alive in my head. For the longest time I believed my inner critics. There is nothing relevant that I have to say. No one will read my blogs. People will judge me. It will be an absolute failure. Then I started to realize that my reason for blogging isn't for other people. It's actually just for me.


Back in my undergrad at Philadelphia University, for my graduation project, I created a magazine and website called Citizen Philadelphia, a media source to spotlight local, national and global philanthropic projects and the inspiring people behind them. From concept development to a finalized, published magazine and website took four months of non-stop design, writing, photographing, tinkering, thinking, living, breathing, dreaming Citizen Philadelphia. I enjoyed the whole process, the development of the brand, the conceptual design of each aspect of the magazine and website, interviewing the people around which I wrote the stories and compiling it all into one finished product. It was the culmination of everything I learned at Philadelphia University.              

It. Was. My. Baby.


After graduation, I tried to keep it going, yet found myself stuck. Stuck financially, and halted by the fear of failure, the fear of not making it a success. Looking back I question my idea of success. Was success defined as people reading my posts, creating articles that were relevant in the current place and time, or getting notoriety for capturing inspiring projects and the minds behind them?  What defines success? Who defines it?

These are the questions now,  in hindsight, of which I feel I have a better grasp on, an understanding.  It is all me. Literally, me. I define my success, my failures, my lessons learned. I can make it positive, negative or neutral. It is all in how I want to define it.

This blogging that I will be working on, it is all for me. It is to extend, and redefine my vision of Citizen Philadelphia and establish a basis for which to start a travel blog.

So in essence, fuck you.

Fuck your opinions, your criticisms, your praise, anything having to do with you. You can read it. You may wish to not read it. I don't give a fuck. All I know is, I am chronicling my adventures, my connections with people, places and things— all for me.

Looking back, this has been a work in progress for years, with all of my explorations, travelings, adventures and mishaps. Now it has a place and a purpose.

Financially, yea, I still don't have any money, but that won't stop me. I have my camera, my words and my vision— my vision of bringing my adventures and pictures to life and give it some kind of purpose.

If you continue to keep reading my blogs, enjoy. If you don't, no worries. It wasn't meant for you anyways.

I'm finally putting an end to living my life out of fear and listening to my inner critics, especially in terms of making my travel writing dreams a reality.

"Don't live your life out of fear," reassuring myself softly, while hovering the mouse over the PUBLISH button. One last gasp as I settle with the idea. "Don't live your life out of —