Oh Neglected Blog!
When did the urge to type leave me? Only a few weeks in, sitting at a computer became less fun. I expect it will return.
The last months have flown by, unlike the first weeks. Soon even if I were moved to write in town, there was too much to convey, too many stories to choose from.
So I have less than 600 miles left. By the time I finish hiking tomorrow, I will have less than a quarter of the total miles remaining to hike. The last entry I wrote on this was before I had walked a single quarter.
How much have I changed? What of this experience will color my life when I return? What the hell am I going to do when I'm free of the white blaze? Some of the distance I feel to these questions, and the discomfort that washes over me searching for answers, is because at some point, many hundreds of miles ago, I stopped saying 'I.' This culture is a collective, and I have learned more from the camaraderie than from the miles I walked alone. We have abandoned the individualism that I used to cling to. All this is connected, then.
The hike has grown a momentum in me, one I remember from returning after East Africa. It has pulled my comfort outdoors- I find my body close to the door, my mind missing the clarity of fresh air.
So I give you these poor, scattered thoughts. We hike on tomorrow; the final stretch is bittersweet. The end is gaining a superstitious quality: it has been safely far away for so long, it's proximity now appears fragile, capricious. We dropped the K-word from our normal vocabulary, now referring to our 'end' feels more polite, as though we do not want to anger the fates determining our future in these worn and weary bodies we have pushed to limits we did not imagine when we set off from Springer. As these final days pass, and some push for deadlines chosen before bonds formed, more bodies are breaking. Many of us slow down, now.
And from here, we are careful, somewhat. We are excited, but nervous. We hike on. Together now.
The last months have flown by, unlike the first weeks. Soon even if I were moved to write in town, there was too much to convey, too many stories to choose from.
So I have less than 600 miles left. By the time I finish hiking tomorrow, I will have less than a quarter of the total miles remaining to hike. The last entry I wrote on this was before I had walked a single quarter.
How much have I changed? What of this experience will color my life when I return? What the hell am I going to do when I'm free of the white blaze? Some of the distance I feel to these questions, and the discomfort that washes over me searching for answers, is because at some point, many hundreds of miles ago, I stopped saying 'I.' This culture is a collective, and I have learned more from the camaraderie than from the miles I walked alone. We have abandoned the individualism that I used to cling to. All this is connected, then.
The hike has grown a momentum in me, one I remember from returning after East Africa. It has pulled my comfort outdoors- I find my body close to the door, my mind missing the clarity of fresh air.
So I give you these poor, scattered thoughts. We hike on tomorrow; the final stretch is bittersweet. The end is gaining a superstitious quality: it has been safely far away for so long, it's proximity now appears fragile, capricious. We dropped the K-word from our normal vocabulary, now referring to our 'end' feels more polite, as though we do not want to anger the fates determining our future in these worn and weary bodies we have pushed to limits we did not imagine when we set off from Springer. As these final days pass, and some push for deadlines chosen before bonds formed, more bodies are breaking. Many of us slow down, now.
And from here, we are careful, somewhat. We are excited, but nervous. We hike on. Together now.
posted by Sara Haxby at
10:00 AM
