The Hundred Aching Woods

Slippery (Cold, and Stinky) When Wet

It’s 7:07 PM and I’m already tucked in for the night, tracking time by the dimming light through my tent as I snuggle into my sleeping bag, hiding from the drizzle of a passing thunderstorm. It’s been raining on and off for the last four days, and my clothes hang from every nook of my tent in the hopes they might not be as wet when I reluctantly pull them on in the morning. Notice I didn’t say in the hope they might be dry… after three weeks, I know better than that.

Though it’s relatively unpleasant, swapping my warm, dry, cozy sleep clothes for my damp, cold, stinky hiking outfit is always a good motivator to get moving. And as I walk, the body heat I generate does a better job of drying my clothes than letting them hang stagnant.

I’ve noticed that, like my daily hiking outfit, there are some wet, cold, stinky thoughts and emotions from my everyday life waiting for me to pull them on. And like my clothes, leaving them to hang around my mind has had little effect. They aren’t there every morning, but when they do appear, I’m learning that the best remedy is to walk with them—until the joy of the trail generates enough heat to make them evaporate.

A lot of these thoughts are anxieties about the future, about my life post-trail. But I’m refusing to let my fears of the future rob me of the joy of the present moment—of the dream I wake to, slide my feet into, and lace up every morning.

Walking through the woods isn’t solving all of my problems or squelching all of my fears—but the well of gratitude nature stirs in my spirit bleeds into every facet of who I am, changing my perspective irrevocably.

The Art of Noticing

On one of my first town days—wandering around Franklin, North Carolina with a few of my trail friends—we stumbled across a cute little shop where we hoped to find some postcards to send home. After picking out a few cards, I noticed some small notebooks with quotes inscribed on them. The following quote brought me to tears:

“Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” — Mary Oliver

Maybe it was the hiker hunger, or maybe my own smell getting to me—but these words provoked a beautiful, visceral response I felt I had to answer.

I am in the habit of noticing, and sharing these moments of wonder brings me boundless joy.

These first few weeks on trail, I’ve been videoing and documenting my journey publicly in a way that’s felt pretty vulnerable. What I thought would mostly interest my close friends and family found a much wider audience than I ever anticipated. I felt overwhelmed and a bit shell-shocked. It made me think a lot about my why for sharing my journey so publicly. I hope to inspire more people to chase their dreams through my “noticing” and to show what is possible when your heart is set on something, no matter who or where you are. 

I have always been endeared to the small things, to finding the wonder in the mundane. The trail holds no shortage of these wonders.

While my trail name, Kaleidoscope, reflects my whimsical nature and love of colors and fun, it’s also a nod to the perspectives I see—and the wonder I hope to capture and share. Though a kaleidoscope’s view shifts and morphs, there is beauty in every frame. That’s what I hope to portray—not only on the trail, but every day of my life.

Though not every day on trail is a great day, it is always a good day. There is goodness to be found.

I can feel it. I can see it.

I hope to show you, too.