Peace and Presence
For the past four years of my life, I have been hustling from one task to the next. School, work, homework, assignments, freelance gigs, meetings, interviews and more left me asleep before my head hit the pillow each night.
But on trail, life is different.
Sure, when it comes to down to pure exhaustion levels, I’ve hit them. Oftentimes, I’m too tired to set up my tent at the end of the day.

Though, I now live a life that is stripped down to bare necessities: food, water and shelter. Days are long and monotonous: I walk, eat and sleep.
Quite possibly the most significant change between the two lives is the amount of time I now have to myself.
As my legs gain more miles, I spend more hours thinking with myself. I dream of my future and reminisce on the past.
When thinking of the latter, tears inevitably fill my eyes every time. I think of the love I was showered in just a month ago as my friends and family traveled many miles to celebrate my college graduation and the memories I gathered in my four years of undergrad. While the happy memories flow, so do the bittersweet.
I reminisce on memories of a road trip my grandfather, father and I took when I was no older than twelve. I’m reminded of the sleepovers my sister and I had when we were in elementary school. Memories of birthday cakes my mom made and Christmas mornings of excitement dance through my mind. I think back to the times in my life, specifically my childhood, that I haven’t thought about in years. As I do so, I feel a pang in my heart knowing I will never cross paths with that fleeting moment again. So instead, I wipe my tears, take more steps and think toward the future.
I daydream of a house in a small neighborhood, with built-ins perfect for antiques and knick-knacks. I yearn for the day I can wrap my arms around my family, sit in the backyard or play cards with them on a casual afternoon. I daydream of my future career and the steps I’ll take to get there. As I climb hills, I think of these things to distract myself from the pain roulette my body plays each day.
I often feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. I’ve had a village behind me of people who have poured so much into me and my success. I now spend my days fighting tears and navigating emotions of gratitude, shame and guilt when those memories cross my mind.
The underlying theme of these moments is a painful realization – I am not here. In these moments, I am not on the PCT. I am physically on the trail with sunburnt skin and dust trails that tears have left on my cheeks, but my mind is elsewhere, either in the past or the future.
How do I change this? How do I find peace in the moment in which I live? How do I grapple with the changes I’m faced with in my life while being present in this moment? I want to be here – I find joy in the presence of my trail family, the act of type two fun and the independence of thru-hiking lifestyles. Yet, I have nothing but mixed emotions when I’m faced with my own thoughts on the trail.
The window I’m passing through in my life is cloudy. I’m on trail because it’s a great time in my life to do so, but what awaits me on the other side is a mystery.
So for now, I’ll place one foot in front of the other. The desert is coming to an end and the Sierras await. As time passes, I’ll learn to appreciate the moment that I’m in and reconcile the emotions I feel. Who knows the next time I’ll be on the PCT? I have to enjoy the moment for what it is, finding peace in presence.






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