02.10.19

   This time last year I was already in full PCT mode. Lists upon lists that I thought I needed. Training up in the foothills, putting water bottles in my pack and walking from the south side of the 365 trail to the tram and back. I remember the phone calls to the hospital I'd made when I crossed over the first ridge and walked down into a low grassy field with nothing but a few granite boulders in the middle.   We'd update each other on where things were at; how far I was along in my planning and saving and where her blood levels were currently at. I had to learn new medical jargon every week while she went from one process to the next. "Now we're looking at this. Now we're looking at that. Now this matters. Now that matters."
   I still had my old Cutlass wagon with the reversible back seat that I'd taken everywhere looking for places to test my gear, thinking I was psychologically preparing for five months of impending isolation. Piles of bulk food had already begun filling the living room and I was still convinced I could get away with Nike gym shoes. All this, over a year ago now. A year of hope. Of loss. Of love. Of journeys and adventures like I'd never known.
   It seems like a long time since the trail...even though it's barely been four months. Each week a new matter of perspective coming to light. A different reason to exhale. Some days I wonder how long it stays with someone and sometimes I know it's fixed in my soul and that one path has irrevocably altered the course of events.
    I've done what I came 'home' to do. Things are wrapping up. The stunning quality of post-trail life has given way to lazy sleep-in mornings with the old french press and afternoons staring back at the laptop, referencing the trail journals and accumulating data, checking out PCT forums, answering a few questions from some of the "PCT Class of 2019" kids who are going through the exact same pre-hike over-planning hytserics I did. That's part of the fun isn't it? Sometimes I want to just write a 10-point list titled "How to Stop Worrying and Do It." And then I step back. In a few months they'll be in Campo and being able to understand and claim that process is a magical thing that I don't want to interfere with.
   Lately I'm struck by timelines and narratives. How stories and ideas weave in and out and reappear in our lives. Things I started years ago coming to fruition, cycles coming to a quiet close. Moving on.
   What happens now? Different seeds being planted in different soil. Life is unreal...quite literally sometimes. I've never been able to pin it down nor am I that interested in doing so. In recent conversations with friends this topic of vitality comes up. Of all the ways you can live your life...all the Ted Talks and self-help books and get-rich-quick and hot-goat-yoga etc. What are we aiming for? Vitality. Chi. Calm quet confidence. Fearlessness. "The Call" Whatever it is...cannot be ignored. That which makes you vital has to be watered even as we encounter ourselves at different turns in life. That is what ultimately constitutes a lived life.
   I've put down the easy quotes and ideas that sustained me in the post-hike world for a few months. It was a fantastic and brutal blur of backward rehab. Endocrine changes, healing tendons, regular showers, paying attention to my diet again instead of grabbing the first burger in sight. The delicious red wine 'painkillers' and frosty IPAs that met us in each town don't have nearly the same luster or ritual significance and it's all been on the shelf since December. Things change. Things rearrange.But the Path is still clearly marked.
   I spend my most recent nights back in the same room where I spent hours stapling topo maps before March last year. Listening to podcasts, learning German while I can...looking at the old poster of Switzerland on my wall. Talking to Hanne every day. Waiting for birth certificates and passports and tickets. 2019 has already shaped up to be completely different...and the trail goes on. 
  

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