The Happy Side of Hard
- Jenna or Neil
- Dec 23, 2018
- 3 min read
Updated: May 28, 2024
I write the following between Saturday 17 November 2018 and Tuesday 18 December 2018 - from El Cajon to San Antonio to Playa del Carmen to Seattle to Brisbane to Kingscliff. On and off. Thought by tangled thought.
It’s been harder than I expected to digest and reflect on the events of the past six months. Perhaps, unsurprisingly, mental laziness (or overload) and physical lethargy kicked in and I just couldn't be bothered. Perhaps a bit of a post adventure malaise. Or perhaps, I am not sure what it is exactly that I am digesting. A bit of 'it just is what it is'.
I lost 12 kg on the hike. In the 4 weeks since we finished I have gained 6+ kgs and I’m scared stiff that I will fall fate to the post-PCT curse of ending up heavier than I was before the hike. Though I should probably just calm down and be stoked that my body walked me across a country. I am back on the bike (figuratively) with swimming and weights and hope to get back on the bike (literally) soon.
My unstructured thoughts:
I feel out of sorts. That white, middle class, educated, entitled out of sorts. Everything feels more real all of a sudden. More imposing and, at times, unnecessary. There are rules, schedules and achievements to be followed and measured. More real, but not necessarily better. The trail life was hard and I certainly acknowledge that it's easy to reflect with rose coloured glasses from a warm bed, softened sheets and a soaped clean body. I must admit I really struggled mentally in the final week of the trail. It was windy beyond belief, 80 mile p/hour gusts of wind, it was freezing at night and we relied on the kindness of strangers for much of our water supply... and the end always felt heartbreakingly (albeit irrationally) just out of reach. But despite this, or maybe because I this, I miss it. I miss the adventure.
Everything that is good in life, or that holds value, seems hard, clouded in shit times. Things that come too easily don't seem to satisfy our attention for very long. Though, after a few weeks, the PCT feels like a distant memory. Already. But as my brother-in-law said, no one can take the experience away from me. Neil and I sat on the bed tonight, looking at photos, laughing, reminiscing, hating, wanderlusting. The grass is always greener. No matter the side.
Happiness is generally a quiet moment. A short moment. A moment that takes a long time to come and a short time to vanish. But worth it. It usually seems to be surrounded by hardwork, suffering, frustration, perseverance, confusion and loneliness. But it seems to be worth it; a moment of happiness seems to be worth all the suffering or perhaps exists, albeit fleetingly, because of all the suffering. Maybe this is messed up. I don't know.
After leaving the trail we continued to camp in an effort to save money on our roadtrip to San Antonio for Thanksgiving. After an altercation with other campers about who owned what camp site we left Joshua Tree NP and camped on the side of the highway, the next night we camped in a clapped out but peaceful campground near Winona, AZ. We made a massive mistake the following night by camping 10 meters from a train line in Post, TX. I didn't sleep more than 4 hours. We got up at 5am, threw the frozen tent in the car and continued onto San Antonio. Via Micky D's, of course. And the a sneaky sneaky side trip to Mexico.
Dad was the reason that I decided to hike the PCT. His diagnosis at the ripe young age of retirement (60) made me question the point of it all and the importance of balancing delayed gratification against a life worth being both lived and loved. I have learned that nothing really is life or death except death, for everything else, there is time. There will always be a general store owner with a hangover who decides to not open his shop that day and we just have to learn to be okay with that. We need to learn how to best spend our time.
The walk has allowed me the space to feel and an avenue to share my experience and also, reduce and consider my own risk factors for such a disease.
I am privileged to have had, and survived, this beautiful hiking experience. To share it with my partner (perhaps we shared too much!), with my family, friends and strangers who have kindly helped along the way. The generosity of friends and family donating to Dementia Australia has been completely overwhelming. There were days I was in tears when I saw that people had decided to donate to our cause. I am incredibly grateful.
Till the next adventure.
Stay safe xx
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