Well, we've been off the trail and "in civilization" for a few days now--I've been amazed at how much my mind has been processing since then. I've been on long backpacking trips before, but it seems to me that this trip has brought on the most contemplation and that of all the trails I've done, this one is taking the most energy to readjust to life outside of the mountains and my daily hiking routine. I am most certainly enjoying having all modern amenities at my fingertips, from flush toilets to fresh foods, but a large part of me longs to be back in the mountains, in the simplicity of waking, packing up, eating, hiking, unpacking, gathering firewood, eating, enjoying, and going to bed.
One thing that struck me right away as we headed into town, freshly off the trail, was the overwhelming sea of choices. I have this horrible habit of picking the skin on my thumbs--I've been doing it since second grade--but since getting onto the trail last month, the habit has only returned when heading into town. Without even realizing it, as soon as I stepped foot in Durango, or even shortly before, the habit returned. Going from such simplicity and so few choices to the onslaught of decisions we then had to make was overload on my nerves. It makes me wonder if, as a society, we've just surplussed ourselves with choices that, in the end, really don't make our lives any better but only more stressful and complicated. I am challenging myself to try to find how to simplify my life when I return to Ohio. I have found much joy and beauty in the simplicity.
As we neared the end of the trail, Ben and I also had some good conversation about competition and comparison, spurred on by a brief encounter with a day hiker on the trail. We were a day and a half and about 20 miles from Durango and finishing our 500-mile trek when we came upon a couple who inquired about our journey. When the man found out we were hiking the entire trail, he responded by informing us that there was a girl who had set a record on another trail by averaging 44 miles a day. This comment was followed by "So how many miles are you doing a day?"
Wham. It was like a slap in the face really. Ben and I have both done big hiking miles before, but we had vowed to each other to slow down and enjoy everything this trail had to offer. We were content with our 15-mile-a-day average, which left us with time and energy to build fires, talk with other hikers, write post cards, journal, and enjoy dinner together. But all of a sudden, this one comment of comparison was threatening to take away the joy we had found in our daily routine. Now we were questioning ourselves--why weren't we pushing harder? Are we lazy or inferior? What's wrong with us?
One of my favorite quotes of all time is "Comparison is the thief of joy." I was letting this man steal my joy right out from underneath me. I found myself walking away from the conversation feeling a bit defeated as well as a bit of anger that this man would dare to attempt to steal my joy. I wanted to defend myself, to make my case, to prove I was still worthy of something.
However, it didn't last too long as I realized he could only take my joy if I allowed him to. I bet Miss 44-miles-a-day didn't have fires as night or take time to smell the wild flowers or have entertaining conversations with other hikers. I bet she didn't take a side trail to a rocky outcropping to inhale a breath-taking view or watch the sunset over the mountains with brilliant colors painting the sky. No, she can keep her record, and I'll keep my joy.
Now I am grateful for the man who dared to compare me, as it has since spurred me to contemplate why we are so quick to compare and compete. My second challenge to myself as I return to my home and friends is to find contentment with whatever I have, wherever I am, and to stop comparing myself to others--to find joy with who I am and what God has given me.
I am reminded of Paul when he writes to the Philippians, when he says "...I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength." He found contentment in all circumstances, from prison to riches, and this is the kind of joy and contentment for which I strive, the kind that cannot to stolen by others. I also want to share and bring out this joy and contentment in others rather than steal it away. It is a difficult battle to fight, but I want to strive to limit my comparisons. After all, "Comparison is the thief of joy."
One thing that struck me right away as we headed into town, freshly off the trail, was the overwhelming sea of choices. I have this horrible habit of picking the skin on my thumbs--I've been doing it since second grade--but since getting onto the trail last month, the habit has only returned when heading into town. Without even realizing it, as soon as I stepped foot in Durango, or even shortly before, the habit returned. Going from such simplicity and so few choices to the onslaught of decisions we then had to make was overload on my nerves. It makes me wonder if, as a society, we've just surplussed ourselves with choices that, in the end, really don't make our lives any better but only more stressful and complicated. I am challenging myself to try to find how to simplify my life when I return to Ohio. I have found much joy and beauty in the simplicity.
As we neared the end of the trail, Ben and I also had some good conversation about competition and comparison, spurred on by a brief encounter with a day hiker on the trail. We were a day and a half and about 20 miles from Durango and finishing our 500-mile trek when we came upon a couple who inquired about our journey. When the man found out we were hiking the entire trail, he responded by informing us that there was a girl who had set a record on another trail by averaging 44 miles a day. This comment was followed by "So how many miles are you doing a day?"
Wham. It was like a slap in the face really. Ben and I have both done big hiking miles before, but we had vowed to each other to slow down and enjoy everything this trail had to offer. We were content with our 15-mile-a-day average, which left us with time and energy to build fires, talk with other hikers, write post cards, journal, and enjoy dinner together. But all of a sudden, this one comment of comparison was threatening to take away the joy we had found in our daily routine. Now we were questioning ourselves--why weren't we pushing harder? Are we lazy or inferior? What's wrong with us?
One of my favorite quotes of all time is "Comparison is the thief of joy." I was letting this man steal my joy right out from underneath me. I found myself walking away from the conversation feeling a bit defeated as well as a bit of anger that this man would dare to attempt to steal my joy. I wanted to defend myself, to make my case, to prove I was still worthy of something.
However, it didn't last too long as I realized he could only take my joy if I allowed him to. I bet Miss 44-miles-a-day didn't have fires as night or take time to smell the wild flowers or have entertaining conversations with other hikers. I bet she didn't take a side trail to a rocky outcropping to inhale a breath-taking view or watch the sunset over the mountains with brilliant colors painting the sky. No, she can keep her record, and I'll keep my joy.
Now I am grateful for the man who dared to compare me, as it has since spurred me to contemplate why we are so quick to compare and compete. My second challenge to myself as I return to my home and friends is to find contentment with whatever I have, wherever I am, and to stop comparing myself to others--to find joy with who I am and what God has given me.
I am reminded of Paul when he writes to the Philippians, when he says "...I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength." He found contentment in all circumstances, from prison to riches, and this is the kind of joy and contentment for which I strive, the kind that cannot to stolen by others. I also want to share and bring out this joy and contentment in others rather than steal it away. It is a difficult battle to fight, but I want to strive to limit my comparisons. After all, "Comparison is the thief of joy."
So rich with wisdom and insight was this post and others, and so inviting, that I felt like a welcome guest at your campfire, able to take in the fruits of your trek even though I didn't even have to hike one mile. I look forward to gleaning more from your experiences to us here at home as you interpret them into this world....
ReplyDeleteI'm all for simplifying, Kim. You'll have to read/reread Thoreau's Walden when you return to Ohio. And we'll have to talk about how my late friend, gardener and linguist Will Pitkin, has influenced my own gardening and writing. I, too, loathe "comparison" but find value occasionally in "pacing." You and Ben take care. Loved the photos. Some striking ones. Tom
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