I don’t wanna go.
I’ve made the plan, my gear is ready, I took time off work for this…. But I don’t wanna go.
I want to want to go, but inertia has its claws in me. Nine. Ten, eleven o’clock and I’ve barely gotten up to get coffee and attend to the most basic morning tasks. If I wait too much longer I’ll be racing traffic and the dark, it’ll be less safe, and I’ll have only myself to blame.
There’s no reason not to go. I just don’t wanna.
So I go anyway.
Rain slashing at the windshield. I’m gonna regret this aren’t I? But am I going to regret it even more if I tuck tail and run home? Probably.
The trailhead is full. There’s room for me, not a lot. Half my attention clocks other hikers coming and going, glazed, misted, dripping, tired… the other half is glued to a screen. I only have two bars but that’s enough to load up reddit, and inertia… oh boy inertia’s got me.
A half an hour of indecision. Go home, or trust the forecast that says the rain is over for the day? I know if I go home, I’ll feel guilty. I’ll be the kind of person who doesn’t do things that are good for them, not because it is hard, or unpleasant, but because their brain is broken in a way that makes consumption more pleasurable than production. I’ll have given into the algorithm that read my preferences in real time and feeds me more, more, MORE of what my eyes linger on. No beginning, no end, only tiny dopamine hits, over and over.
So I put on the stupid pack and my stupid shoes and I telescope my stupid poles and I start walking into the stupid forest, even though I don’t wanna.
And holy hell am I glad I did.
Almost immediately the smell of rich earth and soggy trees makes me smile. Birds chirping start to replace the sounds of cars and people and technology. There’s water everywhere, plopping from the canopy, squishing in my boots, rushing from where it was to where it will be.
It’s quiet.
Occasionally I’ll pass another hiker or three, full, themselves, of joy.
I’m pleased at how easy it is. My pack hardly weighs me down. Hours and days and months of practice pay off. My mind wanders, dwelling on things I’ve seen and heard and done lately, thinking of my friends and how proud I am of who we are now. How proud I am of the strength I’ve gained these last few years. Of the way my people are good and kind, loving and taking care of themselves and their loved ones.
I think about the state of the world. It worries me, and angers me. I let my mind run wild within the safety of the wilderness. I revel in the time and space to form clever words into clever arguments that I’ll never use, and I laugh at myself for the indulgence.
I think about people I’ve lost. Lost to time or age or disagreement. I hope they are well, and fear they are not.
I think about my future, how excited and scared I am, how I hope my plans unfold, the things I hope to do someday, the things I hope to avoid or at least be prepared for.
And after a while I think about the forest again. There’s a viewpoint I’ve passed several times before on this very trail and it’s become something of a tradition to pause, send a few notes to my worriers, and take it in.
There’s a lake peeping out from behind the trees, far below. Mist drifts gently on its surface as the sun, which came out just as predicted, warms the water. Behind in slowly bluing layers rise forested hills, one behind the other.
What a mother fucking privilege that I get to see this. That my body is strong and I have the time, that I can invest in the gear and classes to keep me safe, that the people in my life celebrate and encourage my roving. I have nowhere to be but at camp, and I can’t believe that two hours ago, I didn’t feel like going.
This isn’t the only time I feel this way. So often, in the hour or hours before welcoming a guest, I don’t wanna. Like a petulant child, I’d rather do nothing and be cranky than do something that will probably make me happy once I’m there. I tell myself I have to. I cajole myself into it. I remind myself that nine times out of ten it is genuinely better than just sitting alone in bed, watching clips of shows, rushing to whatever the algorithm has decided I want to see next.
And sure enough…
I camped this time, and am writing this the next morning. It was clear and lovely earlier, brilliant rays slicing through the clouds in the foreground as an unknown peak, a mini Matterhorn of the cascades, glowed behind.
There’s something about being near water that I love. The gentle burbling of a stream, swishing of waves, roaring of a mighty falls… what a privilege to have this all to myself today.
The smoke has drifted in, obscuring my view view. The world has shrunk. It’s just me, the squirrels, and this tiny salamander I found when I moved his hiding log. Not bad neighbors for a while.
And of course, now that I’m here, that same inertia binds me. Why would I want to leave? Fight traffic and suffer the noise of a thousand people all living shoulder to shoulder? Just for a hot shower and a hot meal? Make the bed, do the laundry, check the emails?
It’ll be good to be home, but even so…. I don’t wanna