ON DOING ONE THING REASONABLY WELL
- Oct 31, 2016
- 4 min read
A few days ago, I was approaching the end of a 19.5 mile day just south of The Priest in Virginia, deep in thought about the effects of long-term commitment to a singular, obsessive goal. I was considering the ways that focusing on doing just one thing, hiking 2,200 miles, can smooth the roughest edges of your personality and yet sharpen your self-awareness and resolve. After a while, the physical challenge of putting in the miles starts to diminish, and the mental and emotional burden of continuing moves to the forefront of your mind.
Now, it isn't so much that I have seen 1,461 miles, as that 1,461 miles have seen me. The trail becomes a mirror, and it reflects back to you all your weaknesses, doubts, and anxieties. It won't let you hide behind your favorite distractions. You can't make a grocery store run to get out of the house. You can't bury yourself in work to avoid making plans. You can't Facebook check your way out of this one. You will still be in the woods. You will either walk to Georgia, or you won't. And that conflict you want to keep avoiding, the forgiveness you aren't ready to offer - those will still be there too, ready and waiting. You can buy the perfect gear, but the trail will reveal to you all the other burdens you brought along.
For instance, the Appalachian Trail has constantly shown me that I worship at the altar of busy-ness. For my entire adult life, I have filled my schedule past the bursting point with work, school, and other commitments to the point of constant stress but often less joy than I expect to find from so much effort. I've done it to feel involved, important, and well-rounded. However, the anxiety has taken the pride out of my accomplishments, and the constant distractions have made it difficult to find deep connection with what I am doing and the people around me. When you bounce superficially from one activity to another, you lose the ability to focus and grow. Coming face to face with that reality has been the most difficult and rewarding aspect of this adventure.
Thus, this trip has become the measure of all my future commitments: So you want to fill up your Thursday evenings with a new activity? That's great, but how much do you really care about this? Do you love this enough to do this, and only this, for six months straight? You do? Excellent. Sign me up. If not, perhaps, you ought to invest that time in something you love.
Hiking has also been an exercise for me in dedication to doing just one thing at a time, and even then, only reasonably well. I will not be setting any land-speed records. In fact, this hike will take us about four weeks longer than we originally anticipated. Let's be real, even before I knew I would have to deal with plantar fasciitis every day, I decided to go hiking with a 23-year-old runner whose every stride is eight inches further than mine. I was never going to be the fast one in my party. Nothing messes with a perfectionist quite like being the weakest link every day for six months.
So, picture me on a chilly afternoon as I walked up to the last water source of a long day, deep in thought about how to put all of these ideas into words. I had just a few miles left and wanted to hurry so I wouldn't be hiking in the dark. So rather than take my heavy pack off, I opted to crouch down on the middle stepping stone in the creek, keeping my trekking poles in one hand and my open water bottle in the other. Then, SPLASH. Next thing I know, I'm doing the splits on the rock with both feet in the water, trying not to soak the phone in my hip belt or drop my water filter. When your pack is full and you are laughing until you are crying at the irony of trying to multitask while you contemplate single-minded dedication, it is nearly impossible to push yourself back up. So I sat there and laughed with my feet in icy water for a solid 60 seconds. My only regret is that no one was there to take a picture.
Checking out of my normal routine has shown me that everyone is trying to get their hands on some more life. Obviously organized religion of all kinds has a recipe to offer you: believe these things perfectly and unquestioningly and you can join us for eternal life. Then, you have consumerism and materialism trying to sell you the newest way to live longer and stay beautiful forever, and you can take your pick in the self-help section about the latest craze to spread yourself a little thinner and stretch your time a little farther.
Yet the trail demands that you live deeply, in the moment and in yourself. Be vulnerable and be human. Your inhibitions and pretenses will not make this task easier. Perfect people are ill-equipped for this messy life anyway. Embrace that you will make mistakes. Then, laugh and do it better next time. Find your truest passions and build deeper relationships - the kind that make you eager to give your old life, your selfish life way. That's what faith and work and commitment ought to be about. No matter how long you have, may you live it deeply.
Comments