Eating Elephants

I often wonder how my life might have turned out had I been an orphan, a kid raised by a single mother or a single father. What might have become of me, or my sister for that matter, had our father walked out on us at the ages of two and five? Or worse yet, one and four. What if I was just another number in the system, whilst constantly being told I’ll never make anything of myself? Would I have become a poisonous snake, striking at any possible threat to cross me, injecting a lethal venom that would course through their veins? Or maybe a parasitic leach that latches on to a host, draining them of their energy in order to keep myself alive?

What if the people that we as children were supposed to trust the most abandoned us? No letter of sympathy nor explanation as to why this was their best solution to an overwhelming undertaking, such as raising a child? How would the world look today, had I not received guidance from grand parents, parents, uncles and aunts, dear friends, as well as occasionally the neighbor down the street? What we may have once thought as cruelty turned out to be a set of guidelines as to how one should live their life.

Indeed these thoughts have taunted me in the past. Not to say a kid becomes rotten or embodies the definition of evil if they’re brought up in any of these situations. I have too many outstanding companions raised in these unfavorable scenarios to believe that’s the case. It is merely my curiosity as to what the lense of my world might have looked like had things been different. As children, no doubt even as adults, we fall, we fail, we succumb to our weaknesses with that little voice in the back of our head screaming “give up!” These are the crucial moments when a support system come into play. The moments of grace, of nurturing, of “hey kid, I know it doesn’t feel like it now but this too shall pass!”

The past month has been terribly difficult! I’ve not quite found a way to deal with New Englanders commenting about how crazy the weather has been this year and at times it feels as though the world is just one significant lightning strike away from shattering into a million different pieces. As I stand just 4 miles outside of Vermont, I had my greatest scare, posing as a threat to end my hike. Thursday, July 13th I came down with some sort of stomach bug that had nestled it’s way into my body. As I lie down in the Wilbur Clearing Shelter, that watery sensation filled my mouth, not long after spewing up a chicken in vodka sauce dinner. To add insult to injury, my bowels uncontrollably released themselves at 2:00 a.m. and yet again at 7:00, soiling my hiking shorts as well as my sleeping bag and pad. Within the matter of 24 hours I had gone from feeling strong and energetic to being in one of the most vulnerable states I’ve ever been in.

I’ve thrown my gear around on the trail, cursed at the skies as they’ve endlessly opened up, and flashed an unhappy two middle fingers towards the flooded river that we wade through. I have not, however, hit “fuck it” quite in the manner that I found myself feeling on July 13th. I called my mother in the morning as I wearily descended Greylock Mountain and have been in a motel since Friday with the intention of getting back out tomorrow, Wednesday, July 19th. I feel beaten down, embarrassed, weak, and on the verge of wanting to give up. However, one thing that I have learned through this experience is that the human spirit is undeniably resilient and powerful beyond reckoning. Until you’ve been put into the ring of fire, however, you’ll never know just how deep that spirit will dig to prevail.

To my father, mother and sister, I miss you all dearly. 27 years have flashed by in the blink of an eye and I’m proud of the man you’ve carved me into. I will never be able to express in words how much you mean to me but thank you for everything!

For what is a man without his family? One may achieve the highest of accolades, an entrenchment of wealth and riches but how can that individual truly celebrate those accomplishments in solidarity? At the end of the day, none of the tangible objects matter without the intangible substance of support.

P.S. As so many thru-hikers have told me before, “You’re not a Thru-hiker until you Shit yourself!” Now I just have to hike 598 more miles and it’ll be official!