The Skyline to Sea Trail

Way back in January, my friend Jess called me and asked point-blank, “what do I need to do if I want to hike 40 miles in a weekend?”

I paused and started to list things, before realizing I should ask why Jess was asking. Turns out, she had decided to hike the Skyline to Sea Trail, which runs from Castle Rock State Park (outside Saratoga, CA) to Waddell Beach (about a mile west of Rancho del Oso, CA). Its a combination of trails that wind through the unique Northern California coastal forest ecosystem and, most notably, travel through one of the largest stands of old-growth redwood trees. The trail, along with many of the redwood groves along the trail are maintained by the Sempervirens Club, a group which banded together in 1900 to protect redwood trees (Sequoia sempervirens) from logging. In 1976, the 32 mile Skyline to Sea trail was completed.

After a little bit of reading, I was hooked. The trail seemed like the perfect trip to kick off the 2019 hiking season. We decided on the classic route, beginning at the Saratoga Gap Trail. On Day One, we’d follow the Saratoga Gap to the Travertine Springs Trail, to the Saratoga Toll Road (although this section was dubious due to recent flooding), to the Skyline to Sea Trail, and eventually to the Waterman Trail Camp. On Day Two, we’d take the Skyline to Sea Trail to the Sequoia Trail, and camp in Jay Camp in the heart of Big Basin State Park. The last day, we’d simply take the Skyline to Sea trail all the way to the sea.

In an effort to make the first trip of the year a little easier, I cut some weight by purchasing a new pack (the Granite Gear Crown 2.0) and ditched my tent body, opting to use just the rainfly and the ground cover. Rather than nalgenes, I used two old 1.25L bottles paired with a lightweight bladder for water.

Day One: (11.5 miles) The trip began ceremoniously with some irate day-hiker road rage. I can only hope that his anger wore off once he began hiking, but who knows. Matthew dropped us off and after getting our permits checked twice by a zealous state park ranger, we were off. Following some beautiful vistas overlooking the two ridges between us and the ocean, we learned that our maps hadn’t been updated with a few minor trail diversions. We took a two mile loop before realizing we had bypassed the trail we wanted. Once we found the Saratoga Toll Road, the rest of the day continued smoothly.

Jess at the lovely vista

For almost seven miles, the echoes from a nearby shooting range followed us eerily through the thick forest. We noticed two cars, which had careened years ago from the highway which wound through the hills (sometimes directly) above us. At one point, I stepped down and found the ground was significantly softer than I recalled, only to look down and realize in horror that I was about to squish a small snake. I picked up my foot and it slithered off but not before turning around to look at me, crouched on the ground and apologizing profusely, with what I hoped was forgiveness. Jess reassured me that it probably accepted my apology.

At the end of the day, we ran into a group of men who were hiking the same trail. One said, “race you to the beach” to which I replied, “well we’ll see”, continuing my trend of being terrible at making friends on trail. Jess and I arrived at Waterman Trail Camp, which was labelled as a “primitive campground”, to find running water, a pit toilet, and vaults for our food. So much for carrying water filters and cathole trowels.

We sit on the ground listening to the birds above us, feeling the afternoon sun filter through the young redwoods and enjoy the stillness. Eventually, we cajole ourselves into setting up the shelter and making dinner. While cooking, Jess runs out of fuel and I discover that my recently repaired stove has developed a new issue and wouldn’t light. We take turns with my fuel and Jess’ stove and giggle about hanging our socks and underwear on the tent poles. “Underwear everywhere,” Jess whisper-screams in a way that makes me cackle. As we go to eat, Jess discovers that she forgot a spork so we share mine.

Jess enjoying camp

At 5:45, Jess and I lie down and listen to a few episodes of Welcome to Nightvale before getting into our sleeping bags and reading. As I read, I start coughing and my nose starts running and I feel my sinuses start to ache. This, of course, leads to a nice case of Nighttime Anxiety. I start to wonder if we should bail on the trip and then I start to miss Matthew, and I can’t stop blowing my nose to top it all off. I meditate on the things I am grateful for until I fall asleep.

Day Two: (12 miles) We are prepared for a lot of elevation change today but we were unprepared for how spectacularly beautiful it would be. Just a mile in, we begin to notice the first of the old-growth redwoods. They are anywhere from 500 to 2,000 years old and I am absolutely awestruck. It feels like walking through a cathedral. It also feels like we might run into a pack of coelophysis (little theropods from the late Triassic). I spot trillium flowers and before long it starts to feel like a game of “I Spy”,
Jess: I see a fern I’ve never seen!
Kate: I see a banana slug!
Jess: I see a skink!

I find myself absolutely enthralled.

Jess with the original “Old Boys’ Club”

Just as all the visitors are starting to head back to their cars, we arrive in Big Basin State Park and we end up walking alongside a couple who has been camping once. They wonder about cooking outside and what it is like to backpack and they ask us if we “hike the way Alex Honnold does, you know, without ropes.” The last mile is a roadwalk on a paved road and my toes are feeling exceptionally tender.

After picking a campsite, we put up the shelter and discover that a small herd (colony?) of jumping spider also inhabits this campsite. Considering the three inch gap between the ground cover and the rain fly, we decide to move. The first step is a poorly choreographed spider dance, in which Jess and I try to usher the spiders out of the tent without killing them before we ultimately resort to furiously shaking the whole shelter in the air. Our second pick is spider-free and I take off my shoes. Four toenails have fluid underneath them and I have a blister that runs the length of my instep. Party on. I do some blister care and elevate but I’m not equipped to deal with the fluid toenail situation on trail.

There is no phone service at the campsite and we need to coordinate Matthew picking us up the following afternoon so we begrudgingly put our shoes back on and backtrack the mile to the ranger station for some wifi. As soon as we get there, we start laughing. There are families milling around taking pictures with the signs at the visitor center, most people dressed in city clothes. We are sweaty, shirtless, and attracting some attention. It doesn’t help that I blew my nose into a piece of KT tape that I took off my knee…I make contact with Matthew and try to coordinate signing a lease back in Colorado and then Jess and I march back to our camp for dinner and Nightvale.

Juicy

Day Three: (12.5 miles) We wake up, eat a cold breakfast, and get moving quickly. The trail is damaged and the detours are supposedly sketchy, plus we need to be at our pick-up spot by 2:30, which means we need to move at a minimum of 2.1 miles an hour. Jess plays music from Les Miserables, then Hamilton, then some Lorde and it powers us through five miles and over the strange detours (which involve balancing on logs precariously placed above mudslide areas).

Opal Falls

After having crossed all manner of strange “bridges” over an unusually high water flow (balancing on two overturned piece of gutter flashing, anyone?) in Opal Creek, we arrive at the final crossing to find the bridge has been washed out and is downstream, wedged between some rocks. We weigh our options, which don’t rock, and decide on crossing in an upstream section where it is only knee-deep. The current is strong and irregular but its doable. Jess makes her first-ever river crossing!

Jess, kicking ass as usual

Gradually we descend out of the redwood forests into eucalyptus forests and meadows. I suggest that we play the “Guess the Animal” game, a Tara family classic and learn that Jess hates the “Guess the Animal” game.

A centipede

Calla Lillies

In the gentle silence, I start to wonder why I didn’t pursue a career in the outdoors when I was younger and then it hits me. When asked what career I wanted as a small child, I would always answer with an outdoor job (hawk rehabilitation in Montana, Park Ranger in Alaska, author in a Colorado mountain town, etc) and nearly every time, the adult asking the question would respond, “you’re too smart for that, you’ll be a lawyer/doctor.” I suppose you hear that enough times and you’ll start to believe it. I feel grateful to have returned to being outside, despite my best efforts to end up in an office or laboratory.

Eventually, we pass by a farm with hedges thick with honeysuckle and the air smells perfect. Our pace quickens and before long, we are running gleefully across the highway and taking off our shoes in front of the ocean. It’s 1:41 pm. I look at the sneakers which held me for nine months of work at my last, through a lot of nasty days, and declare they are ready for the trash can. My sore toenails agree.

Jess and I eat our peanut m+ms quietly as the wind picks up and it begins to rain. Then we gleefully realize we beat the boys who challenged us to race on the first day of our hike. About 45 minutes later, they walk across the highway. Jess declares that she is ready for more hikes, and I have to agree; it feels like a wonderful start to a good season.

A moment of gratitude

Yesterday, during a rousing game of take-away at the gym, I found myself perfectly balanced in a hands-free half split and a wonderful gratitude struck me.

I should back up; for the uninitiated, take-away is a bouldering game where someone invents a route and each person to follow has to complete the same route but with one less hold. The resulting routes increase in both difficulty and hilarity. I’ve seen many variations on the game, but that’s the gist.

So I’m balanced in a split and I’m trying to eliminate the hold necessary for the next move. Doing so involves a hands-free hop, which is strange and probably would never be necessary outside of the game. By some miracle of breath-holding and competitive determination, it goes. Falling back on the mat, laughing with a combination of success and absurdity, it crosses my mind that I’m grateful for my exact weight and exact strength. Grateful for the unconscious communication between my toes and my eyes and for my body, precisely the way it is today.

Cheers!

In the Pursuit of Joy

Three cheers for this blog that sits here patiently while I routinely neglect it.

Life has returned to a cadence since we came back to California after the wedding. I work with young men now, all of whom are interesting and clever and so very strong. At least once every shift, I find myself belly-laughing. I’m a little bit closer to being outside all the time since my shifts are filled with pick-up games of basketball, running through our field (Big Green), and the occasional walkabout (in which I or another staff follow someone who has become so dysregulated that they can’t handle being inside and they run outside).

My adventures have been small recently. I struggle with acknowledging their value when I have had such exceptionally grand experiences. Reality: I moved to a not-so-grand place. Reality: I physically can’t drive two hours every day in order to get after some awesome objective. Reality: I don’t like doing 90% of my adventures solo. THIS IS ALL OKAY. I climb every week in the gym. People around here climb, so that’s what I started doing. I’m climbing 5.10 indoors! I walk the dog a few miles around the river every day. I see birds and hear the creek and smell the forest perfume. My ashtanga yoga practice is a very wonderful part of my life. Things are good!

Today I finished physical therapy for my damaged rhomboid/separated ribs/bruised scapula, which has been quite the recovery. Background: a San Francisco apartment stairwell attacked me this past October. My climbing has gotten better alongside the physical therapy and I’m excited to ramp up my hiking and skiing now that I’m cleared. I even did an avalanche clinic which was AMAZING. If you are considering taking one, definitely do.

Looking back on this year, I haven’t pursued anything big–no big hikes, extended backpacking trips, summits, or goals. I think it’s sort of been a recovery year. Recovering from a bachelor’s degree is definitely a thing. I think recovering from the expectations I heaped upon myself also became a big deal as the year wore on. I’m ready for some big stuff. I’m stronger than I’ve been in a long time and I feel really fired up.

The biggest challenge for 2019 will be not comparing myself to anyone else. Someone else climbed a mountain? So what. Someone else is leading 5.11s? Cool. Someone else is working in this amazing location? Big deal. Comparison is the thief of joy and I’m not about to let anything steal my happiness.

That being said, I need to stop prioritizing other things over my happiness. This is easier said than done. I realized far more recently than I care to admit that I am ALLOWED to put my joy first. I can be direct about what I need. The most obvious example of this is the conversation Matthew and I had recently where I explicitly said, “I need to move out of California.” I didn’t waffle over his career or talk about being willing to stick it out, as I’ve been doing. I asked for exactly what I needed. And Matthew, being Matthew, listened to me.

In conclusion, it’s been a beautiful year full of that quiet subtle beauty that I’m learning to recognize. And I’m moving forward in the pursuit of joy.

Enchanting October

Since the end of July, I’ve worked overtime every week with a group of young women who have been passed through the system and slipped through the cracks. It has been really really hard. After the third straight week of dealing with verbal insults, threats of physical harm, and constant tests of will, I was pretty much done. I have one of those personalities that attracts defiance, I guess. Before my last week of work prior to a two weeks’ vacation (more on that next), the suggestion was made that I switch over to working with the boys program. Without having to think, I said yes. I’m hoping that this is a better fit.

It turns out, my new schedule gives me four days off and I’m hoping for a lot of powder chasing, summit attempts, and dog-Thew-snugs.

Two weeks ago, Matthew and I drove out to Colorado in one 16-hour, 1013-mile-push. Normally, we camp in Utah but we were too excited. Friends and family slowly trickled in from all across the country, throughout the week. On Thursday night, I sat on my dad’s balcony in a circle of my closest friends from kindergarten onwards. Matthew and I made eye contact mid-laugh and I was absolutely struck with an indescribable happiness. The next day, we got married. It was perfect and wonderful and I will be reliving the day forever.

We married ourselves in a valley with pines like a cathedral over our heads, surrounded by our loved ones. Beside us, a finger of the Eagle River burbled and behind us, Sheep Mountain sparkled. As we finished the vows we wrote together, a few snowflakes made their way to the ground, despite the late afternoon sunshine. I left my hair wild and we got our shoes dirty. A friend played guitar and sang “This Must Be the Place.” A lot of us cried. Magic.

After the wedding, Thew and I spent a week driving around the Rockies, hiking, drinking, and playing card games. I savored the snow, freezing rain, frosty mornings, and piercing blue sky. We loved on the Wasatches, Wind River range, Tetons, the Sawtooth (Sawteeth?), and the nameless mountains scattered across Nevada. Further North, this time of year, the sun never reaches the middle of the sky. Instead, it traces chord across the top third. It is absolutely enchanting. Being married is also enchanting.

Coming back to the perpetual summer of California from cold fall weather is hard and probably related to seasonal affective disorder. As always, it’s one day at a time with me, except now I’m doing it with the best husband.

I’ll leave you with some wise words from Friend Aidan—
“You carry the gentle spirit of autumn with you, and it won’t be long until your mountains welcome you home again.”

An Ode to the Imperfect Dog

Marnie has been a part of our family for nearly two years. When we adopted her she had been living on her own for who knows how long and had hardly any manners. As the weeks and months went on, she learned a few tricks. Her on-leash skills got a little better and she became more comfortable being indoors. We hiked or ran every day (still do), practiced heeling (we once took an entire six mile hike with me holding her harness at my side, offering treats, and saying “heel”), and took her on nearly marathon-distance adventures.

Even after all this time, we can’t let her off-leash.

I can’t count how many times I’ve been told that this is somehow my fault.

We’ve been to acres-big dog parks and practiced recall. She sees me and knows I’m there but doesn’t feel the need to come back. Sometimes, she’ll dash by me and lick my hand and keep going. Food, clickers, whistles, and even a shock collar (we tried it once, only after using it on ourselves to make sure it wouldn’t hurt her) can’t touch her bliss when she is off-leash.

Marnie has run away three times; each time running through traffic, dodging cars, in order to chase a critter or get to a wide open space. Luckily, she always came back. Its not that she wants to get away from me, its that she needs to run. There is something in her wild little soul that needs to fly.

Sometimes I dream of moving somewhere she has the safety to gallop without running into other dogs that might trigger her or zooming through traffic or licking an unsuspecting hiker. Unfortunately, neither the Front Range nor the Central Valley have dog-free open spaces. The other thing is, Marnie likes to hunt. She’ll chase (and catch) squirrels, rabbits, and once she stalked a moose. On top of that, not all dogs get along. Last week, a dog running off-leash ran up to Marnie and immediately started growling and lunging aggressively. I picked her up and tried to shield her from the dog trying to bite her. The owner couldn’t understand why I was frustrated, since his dog “only bit some dogs”.

At the end of the day, keeping her on a leash means keeping her safe. This doesn’t mean she likes the leash and she sometimes jumps out at small animals (lizards are her quarry of choice right now) or whines to go meet other dogs. We practice heeling and waiting for the other pooch or lizard to pass. She still tugs, sometimes.

I love Marnie so very much. Our adventures are wonderful and the bond we share has changed my life in many ways. If I could broadcast one thing to the world about our relationship, its that I don’t expect perfection from Marnie. She still struggles with the behavior she learned when she had to take care of herself, just as I deal with my own history. It would be wrong to demand perfect behavior from an imperfect dog. She’s a wild creature.

So, to the next dog owner who looks at Marnie pulling at the leash and then looks at me judgmentally while their dog sits patiently at their side, I know my dog is not as well-behaved as yours. I also know that its perfectly okay.

Making Moves, Career Edition

I got a job! After almost two months of looking for a job in California (plus the five months after graduation of wandering aimlessly while trying to juggle family responsibilities and my own inflated expectations), I found an incredible nonprofit working to provide a variety of residential mental healthcare services, mostly to low-income individuals.

While this is not where I saw myself five months ago–heck, I didn’t even see myself in California five months ago–I am thrilled to be working in field where I believe I can be a real force for change. Beginning later this month, I will spend 43 hours a week as a counselor in a residential home for young adults recovering from commercial sex trafficking. My shifts vary in length from eight to 15 hours and most of them are at night. My job, more than anything, is about providing support. Being present in a powerful tool when it comes to healing and many people don’t have support networks like the one I have been gifted with. Outside of that, I think I am in for a lot of surprises.

A few weeks ago, an acquaintance who works in neuroimaging research expressed serious concerns over the fact (which was new knowledge to them) that most residential and wilderness treatment programs are staffed day-to-day by individuals with bachelors degrees, lots of hands-on training, and dedication to spare. How can these people, she said, claim to be counselors when they have no graduate degrees and no special training in mental healthcare? Aside from the fact that the job title “counselor” is also granted to summer camp leaders and lawyers because it is not a singular signifier of credential, I think often people don’t realize that part of mental healthcare is about honoring humanity.

In a nutshell doctors, psychiatrists, therapists, nurses, first responders, and research scientists are integral in the care of non-neurotypical illnesses. Diagnosis and prescription of treatment (including prescriptions) comes from doctors and psychiatrists. Therapists work to help implement weekly (sometimes more) changes to create new patterns of behaviors. In crisis, nurses and first responders help to stabilize situations. New information and understanding of how our brains function is part of ongoing work done by research scientists. Where do counselors fit in?

Counselors fill the space in the hours and days in between meetings with all sorts of providers. We stay awake all night. We make sure our patients have meals and company. We are the ones who run out the door at the home after our patients who have had enough and want to leave. We try to help people feel like people. Luckily, you don’t need any graduate degree to show kindness or compassion.

We moved to California

The blog has been dormant for the last couple months as I’ve been making a lot of huge adjustments in my life.

Matthew and I moved to California so he could pursue a job in product development for a company that makes flash memory. We now live in a little two bedroom apartment (which we have all to ourselves!) in between the western foothills of the Sierras and the Central Valley. Heck is it hot.

To get outside, I either need to go out before 8am or wait until after the sun has set. The temperature soars into the triple digits pretty reliably by 10 and the radiant heat from the ground creates a sort of hot wind I’d never experienced before. Three-ish hours to the west (depending on how many other people also want a reprieve from the Central Valley toaster), the Pacific Ocean is cool and misty. The beaches are long and framed by impressive cliffs, the result of erosion and tectonic plates and a lot of geology I should probably educate myself on. Two hours east is the beginning of a lot of interesting Sierra goodness. It still gets hot up in the granite playground and the traffic sure sucks but nothing beats glaciated lakes, soaring thunderheads, and the orange glow of a sunset against a few choice summits.

In all seriousness, California is a gorgeous, gigantic place. Unfortunately, it is also very crowded and very expensive. Permitting for the backcountry, even day trips, is often hard-to-impossible to get with less than three months’ notice. This puts me in a somewhat strange position in terms of my identity. I’ve always seen myself as something more than a weekend warrior–a weekday trail runner, a Tuesday morning summit-reacher, a whatever you want to call it. Living in Boulder afforded me the really incredible gift of midday hikes and bike rides in between classes, and early morning runs in the shadow of the flatirons. Sometimes after class or work, Matthew and I would pack up snacks and head up the canyon behind our apartment for some R&R.

So where am I now? The luxury of spontaneous hiking plans all but disappeared when we moved to California. As it turns out, a lot of my self-perceived identity revolved around the person I am when I am outside. Moving to California entirely because Matthew got a job there suddenly stripped me of my identity outside of “Matthew’s Fiancee”. I love Matthew and I am committed to our life together–moving to California was the right choice for our family and our relationship. This leaves me feeling kind of confused.

I should say I almost have a job. I’m waiting on a few more phone calls and then I will dive (with joy) into explaining my next career move, but I’m holding off until it’s official. If anyone has any advice on meeting people our age (of which there aren’t many), or any thoughts on how identity changes as our lives change, I am all ears.

Also keep your eyes peeled for some updates on hikes, weekend trips, and new recipes.

I’ve come to see that nothing is for naught

Why do we bother to plan anything when life has a way of twisting and turning and spitting us out in places we never even considered we would see?

As it turns out, our tour of northern New Mexico was kind of crappy. We’ve been spoiled by the mountains of Colorado and the deserts of Utah and found that New Mexico kind of fell flat. We ended up driving up through a town we’d never heard of through five inches of snow in the middle of a blizzard trying to get back to Colorado. As soon as we crossed the border back into Colorado (on the southernmost part of Highway 17, for anyone keeping score), it felt like we could breathe again.

We climbed up and up through this winding road, which traverses the tapering edge of the Sangre de Cristos, and into the sky. Despite the glaring lack of visibility, I could feel the rocky cathedrals above the car. Conversation drifted towards building a cabin nestled deep in these peaks, between the pines with trunks so thick we would have to link arms to embrace them.

We skied for the next few days and I managed to spend some time shadowing my brother, Wil, on the mountain where he works as a safety guy. The skiing was decent and I started to break in my AT boots (heckin finally). On Sunday, April Fools Day, Mom decided to join us on the mountain. Mashed potato snow and tired legs joined forces and Mom ended up tearing her ACL, and fracturing both her fibula and a rib.

So I moved home for a few weeks. It was the first time I had lived at home since I finished my freshman year of college. I struggled a lot with seeking patience, finding time for myself, and the gargantuan task at hand; cleaning and packing the house to go on the market.

I listed to a lot of Joe Pugg and watched Love Actually probably fifteen times. I cried and I sweated and I cleared out the house I grew up in and got a little bit closer to my mom. There is a heavy gift in caring for the woman who raised you, but there really are no acts of service great enough to repay your parents for your life.

The house went on the market yesterday and I am joyful at having accomplished this task which seemed insurmountable not three weeks ago. Today, I am home. The dog is snoring, head on my feet; Matthew is at school, less than a month away from graduation; our future is uncertain but bright. I don’t know where we’re going but we’re going together.

On Monday I’m driving back to my favorite house of worship, Utah, for some dry desert air–from Boulder to Kanab with love.

I’ll leave you with a few stanzas from Joe Pugg’s Hymn 101:

I’ve come to know the wishlist of my father
I’ve come to know the shipwrecks where he wished
I’ve come to wish aloud among the overdressed crowd
Come to witness now the sinking of the ship
Throwing pennies from the seatop next to it

And I’ve come to roam the forest past the village
With a dozen lazy horses in my cart
I’ve come here to get high
To do more than just get by
I’ve come to test the timber of my heart
Oh I’ve come to test the timber of my heart

And I’ve come to be untroubled in my seeking
And I’ve come to see that nothing is for naught
I’ve come to reach out blind
To reach forward and behind
For the more I seek the more I’m sought
The more I seek the more I’m sought

Omegas all the way down

Recently it seems like every time I think I am over the curve of an omega, about to complete a transition and move on to a holding pattern, I find myself at the top of another omega. I quit my job. I’m beginning to start packing the apartment. I’m maybe training for a marathon?

Tomorrow is my last day working at the office, after which I will spend some time helping my mom get ready to sell the house I grew up in. Before I dive too deep into that project, however, Matthew and I are going to New Mexico for a few days to sleep in the Jeep (honestly the best thing ever) and hike to some hot springs on which I have questionable beta. Be prepared for a winding description of that adventure sometime next week.

I’ve finally settled into the rut of uncertainty. At this point, whatever happens will be okay. And that is okay. The best laid plans probably aren’t worth it, anyway. I’m hopeful and excited and peaceful and maybe nervous, all at once. I am comfortable being uncomfortable for ever and everamen.

Thinking on the office job; everything will be okay

So last week I was badly in need of a perspective shift. I wrote this and couldn’t post it because it was just too sad.

It is 5:37pm and the office is pretty much deserted, save for a couple patients in the back. I quietly sneak into the office and make myself a cup of tea in my camping mug before returning to the desk. It’s not really tea. I just mixed turmeric and ginger and honey into hot water.

Here’s hoping the turmeric solves all my problems. Specifically, I went to go running this morning and less than a quarter mile into my favorite morning ritual, a sharp pain crept from my instep back to my heel and up my leg. I pretended it wasn’t there until I had to sit down on the trail. So I didn’t run today and I showed up late at work because I could not motivate myself to go to work in the first place.

I sneak my book out of my bag and pull it out under my desk. Sometimes, it feels like being back in high school, bored out of my mind and hiding my book from whoever might rat me out. I just finished reading Sara Wheeler’s Travels in a Thin Country, which dragged at the beginning but redeemed itself three quarters of the way in. Today, I started Thru-hiking Will Break Your Heart by Carrot Quinn and it had already endeared itself to me three paragraphs in. It is an incredible escape, reading about journeys of all shapes and sizes but I feel my chest ache as I wonder when I will go on a journey.

Anyways, I’ve changed my mind on this whole thing. I figure if I have to work 40 hours a week, that gives me 128 hours a week to do whatever I want. I’m living the 5-9. Yesterday I got out after work and hiked 8.5 miles on North Table with Aidan. We howled with the coyotes, and watched the sun sink against the peaks of the foothills until the contrast became so deep that it looked like a single ridgeline extending from forever to eternity.

Then we went to REI and I blew my dividend on clothes that don’t smell weird.

I have a pupper and a few miles of running waiting for me after work today and I’m really okay with that. This is a temporary, tiny sliver of time and everything will be okay.