#178 RHP Shelter to Telephone Pioneers Shelter - Day 103: MM1431.8 - MM1448.6
The raw version of Sprawl has finally awakened. Raw Sprawl takes over - it’s about damn time!
Apr 29, 2023
“Let's go build character,” Nyck jokes, looking at Coyote, referencing last night’s conversation about discomfort on the trail building character.
She slides into the straps of her pack while Coyote holds it up for her. What a gentleman.
They are planning another thirty-mile hike today.
It’s been raining steadily since yesterday evening. The two of them zip up their rain gear, slide their gloves over their hands, grab their hiking poles, then disappear into the downpour.
They are young and traveling ultra-light, plus sharing gear. Today’s hike doesn’t look to be too difficult. Thirty miles should be doable for them.
Me, on the other hand, am about as old as the two of them combined, outweigh either of them by sixty lbs., and there’s still too much unnecessary stuff in my pack, so I’ll end up hiking about half as far as them.
But something will change later this morning that will set the tone for the remainder of my trip.
Maps and I talk for a bit before he leaves the shelter. He shares with me that his son went through a period of drug abuse and crime a few years ago that ended badly. I share with him that my family went through something similar around the same time.
When he asks how I dealt with it, I tell him that I’m still dealing with it, that hiking is part of the recovery process, that it’s a slow process, but over time, parts of myself I’d lost are coming back, even if they seemed they never would.
I tell him this story:
Between eleventh and twelfth grade I had to go to summer school because school was at the bottom of my list of concerns.
One of the stories they had us read was a short story called The Laugher.
In his story, the Laugher works for a comedy club. His job is to assist the comedian on stage by laughing at just the right moment throughout the comedy routine to incite laughter from the audience.
The problem with this is that, over time, the Laugher lost his true laughter. His laugh is not his own, but methodic.
In the autumn of 2018 I lost my laugh.
Does that mean I never laughed? No. The laughing sound occasionally came out, but there was no emotion behind it. From the dark place I sat, nothing was funny.
My laugh was the reverse of The Laugher in the story. My emotionless laugh came in response to others, on their cue, a tool for participating with the crowd, empty, methodic.
My laugh returned sometime after my 2022 hike. The joy of laughing, I mean. Real laughter, heartfelt laughter, where something gets inside you so deeply it causes such joy that you can’t help but to bust out in roaring laughter.
Laughter a gift that is often taken for granted - until it’s gone.
Maps understands what I’m saying, and tells me a similar story:
One day while shaving, he looked at himself in the mirror and realized he’d lost his whistle but can’t remember when.
He used to whistle all the time - when working, when driving, when shaving, when doing just about everything. His happiness manifested itself though whistling, but realized one day that he hadn’t whistled in years.
Depression had stolen it, and he didn’t even realize it. One day, shortly after realizing it was gone, he began to whistle again, a sign that his joy was returning.
Come to think of it, I recall him whistling when I passed him on the trail yesterday. I could hear it before I even saw him.
Moving towards the door Maps put on his rain gear and gloves.
“Go build some character!” I yell to him as he grabs his poles.
He laughs and slips out the door into the rain, whistling.
I put on my Poncho and gloves and head out the door of the RPH Shelter into the cold rain saying out loud to no one, "Time to build some character”.
A third of a mile into my hike, just past the Taconic State Parkway Overpass, on the corner of Miller Hill Road and Short Court, a switch flips in me.
The absurdity of hiding from the rain by covering myself with so much rain gear causes me to feel weak and bogged down, though it’s what any responsible hiker would have on.
But I’m not other hikers.
The raw version of Sprawl reemerges, shedding fears.
I’ve had enough! Enough of the past haunting me! Enough of trying to stay one step ahead of depression! Enough with the fear of being alone with my own thoughts! Enough of relying on creature comforts! Enough of trying to control things that are out of my hands. Enough with playing the What If and the Shoulda-Coulda games!
No More!
I’ve had enough with hiding from the things that I’ve been fearing!
Dropping my pack right there on that corner, I shed the poncho, shed the gloves, shed the umbrella, shed all that had been hiding and protecting me from the rain.
Nyck was right about discomfort building character, but we’ll add another layer to that right here - purposefully stripping your comforts down to the bare minimum exposes you to the elements, causing you to confront them rather than hiding from them.
As you’ve figured out by now, this has little to do with the stripping of rain gear but symbolizes the stripping away the weaker parts of me that I don’t want anymore.
These fears aren’t natural to my character, but rather elements that have attached themselves to me while walking through the darker parts of my mind over the past several years.
It’s time to shed those fears.
My laughter recently returned to me, perhaps my natural characteristics will too.