What type of hiker are you?

There is no wrong answer, really, but the Virgo in me believes there should be.

The thing about hiking with me: I don’t really care much about lifting my feet, grasping for each breath, or staring down at the rocks so I don’t trip and fall.
I am not in it for the exercise or the adrenaline, and I have SHORT legs,
which makes my pace a little less of a stride and more of a constant feeling of needing to catch up.

Truthfully, I don’t really like the hiking part of hiking all that much.
Wild coming from me, I know.

BUT what I DO LOVE.

What brings me back time and time and time again to the vast trails of the Rockies, the Poconos, and the Blue Ridge Mountains is that at the furthest point, when the heart rate comes back to base, when the sweat begins to dry from the brow, is that the landscape I find myself in, is miles and miles away from any civilization.
The grandness of the Earth opens up to me, and there I find the riches.

I don’t rush from that lookout or turnaround of the trail.

Rather, I make it my sanctuary. A perfect space for a PB&J and chat with all the things greater than me. The end of the trail feels like Shavasana because, in many ways, it is.

The heart of Shavasana is an integration. An integration of all movement, breath, and effort, finding homeostasis, a stillness, and a clarity of the mind.

At the end of the effort and exertion, there is a moment to soak it all in, the wonderfulness of it all, the exclusivity of it all. Not rushing from the destination in search of the next journey, but honoring it fully.

So, when I ask you what kind of hiker you are, or even more profoundly, I am more asking what type of person are you?

• “Do you allow yourself space, time, and capacity to celebrate, honor, and cherish the work?”

• “Can you sit in the quiet to see what it has to teach?”

• “Can you stay in the moment just a bit longer before rushing off to the next?”

• “Can you embody the joy of work well done?”

What does that feel to think about?
What does that look in your life?
What small shifts lead you closer to that becoming?

Today’s writing is part of the Teachings from the Forest series.

A string of short and potent writings that have lived in the ether around me like seeds all bursting to bloom all at once. All of these writings are inspired by the trees, rivers, flowers, bees, rocks, and dust-covered trails of the forest. So gather your most creative, open self, lace up your hiking shoes, and we shall journey into the trees to begin.

It feels wrong to sit and write about how living in a travel trailer can be really on hard on the mind sometimes.

It feels wrong because so so so many people wish they were doing what I am getting to do right now, and heck, I don’t blame them.

So, how did I get here writing this post?
How did I get to the breaking point,
feeling trapped within the four walls of this not-so-small trailer?

Well, as a certified earthy girlie, I am the first in line for structure, routine, rootedness, and fun within certainty. I find most of my expansiveness in time alone, curating meaningful experiences, reading books, constantly learning, and connecting deeply with spirit. ANNNDDD being on the road has put so many of those things on pause, the back burner, or for later down the road “when we get settled”.

All expected and all “prepared” for.
Except you can never really be fully prepared for something you have never done.

You can say a dozen times,

“This last leg of the trip is going to be hard. We will not have as much time to explore, root in, or get familiar with our surroundings.”

“We will be on the road for hours. Staying in state parks with limited amenities & literally have zero time apart.”

“It will be hard, but getting to our destination will be soooo worth it. We are a team, and we are prepared.”

And still, with only four days left of non-stop travel, I felt like I was going insane

“Did I make the wrong choice? How the hell do you share space with someone else 24/7? Will I actually feel any relief in New Hampshire?”

and having a full-on crash out on a random Thursday afternoon.

You would think, “ Oh, that is the end of it.” You had your moment, you said your words, you did your journaling, the worst is behind you.

But you, dear reader, also know that that feeling of stuckness is so much more pervasive than that. Instead, it began consuming my every thought, making me question every decision that brought me here, with each touch of irritability.

Medicating with deep breaths, morning stretches, warm lemon water, and soothing sounds. Nothing was a match for the depth of wondering that I had found myself in, until this morning.

It wasn’t until I arrived at the overlook of the Indian Trail in Big Pocono State Park and was steeped in pure awe that the noise finally dissipated, my shoulders released an exhale, and my focus both narrowed and expanded.

Because when you’re faced with feeling so big in your life.
When you feel that all-consuming certainty that you don’t know how you are going to make it to the next stop without losing yourself completely.

Go find something vast.

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The ocean, the plateau, the mountain tops, a crowd of inspired people (artists, musicians, creators).

Something so UNDENIABLY bigger than yourself to remind yourself that while your life matters and your problems matter, they are so “now.”

They are so “in this moment", and they feel so absolute.

But placed up against the limitless, expansive, and majestic force that is this Earth, this world, this existence, those doubts and fears don’t feel so all-consuming.

From a bigger point of view, you can see solutions you have never seen before.
You can witness the limitless resources that cover the landscape (as long as we continue to protect them).
And you can be reminded that something greater, more benevolent, and more mystical exists all around you, that you are not alone in your wondering.

I thank god for Big Pocono State Park.
Thank god I left the enclosure of our travel trailer to see just how BIG and GRAND and MAJESTIC the limitlessness of this world is.
Thank god I allowed myself to feel that feeling deep in my bones and made room for it to nourish my soul.

And just like that, in all sincerity, I have found not only the acceptance of what lies ahead, but have shifted into oozing enthusiasm to see what the vastness in front of me has in store.

Deeply relating to the vibrance, spontaneity, and alive nature of the flowers that grow wild, one would think that perhaps I had learned the breadth of the lessons they could teach, but on one sunny afternoon, lost among the trees, guided by a stern man who had been studying to be a park ranger “since he was 3,” the flowers had more to teach me.

Little lessons like:

• There is never just one type of “Trillium” or “Violet” but rather dozens of variations.

• Or, you don’t realize how many things grow around you until you really set your sights to look for them.

• Or maybe even, you often find the flower you most hoped to find when you stopped wanting to find it at all.

But on this particular day, something more subtle took root in my spirit.

As we were walking through the trees, following the path, eyes low to the ground, the park ranger stopped, crouched down, lifted some unsuspecting leaves, and there they were, flowers growing low to the Earth at the base of the stem, not the top!

Asarum arifolia, commonly known as Little Brown Jug, was there, showing its vibrant, waxy green leaves, and underneath, small, almost invisible, brown jug-like “flowers” grew at its base.

And in that moment, something in me was touched.

As we continued on, I started to take notice that the Little Brown Jug wasn’t the only of its kind; in fact, on this one hike, we learned of at least three more flower variations that grow their flowers below or underneath their leaves.

Not only that, on the very last mile of the hike, with shaky legs and winded lungs, we again found ourselves at a full stop. As Park Ranger Brown crouched and lifted a leaf to reveal something fascinating: a beautiful, larger than most would enjoy, Fishing Spider. A litter critter, minding its own, beneath a leaf, only spotted by a man with a love for all things of the forest.

While a seemingly non-spectacular moment, these fascinating revelations whispered to me softly,

Then it all came into focus.

Of the hundreds of hikes I have taken since I was a little girl, never once have I wondered if wildflowers could grow beneath a leaf or spotted a spider hiding so well in plain sight. It was only when a man took the time in his day to slow us down and show us something new that I was able to witness new beauty.

Two inspirations for the experience of one.

Firstly, there is more to slowing down than nervous system regulation and witnessing your inner wisdom. Another beautiful, powerful gift of slowing down is that you will most certainly always find something new in places you thought had nothing left to teach you.

In the slowdown, you look with more curiosity, sometimes boredom, and often a new perspective - everything is just a little less blurry.

Secondly, this is why sharing your knowledge, passion, creativity, and enthusiasm is so vital to community health and growth. I would have never known when, where, how, or why to look beneath leaves for beautiful treasures if Park Ranger Brown had not gotten low to the Earth and gently pulled them to the side. His knowledge inspired awe and wonder, even if, to him, this revelation existed in the mundane, and for that I am deeply grateful.

Today’s writing is part of the Teachings from the Forest series.
A string of short and potent writings that have lived in the ether around me like seeds all bursting to bloom all at once. All of these writings are inspired by the trees, rivers, flowers, bees, rocks, and dust-covered trails of the forest. So gather your most creative, open self, lace up your hiking shoes, and we shall journey into the trees to begin.

In the midst of all the strenuous movement, immersion in nature, and inspiration from learning new things about the Earth, a soft knowing became a clear and present certainty.

On mile 4.5 of the 6-mile hike, a wave of creativity and inspiration crashed over me in a way that felt familiar, yet fresh.

With no laptop to begin working on, I dug my phone from the bottom of my bag, which usually stays tucked away on adventures, and began fervently jotting down every note as it rushed through my mind, catching all the lessons, inspirations, and ideations, and they swirled around.

Thus, Teachings from the Forest begins. A string of short and potent writings that have lived in the ether around me like seeds all bursting to bloom all at once. There is no set end to this, but rather a knowing of what grows from the forest, and what needs to sprout separately.

The first writing will follow this introductory article shortly, as these epiphanies are eager to dance out in the world. From there, Teachings from the Forest will trickle over time, woven in with the other writings and workings of Journey Home Healing.

So gather your most creative, open self, lace up your hiking shoes, and we shall journey into the trees to begin.