I have always been drawn to adventure, though sometimes not in healthy ways. In college I drank too much, not only because it was the norm but also for the way that normal rules disappeared and I never knew what would happen. After drinking, friends were more likely to go skinny-dipping or dance without embarrassment. Of course, I probably don’t have to tell you that we were also more likely to make poor decisions.
Maybe I would still be an occasional binge drinker if I hadn’t found a more rewarding type of adventure. In the past two years, I thru hiked most of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and all of the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). I loved not knowing what was ahead—who I would meet, where I would sleep, or what the trail would look like.
That kind of healthy, positive adventure is hard to find in regular life. Most of us stay around the same people and places every day. There are obvious benefits to routines and community, but as a twentysomething it sometimes feels like most jobs are administrative or service-oriented and most time off is spent sitting in a loud bar. Thru hiking is a fantastic short term solution to boredom because the trail is always changing and, unlike drinking, you aren’t likely to regret it.
Technically, I could spend every year thru hiking. In five months on the CDT I only spent about $3,000 (or $600 a month) not including gear and transportation to the trail. It was possible to save that much during the rest of the year by working three service jobs and living as a caretaker in a rural zen center with cheap rent. Having a natural aversion to spending money and no student loans also helped.
But then, there are those other seven months. While working three jobs and planning for hikes, I struggled to find time and energy for other interests. As friends enrolled in grad school, I felt aimless. Backpacking is not a career direction, and doesn’t contribute much to society aside from a low carbon footprint. On trail I ran into weekend backpackers who told me they wanted to thru hike, but didn’t want to leave their jobs. They were jealous of my long adventure, and I was jealous that they loved their work. The bind appears to be permanent: Now that I’m back in Chicago, in school for design, I love my work—but I still ache for adventure when friends post photos from life on trail.
In April I read an article about Alistair Humphreys, who won the National Geographic Adventurer of the Year award in 2012 for a series of small, local trips he calls “microadventures.” The idea is that it’s not necessary to spend months in the most magnificent scenery to have an adventure. In his mind, adventure is just about getting out of your routine, physically challenging yourself, and seeing new places and people. It’s something you can do anywhere, even with a full time job.
I loved the idea of fitting smaller, less extravagant adventures into regular life. I thought of Annie Dillard and Thoreau, who each wrote about wilderness while living in suburbia.