What Hiking Teaches Me About Life

 When I decided on a whim to go hiking one Sunday last August, I had no idea how much I would grow to love it. I was simply bored after months of not really leaving home other than to go to work. Isolation made me feel adventurous; I was tired of going for walks around my neighborhood, and I wanted to try something different. Even though it was hot, more of a challenge than I expected, and I didn’t take enough water with me, I felt energized and was hooked from that first hike. In the past year, I have learned plenty, not only about hiking, but about myself and life in general.

I have learned I am strong in ways I haven’t felt strong since I was much younger. Maybe ever.

And not just physically, but mentally as well; hiking has become so much more than physical exercise. I have stretched my soul along with my legs. I have learned what I can accomplish when I put my mind and heart into it, and during the hours when I am traipsing through the woods, I think a great deal about how I can apply lessons I figure out while hiking rugged trails to my life in general.

I have learned conditions around me can affect how I notice and pay attention to the lovely things,

 in the woods and in life.

 

When the path through the woods is smooth, I easily lose myself in the beauty around me—the birdsong, deep earthy scents, rustling wind, dappled sunlight. Woodpeckers tapping into tree trunks. The sound of leaves swirling and twirling to the ground in the fall. (Who knew leaves make a sound when they fall? They do, and what a delightful sound it is.) The simple pleasure of hearing nothing but my shoes hitting the ground.

But when the way is not smooth, when it is littered with rocks and twisted, knotted roots, full attention to my feet is required so I don’t stumble and fall. On demanding terrain, it is more challenging to focus on the beauty around me. I will miss it all unless I force myself to stop, gaze up at the sky, look around and listen.

It is easy to notice the good and beautiful things when the path is smooth and easy. Other times, it takes more effort to stop and pay attention to what is right in front of me that I might miss otherwise. When I am hiking a difficult path, I don’t always notice simple things like a patch of tiny yellow flowers or a cluster of unusual mushrooms because I am intensely focused on not stumbling and falling. Yet those small treasures are what make hikes fun and interesting.

And when life is bumpy and I am putting every bit of energy I have into keeping my wits about me, it is also more challenging to take in all the simple and good things around me which make life fun and interesting. They are always there; it just takes more effort to notice them. That is why I started this blog and called it dancing in the rain—to remind myself to always look for the good parts of life even when life itself is not so good. I am not always successful, though I sure try. I don’t write here much these days, but I do often find myself wondering, “How can I dance in the rain today?”

I have learned that is okay, necessary even, to stop and rest,

but no matter what, I have to keep on keepin’ on.

 

When I am hiking, I often need to stop and rest to absorb all that I want to. If either the trail or weather are strenuous and problematic, I stop more often. I try not to make my hikes be about how fast I finish, and when the going has been rough, I don’t feel guilty when I stop to replenish myself on a bench, open my bottle of water, have a snack, and relax for a few minutes. Notice the way the blue sky looks through rippling leaves. Or the way the harvest golds and reds shimmer in the sunshine. Or close my eyes and think about how the noises of the woods easily drown out the noises in my head. Once I feel refreshed and my breathing has slowed, I keep moving. Because when one is in the middle of the woods, what option is there other than to keep moving?

And when I am in a patch of life where the trail is rocky and conditions are less than ideal, I also must keep moving. But I’ve learned it’s okay, necessary even, to stop and replenish myself on a rocking chair on my porch with a book and a glass of wine or a cup of tea until I feel ready to move on. Watch the evening sky as the sun fades into a swirl of color or storm clouds move in. Listen to cicadas and tree frogs. And even when I am not ready to move on, I must anyway, because I can’t sit on the porch forever, just as I can’t stay on a bench in the middle of the woods forever.

I have learned that obstacles on the pathways of the woods and life present opportunities for me to take on challenges I don’t think I am capable of and feel proud of myself when I do.

I frequently encounter downed trees or giant boulders that block my way. Sometimes, it is easy to climb over and keep going, but sometimes, the stumbling block is a tree with a huge trunk that I stare at for a moment while I wonder how in the world I am going to get over it. Occasionally, those downed trees seem insurmountable especially at my age. When I was much younger, it would have been effortless for me to throw my long legs over the tree and continue. But now that I am older and not in great shape, the obstacles feel more impossible.

Every once in a while, I can walk off the path a little bit to go around the tree, or at least climb over a smaller part, but other times, that will not work, and I have no choice but to climb on over or play limbo and crawl under. I tell myself others I encountered going the opposite way on the trail that day have already conquered that hurdle, so surely, I can, too. I have scratched my hands and knees and ended up with muddy, wet pants more than once. But no matter how difficult it is, no matter what obstacle I encounter, I have always gotten over it. Not always unscathed, but over it, nonetheless.

The same goes for life….

Holes are ripped in my heart; my ego is bruised and scratched. I am in a phase now of staring at a huge, downed tree, wondering how in the world I will be able to continue on the path I know and trust. This is one of those trees there is no way around; I have to find a way over it, somehow. When I was younger, I might have hopped over and moved on much quicker than I feel equipped to do now. I tell myself I have overcome every obstacle I have encountered so far, and I will overcome this one, too.

I have learned that frequently, there is just no way to not get dirty and muddy.

Another obstacle I often encounter when I am hiking is mud.

I hate hiking in mud more than I hate any other trail conditions. If the path is mostly muddy, I am sore from my hips to my toes the next day, and I typically need to spend a day or two resting. Slogging through mud works muscles I didn’t even know I have. Other times, the path is primarily clear with an occasional mud puddle (or mud hole). Again, I will stop, stare at it and search for a way to go around it. Sometimes, there is indeed a way to carefully step around the whole thing, or at least tip toe around the edge so I can end up with less mud on my feet. Other times, there is no way around it, so I say screw it and tromp on through. Other times, I do it more slowly and gingerly; it completely depends on my mood.

Once more, just like life. I have never been a person who particularly enjoys getting dirty. When I was a kid, I hated for my hands to be dirty. As a grown up, I enjoy gardening, but I have to wear gardening gloves because I still hate getting my hands dirty. But sometimes, there really is no way to carefully step around the mud puddles of life, and it is necessary to simply traipse through them. I am doing that now. Some days, I stomp through the mud puddles of life, not caring how dirty I get. Other days, I take it slow, really think about how I can make it through with the least amount of mud and crap caking up my mind. On particularly muddy days, I find myself exhausted and in need of rest to recover from tromping through all the mud of life, just as I need to do when I have spent miles on a muddy hiking trail.

I have learned there is no way to avoid rocky hills.

My favorite hiking trail is one that is not far from home. There is one thing I hate about it though: the huge hill about midway through the 5 ½ mile trail. If I start the trail where most do, it is an uphill climb that usually takes me about 10 minutes to navigate. The worst thing about this hill is not just that it is long and steep (though it is!), it’s that is completely covered with lose rocks. It is treacherous. I was hiking there with a friend one morning, and she suggested that we start the trail backwards, that it might be easier to go down that hill than to go up it.

It’s not.

It sounded great in theory. But going down the hill is no easier than going up it. It is still a rocky hill, and it is still covered in loose rocks that are treacherous. It is still the most challenging part of the whole 5 plus mile hike. I still hate and dread that part of the trail.

A rocky hill is still a rocky hill, and life is full of them. And there is no way around them. I deal with this hill the best way I can: Whether I hike up it or down it, I sit on the bench at that top and rest. Either to catch my breath after hiking up or to psych myself up to go down. I take my time navigating that hill. The key is that I know eventually, whether I am traveling up or down this hill, it will end eventually.

Life is the same: Eventually, the treacherous, rocky, path will end. And there will be a restful bench or rocking chair to stop and rest a spell. If there isn’t, I will create one.

Hiking has taught me that lovely things can grow, even thrive, in harsh, less than ideal conditions.

There may not be much sunshine deep in the woods, but a green plant can grow in a dark crevice of a dead tree or even between stones and boulders. The environment may be inhospitable, yet these plants are hardy and search for any little bit of sustenance they can find. They might thrive in more favorable conditions, yet they still take root and grow.

In countless ways, my life is pretty dark and unfavorable right now. While I may not be what I think of as thriving, I do find that I am putting out some new, tender roots. I am surviving and, in some strange ways, growing. I, too, am seeking out any little bit of sustenance I can. Some days, that sustenance looks like texting a cousin I haven’t seen in years and asking her if I can visit then hiking with her through her woods before settling into old comfy chairs beneath older trees drinking wine. It looks like texting your brothers and saying, “Hey, I need to get away, when can I come?” and driving 9 hours a few days later. Other days, it looks like taking a few hours to browse an antique mall or walk in a park with a cup of coffee. Still other days, it looks like sitting on my front porch all day reading in the sunshine or snuggling in my pjs on the couch on a rainy day watching Netflix.

I have learned that while I love hiking by myself, companions are nice, too.

I have hiked with a few different people, but I also relish quiet, thinking time by myself. I have one friend I have a good time hiking with even though we often don’t talk while we hike; just being with someone is enough. Hiking quietly with a friend reminds me that in life as well, it’s not what is said, but knowing that someone is by my side that is all the comfort I need.  

I have learned that we all take life’s paths, hurdles, and hardships at different paces,

and everyone’s journey looks different.

And I have also learned that is okay!

 

Some of the people I have hiked with take the same path I am on much more swiftly and sure footed than I do. Sometimes, they end up far ahead of me and stop to wait for me to catch up. They may hop on over the downed trees that I slowly and carefully crawl over.

This serves as a reminder to me that in life as well as hiking, we all go at our own pace and have different capabilities for overcoming rough terrain and obstacles blocking our path. Some may think I am moving way too slowly right now, or not handling obstacles the way they are sure they would, but that’s okay. I know in my heart that I am doing what I can when I can. I am stepping gently and deliberately over the obstacles and around the mud puddles in my path because I don’t want to make a wrong move and tumble down a ravine. The one and only time I went hiking when I wasn’t carefully considering the path in front me, I stumbled on a rock and hobbled out of the woods on what I was sure was a broken ankle. I was hiking in anger that morning, not paying any attention at all to what was on the path. Thankfully, my ankle was only sprained and not broken, but it set me back and made me barely able to even walk for weeks. That experience reinforced that it is always necessary to keep my wits about me and not do something in anger I may regret later.

Hiking has taught me to step out of my comfort zone.

This is perhaps one of the most important things I have learned since I started hiking. My comfort zone has always been pretty small, and I tend to get caught up in my own little bubble, afraid to try new things. I bought a new sewing machine almost two years ago, yet I have never used it. I know how to sew, but this is a much fancier machine than the one I used in the past, and I am intimidated to try it out. My life is full of situations just like that one.

But staying in one’s comfort zone can become boring. And wasteful, like my expensive sewing machine that has sat unused for 2 years. No more of that for me.

Part of my pleasure in hiking has become trying out something new, a new park, a new trail when I am out of town. A new restaurant after my hike. Going somewhere I’ve never been before, just to hike there. Making it through a hike that is hard for me.

I have gone on hikes that were easy, but more of them were hard. And to be honest, I appreciate the harder hikes more. I get more out of them. I feel more accomplished. I have never yet regretted trying something new and stepping away from my comfort zone. I have encountered so many breathtaking views and beautiful scenery on paths I probably should never have been on with my limited hiking experience.

Life is becoming the same way. As I have forced myself to step out of my comfort zone, I have been treated to things like a picturesque town on a river in Wisconsin that I would never have visited if I hadn’t stepped out of my comfort zone.

Hiking has taught me that going backwards is not an option.

Tied for first place with the above lesson is this one.

When I am hiking, turning around and starting over actually is an option, even though it’s not a good one. More than once, I have taken hikes that I shouldn’t have, when I wished I could turn around and head back the way I came because the path and obstacles seemed more than I was up for. But so far, I haven’t turned around. Most of the time, that is because to turn around would take me even longer, and I would have encountered the same difficult conditions on the way back. I always tell myself I need to keep moving forward because the path may become easier around the next bend. Sometimes, it does indeed level and smooth out. Other times, it is even harder than what I already encountered. I have never turned around when tempted to, and by the end of every hike, I am exhausted but energized, and proud of myself for making it through a tough path.

In life, it really is not possible to go backwards. I tell myself that what I can’t see ahead of me may be easier, just like those twisty paths I hike. Sometimes, it is and whatever I imagined was not as bad as I thought it would be. Other times, it is indeed harder. On those days, my exhausted self may have to sit longer to gear up for what is ahead of me, just as I sometimes have to stop and rest longer when I am on a difficult hike. At this moment in time, I am exhausted in a lot of ways. Each turn I take, though, energizes me in some way. I don’t know when this path I am on will end, or how exactly it will end, or what twisty steep paths are ahead of me, but I am looking forward to overcoming all the hurdles and feeling proud of the ones I have already conquered.

Just as I look back on a difficult hike and think to myself, “Wow! I can’t believe I did that and am still standing because I didn’t tumble over that cliff!” I look forward to being at that point in my life as well.

Ironically, while I have no clue what is ahead for me now and that scares me, when I am walking in the woods, I love the spots where the path switches back on itself, and I can’t see what is up ahead or around the bend. Sometimes, what appears to be a steep drop off that I dread taking on turns out to be a set of steps I just can’t see until I get closer to them. When this happens, the relief I feel is enormous. I am trying to bring that feeling of wondering what is ahead with me now and embracing it rather than fearing it. I am trying to look for the steps that will make the steep downward parts easier to travel.

I am looking forward to standing at the bottom of those steps, looking up, and thinking, “Wow! I can’t believe I made it!