The Urge to Hike

I like pie. It is uncommon for pie to last a long time in my house. Maybe for a day it will sit on the counter, or hide in the back of the refrigerator, but if no one has attached any notes claiming it, it will not last long. I would like to say that it is because I have teenage and adult children living in my home and that it is their fault that the life of a pie is short. The truth is that I contribute more than my fair share. I really like pie. For some reason, if there is pie in the refrigerator, I find myself eating pie for breakfast, and then also with lunch, and after dinner. And, if there is a slice that is a little too big for one person, but a little too small to share with two people, it is only right that I finish it off so the pie won’t spoil in the fridge. I recognize that when given the opportunity, I will eat more pie in a day than anyone should, but just knowing that there is pie in the fridge is something that I cannot walk away from. I really like eating pie and it calls me. There is an urge to eat the pie and I have a difficult time pushing back against that urge. I really, really like pie and I do not do well denying the urge to eat it.

The urge to eat certain foods is something that is known to many of us, and while I am poking fun at myself I know that there are individuals who wrestles with urges that are life-harming. Those who wrestle with addictions be it with food, alcohol, drugs, behavior patterns, or anything else know too well about the power and most often negative impact of an urge. It is a pull, like a fish-hook that grabs and demands we follow and to say, “no” can feel like tearing at one’s own flesh. I don’t want to diminish the life-altering power of an urge that so many of us wrestle with.

Those are not the urges that I want to think about with this post. Not the addictions or the desires to eat certain food, but instead those life-impacting urges. I wonder about those urges that seem to be connected to our hopes and dreams, our desires and hold a sense of wonder. These are those urges that may not be connected to an immediate, addictive behavior, but instead shape and guide our lives. These are the urges that cause us to change careers, that pull us from a steady, safe job to one that is full of risk and unknowns because it is something that we felt we needed to do. These are the urges that tempt us to move across the country with no sense of what we will do when we get there because we always wanted to live in a certain place. These are the urges that pull us to march, to speak out, to help out when we witness something that we can only describe as unjust and wrong. This is more than just eating more pie in a day then anyone should in a month. These are the urges that impact one’s standard of living, one’s existence, and speaks to one’s essence. These are the urges that are deeply connected to the ways that we live and our sense of who we are. What do we do with those urges?

I feel pulled to be in the back-country, and I wonder about this urge every time I go into the wilderness why I give in and say, “yes” to that urge. There is nothing rational about leaving all of the comforts of modern life, of deliberately subjecting oneself to cold, rain, mud, and insects. What is it that compels us to enter the wilderness? What is it about that urge to leave what we may find comfortable and known to go into the uncomfortable and unknown? I have a suspicion that the very urge that compels us to enter into the wilderness has a correlation with those urges that impact our lives. Those urges seem to be connected to the deeper, life-impacting desires, and the urges that shape and impact our lives.

Sometimes the wilderness urge starts with a wondering and curiosity to enter into a specific wilderness. It may be the allure of sleeping in the desert, or sitting by a lakeshore. It may be the romance of hiking among mountains and having an evening by a campfire. Something sparks our imagination.

When I drive to visit my folks in Albany, New York, I go through the Berkshire Mountains in Massachusetts. The highway (I-90) cuts through the mountains, intersecting various New England towns and skirting past landmarks. One landmark that I take note of with each drive is a bridge that we drive under. Every time I notice the name of that bridge. It is not just the name of a road, but it is the Appalachian Trail. With each pass under the bridge at 70 miles an hour I wonder what it might be like to walk that trail, to walk over that bridge, to be living in a different rhythm from the cars and my current life below. I have hiked that section of the Appalachian Trail, I have walked over that bridge, but it was so long again and I did not take the time to consider where I was that today I continue to feel an urge to pull the car over and to go and explore the trail that goes over the highway. More than that, I feel the urge to take the 5-6 months and to hike from Georgia to Maine (or in reverse) which is something that I have not yet done. The bridge represents something to me that is connected to an urge. It is connected to a way of life. I feel an urge not only to go to the wilderness, but to go into the Appalachian wilderness that spans more than 2,000 miles. There is something about the possibilities, the experiences, the challenges, and the rewards that pulls and compels me to wonder. I want to be in that wilderness even though it is not at all a rational thing to do. I want to have that particular wilderness experience. Each time I go under the bridge, there is an urge. This is an urge that is present in the background and sometimes at the fore of my thoughts.

            What is it that compels us to enter the wilderness? What kind of urge pulls us to enter the unknown of the wilderness? The mountain looms in the background and we wonder what it might be like to be on the top of that summit. You see on social media idyllic and picturesque visions of streams and lakes and you wonder what it might be like to sit at the lakeshore and to just be in that wonderful space. You have watched a documentary about a canyon or a wilderness area that seems so amazing and wonderful and you want to be there as well. Or you have always wanted to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, or the Arizona Trail, or climb Mt. Rainer. You have somewhere compiled a list of hikes and places that you want to explore and that wilderness-based bucket-list continues to nag and pull at you. Or you just miss the sound of the wind in the trees, the crickets at night, and the simplicity of the backpacking life. And you want to go back not fully knowing what you might find when you do. The unknown holds an allure of what could be, of promises of something more, and it pulls. It is an urge.

            The urge nags. The urge will not leave us alone, even when we find moments to muffle its pull it never fully goes away. I have had those moments when driving past a national forest or an open desert landscape where I have felt the urge. I want to explore. I want to spend the night in the vast unknown. I want to be there. And when I don’t give in to my urge to be in the wilderness, even just a little, I start to consider my life, where I am going, the decisions that I have been making and I wonder if I am heading in the wrong direction. If I cannot take the time to explore the unknown, if I cannot make the time to be in the wilderness even if it is just for a few days, then maybe something is not right with my life. Maybe I’m working too hard. Maybe I moving too fast. Maybe I’m saying “yes” to too many people and thus saying “no” to the desires and the joys of my own life. This is the danger of the urge is that it can and does lead to a self-examination. For me, the urge to go into the wilderness can and often is connected with a personal, existential itch. Life is easier when you do not examine it. Life is easier when you just fall into the flow of the hustle and bustle, when you just allow the expectations of others guide you and tell you what to do and in what way. Life is easier when you don’t give into the urges because the wilderness, the unknowns can be difficult, can be demanding, and will be uncomfortable. Yet I would also argue that our freedom and ability to give into the urge is correlated with our freedom and ability to live the life that we want to live. It is not connected to an easy life, but it can be connected to a life that leans into a sense of wonder.

            I strongly believe that it is not just with the wilderness that we find an urge deeply connected to our sense of self. We are pulled and prompted to consider the unknown and the possible in various ways  . The urge pulls us to want something more. The urge to expand one’s family. The urge to change one’s family. The urge to try something different that will radically change one’s life. The urge to be something more or to be something different in our lives. For many of us the urge is real. What do we do with this urge? How do we respond to our urge? I cannot tell you that it is always a good idea to say “yes” to your urge. Some wilderness areas are just not safe or practical. Some life changes are not safe or practical. Sometimes we have to wonder how to satiate our urge in a way that is correlated to the urge. And sometimes we just have to walk away, to say, “no” and to do our best to let it go.

            But what about those times when we say “yes.” What about those times when we name the urge, weigh all of the risks, the pros and cons, the challenges and changes that will be required, and we still say “yes.” This is a risky, exciting moment. This is a threshold moment when we decide that we will walk into the unknown. The “yes” to the urge is a “yes” to something new and different. It is scary and exciting, and we hope it will be better than just one more slice of pie.