love and trails

In three nights and four days, I finally pulled into my parent’s driveway at dinnertime. I had spent the last eight hours in the usual way— consuming podcasts, music, and often silence to best ignore the time spent traversing through the flat empty fields in Kansas. My mind my own enemy, as there was plenty of time to explore the shadows and the blockaded areas inside. I thought a lot about love. Moving into my van had allowed me the space and time to begin understanding my fear and distrust of another who’d claim they loved me. It was a learning curve, and I uncovered more little by little. All at once, the person who occupied those thoughts pulled in the other direction.

That’s how short my love story is. I spent years with and without this person, feeling as if I was clambering around in the dark. Fear drove my actions away from them— as well as instinct. I was guided by something that kept saying, ‘not now’. I followed it so long I forgot where I was. I feel like I was the last one to the party, the last one to get the joke. The only one in a sea of people who couldn’t see the story unraveling before them.

Isn’t heartbreak just disgusting? I have been writing poems and thoughts in the notes app on my phone that make me cringe rereading them. I nearly gag at the words as I type them. This space is an area for me to share my experiences in the van and out, so it feels unauthentic not to share what occupies my thoughts first thing when I wake up in the morning. Traversing heartbreak as a twenty-five year old woman feels different than anything I have felt before. Like an adventure. Though I have felt sadness and loneliness that has at times physically squeezed my heart for hours on end, I’m not worried. I’m not scared or lost. I take it on like I take on a tough climb up a mountain. Breathe. Keep moving. Rest when you need. With the knowledge that the trail ahead stretches many miles with beautiful views and steep switchbacks.

I stopped in Gallup for a short hike during my trip home. It was three miles, 718 feet of elevation. I took off with ‘Don’t think twice, its alright’ in my ears and climbed quickly, trying to make it to the top without stopping. Three quarters of the way, I felt the pain in my ears and the flush of my face. I had passed a couple others, who stopped at benches to take breaks as needed. I felt my heart rate reach higher and my head spin. I adjusted my expectations and paused for a few breaths, taking in the red rock landscape around me. As I continued climbing, ‘Wonderful Tonight’ by Eric Clapton played in my headphones. I laughed and almost cried remembering my dad singing it to me as I laid in bed in the first house I can remember. He would bring in his microphone at bedtime and stand beside my bed, putting on a private show that may have been more for him than me. Singing Ricky Don’t Lose that number or Raindrops keep falling on my head. As I laughed I kept climbing, making it to the top and leaning into the wind that cooled my skin. I checked my hiking app— thirty-four minutes to the top. I took a moment to rest and cool down, sitting and looking down at the hikers climbing far below. I stood up and headed back down, slipping a few times and losing my hat once to the wind. I made it back to the van and checked the app again- one hour and seven minutes. I was seven off from my new goal, but I congratulated myself anyways, letting my pride carry me the last 150 miles I had to drive that day.

Enjoying the first few days back at home with a to-do list that grows every hour and plenty of time to get to everything on it. Yearning for trails, I’m planning a backpacking trip full of solitude on a lightly traveled Arkansas loop, Eagle Rock Loop. It was my first overnight trip. Returning and taking the challenge on again with new eyes fills me with excitment and joy. I hope you too are finding your joy.