The Fence

When I was in 4th grade, I hated going to school. My sister and I had just moved from Texas to California and we were filled with preteen angst. We devised a plan to hop the chain-link fence, go into town and eat hot dogs and buy Barbies with the allowance we'd been saving. Everyday at recess, we'd find each other and scout out the perimeter of the school yard. We'd watch the teachers and recess monitor to track their patterns, preparing for the perfect moment when we'd sneak behind the tallest shrubberies and make the leap into freedom.

My sister, Amanda, and I circa 1997, in all of our awkward glory. Little did our
poor mother know that we were only a year away from full-blown preteen rebellion,
well, at least attempted rebellion....

The day finally came when we were ready to do it -- everything was in place. We'd each filled our backpacks with money and planned to rendez-vous in the far corner of the schoolyard at noon. The bell rang and we met at the fence, hearts and backpacks full of the promise of future Barbies and hot dogs. Our first opportunity arose when the recess monitor turned her back to break up a fight around the tether-ball poles. My sister looked hesitant, so in a flurry of panic and excitement I threw myself onto the fence, clambering over and onto the other side. I was free! I beckoned for my sister to join me, but in seeing me actually do it she, being the older and wiser sibling, suddenly realized that this was all a terrible idea.

So there I was, standing on the precipice of freedom-- just an open field of brush standing between me and a brand new barbie---and what did I do? I climbed back over the fence, back into the school yard I was so desperately trying to escape.

With only a few days standing between me and the AT, I've gone through the full spectrum of emotions (excitement, fear, panic, joy, worry that I've completely lost my mind and that Robb and I are insane for doing this...). But remembering that moment in 4th grade helps keep me calm. Like hopping the fence, hiking the AT is a crazy undertaking. While we arguably made the more responsible decision to stay at school, I've always felt the urge to break away. In the last few years, I've built my own fence. I created a school yard for myself filled with comforts and routines that make me feel safe and stable. But like that school yard, stability did not bring me happiness.

Pondering Existence in the Porcupine Mountains, Michigan 2011

When I start to feel discouraged or question whether or not I have what it takes to complete the trail, I think of that moment. I remember how scared I was just before I took the leap, how free I felt on the other side, and the disappointment of climbing back into the school yard.

In April, Robb and I will rendez-vous at Springer Mountain with hearts and backpacks full; and this time, we're not going to look back, we will keep walking through the brush.