It is my sincerest belief that the ego is to nature as oil is to water: the two do not mix. Whenever I reflect on my less-than-favorable trips, what they all have in common is an unchecked ego. For my ego, with its insatiable appetite for more, has too often been the culprit of ignored instincts and poor decision-making.
It was not always like that. My gravitation toward hiking adventures was founded on an innate harmony with the outdoors. But what started as an innocent passion for nature devolved into something that fed my pride. This infiltration of the ego into the haven I found in nature disrupted both my enjoyment and my decision-making. After enough poor decisions, my ego was no longer an inconvenient passenger but a weapon wielded against myself. Eventually, I learned that this inflated pride had no place on the trail. If I were to continue my solo adventures, I had to find a way to unpack the ego and leave it behind.
Before the influence of the ego
Growing up, I was a far cry from a neat & tidy girl. A day well spent left me with fresh grass stains, dirt-caked hands, and hair resembling a bird’s nest. My fondest childhood memories involve being outside, running barefoot through the grass, or digging in the dirt. Time was determined by the sun in the sky and the rumbling of the tummy. Stories were created on behalf of the woodland creatures with an imagination only a child could muster. I felt as at home sitting outside under the infinite sky as I did under the covers of my bed.
My worries of homework, making friends, fitting in, and planning for the future did not exist while I was out in nature. There was something about the sturdiness of the trees and the perseverance of the wildlife that blanketed me in comfort. No matter what transpired, there was the certainty that nature would carry on. No matter my tribulations, the flowers will bloom and the critters will forage. Whether it was slipping away before dinner as a teenager or taking a study break with a jaunt in the woods as a college student. The world seemed to make more sense when I was outside, enveloped in nature’s embrace.
What I most appreciate about this juvenile interest in hiking was how innocent it was. I had no concept of mileage or time. My prerogative was meditative, not competitive; I was building a connection to nature, not testing athletic abilities. As time moved on and my confidence on the trail increased, so did my desire to challenge myself. While this yearning for more strenuous routes opened my eyes to what awaited me, it also created a space for my ego to fill.
How the ego nestled its way in
In part, I blame the completion of my college degree on this newfound hunger for more extreme hikes. My competitive drive was no longer satiated through my schoolwork and course performance. My adventurous spirit was no longer constrained by the responsibilities of exams and lab reports. While this shift evoked a greater appreciation for nature and all her glory, it was also responsible for out-of-focus trips. Acquainting myself with the local flora and fauna, befriending curious critters, and picking edible berries collapsed into the backdrop of my ambition to cover as much ground as possible.
My aptitude for fixation led to the ego-inspired obsession of the miles hiked in a day. I was more concerned with the quantity of ground covered than with the quality of my discoveries. And full transparency, there was a part of me that craved the ability to share my accomplishments. I felt like I had something to prove. What that something was and to whom I wished to prove it was unknown to me at the time. In retrospect, I was likely craving a sense of accomplishment that was no longer available from test scores and professors’ praises.
Looking back at this phase, I feel it was as inevitable as it was necessary. Inevitable due to my energetic approach to outdoor endeavors and competitive predilection. Necessary because of the newfound respect for nature and the humility that came with it.
From smiles to miles and back again
I can pinpoint the trip that shifted my perspective, a multi-day camping trip to Acadia. Although I initially planned to go backpacking, dogs were not allowed on the backcountry trails. Instead of finding an alternative, I stayed in frontcountry campsites and day hiked. And what an incredible trip that was! I familiarized myself with the campground critters and traipsed around the area with ease. I returned home from that trip with a cleansed spirit and a reignited spark.
Keeping my ego in check has become paramount to finding solace again in nature. The moment I sniff trouble on the trail, I don’t second-guess the instinct. I have no qualms when choosing a basecamp trip over a thru-hike. But I am not an enlightened monk who has eradicated the influence of the ego. There are times I still feel the rush of my pride swell inside and begin to cloud my judgment. Moments when I’ve pushed myself favorably and am overwhelmed by a sense of invincibility. But I have allowed my audacious ego to overpower one too many experiences. And I no longer feel that I have anything to prove when I am out on the trail.
Lesson learned: the ego has no place on the trail
A new approach became necessary after so many bad decisions and ruined trips. I thought back to those days of meandering through the forest without a worry or care. How much happier and freer I felt then. In contrast, those trips tainted by the ego were wrought with dampened spirits and gross misjudgments. Convincing myself that I had to prove my worth was futile. I had strayed from what made me passionate about time in nature in the first place. And I needed to reacquaint myself with what formerly compelled me.
At this point in my journey, I am no longer impressed by long and daunting trails. Instead of being awed by how many miles I pulled in a multi-day trip, I am now inspired by how few miles it took to find a temporary home. In fact, some of my most beloved trips have been where I find an epic camp spot to pop a squat for a few days and explore. The ones where I enjoy breakfast at a nearby lake, doing yoga on a mountain peak half a mile away, and zigzagging through the nearby trails, all while having my home base fixed in space.
Closing thoughts
Sometimes, I crave being on the move or completing a section of a thru-hike. Or to complete a trail with a challenging elevation grade or scrambles. The difference is that I now allow myself to make the choices I want to make, and not the ones that inflate my pride.
So, something you will seldom hear from me is how grueling the mileage was or how I tackled a 35-mile day. Instead, you’re in for a retelling of the routine of the birds or the books I have read while lounging by an alpine lake. I’ll save the numbers for a numerology course and focus on the experience.
Happy Trails!
