Joy

Recently I listened to an episode of an outdoor-lifestyle podcast in which the host interviewed a guest he described in the synopsis as "an accomplished backpacker and bikepacker."* But, the host continued, "when you ask him what matters most after all of that, he'd tell you it's not the stats but instead, whether or not you enjoy what you're doing."

If I'm honest with myself, I don't know what I just simply enjoy doing for its own sake, excluding "the stats." I totally enjoy my first cup of coffee in the morning, but would I ever just sit there and drink it and do nothing else? Or even take it outdoors and sit in the early morning light, as experts recommend to improve my sleep and mood? (Note: they recommend the light, not the coffee!)

My coffee would still be delicious, of course, if I just sat with it and didn't read or write or check email, but overall I would feel uncomfortable. Much of the pleasure of coffee comes from its enhancement of whatever task I'm doing while drinking it.

With hiking, as with many other pursuits of mine, the joy is more in the having done than in the doing. I hope to change that dynamic as I hike the trails in Arizona and Utah.

What I want is nothing less than to rewrite one of the guiding stories that evolved during my childhood – the one with the theme of "being outdoors is usually hard and not enjoyable." I'm probably not the only one carrying this story or one of its many variants. On the Home page of the My Adventure Challenge site, right above the headline "Challenge the Adventurer Within You!" it says, "According to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), the average American spends 93% of their life indoors."

I mentioned last week that I'm training to increase my body's strength and endurance so I can enjoy hiking, even when it's hard, and find joy in the midst of the hardness of it, not just when it's over. I grew up in the desert Southwest and lately I've been reading about some of the areas I will visit, their wild beauty and diversity, which I've experienced only in tiny ways, such as viewing the Grand Canyon from the South Rim, surrounded by other tourists like me, backed by comforting hotels and restaurants.

In his book Desert Solitaire, Edward Abbey described the view from his housetrailer on the first morning of his first season as a park ranger, in the mid-1950s, at what then was Arches National Monument (now a National Park), near the town (now city) of Moab in southeastern Utah.

What are the Arches? From my place in front of the housetrailer I can see several of the hundred or more of them which have been discovered in the park. These are natural arches, holes in the rock, windows in stone, no two alike, as varied in form as in dimension. ... Some resemble jug handles or flying buttresses, others natural bridges ... . The arches were formed through hundreds of thousands of years by the weathering of the huge sandstone walls, or fins, in which they are found. ... In color they shade from off-white through buff, pink, brown and red, tones which also change with the time of day and the moods of the light, the weather, the sky. – Edward Abbey

As I make my detailed gear list and plan my food and research the weather conditions, while fitting in a few more training hikes, I hope the result will be to shift my perspective from just being willing to do the hard things – although there's nothing wrong with that – to being open to wonder, to curiosity, to grace and joy. To balance caution, as in watching my feet, with daring – to look up and be in the adventure.

*Full disclosure: The guest on the podcast episode happens to be my kid, the one I'm planning to meet at Cumbres Pass when he finishes hiking the Continental Divide Trail this month. Nonetheless, this is a conversation between two deeply thoughtful guys talking about how experiences can change one's perspective, and it's well worth a listen even though it's addressed mainly to backpacking nerds.