Backpacking forces you to walk; Solitude isolates your thoughts. The combination results in a meditative state.

Your mind hums like an engine in neutral, fueled by nature’s simple ingredients: dappled sunshine, a stream’s burble, a swaying hammock.

A fractal tree of associations form in your mind. Each idea ignites, burns like a comet across consciousness, then fades, passing the torch to the next. You become both observer and creator of this mental light show.

This particular trip didn’t produce epiphanies, but that was never the goal. Months of stressors needed quiet rumination. Intuitions were given the time and space to grow closer to convictions. Every contact between dirt and boot turned mental gears, massaging away tension like nitrogen bubbles rising from a diver’s tissues.

Back in the world of deadlines and notifications, the trail remains an oasis in memory. The cacophony of daily life—its pings, buzzes, and raised eyebrows—stands in sharp contrast to the peace found.

I hope to return to the same but different trail soon.