On Being Alone

Pt. 2

That first night was tough. I have never exactly been “good” at being alone or— more so— I would always avoid it by keeping myself occupied. When alone my mind races and ties itself into a nice little knot that cannot be untied— a cocktail of self doubt, insecurity, anxiety about the future, and guilt from the past. So, I would just avoid it and all was good, right? All was good … right? As I soon found out— and really always knew in the back of my head— all was seriously not good.

I had been trying to get “better” at being alone in the last year, but never really made any real attempts to face those thoughts and fears that arose. It was not that I was scared of something attacking me or being vulnerable when I was alone; it was not even being alone that scared me. Rather, I was scared of myself and those thoughts that simmered.

The spot I picked out was pretty dismal. Seemed like an old hunting camp. Trash on the outskirts, a sad fire ring in the middle— just a dirt clearing off the side of a dirt road. After setting up camp, I picked up a book. I decided I would start reading while my water boiled for dinner. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen was the choice that night. However, not even Austen’s prose or characters could soothe my lonesome mind.

I spent two days in this random spot on the Olympic Peninsula, basically driving myself crazy. It was a storm of self-pity, crying, and anxiety. I would try to read a book or write a poem or go for a ramble in the woods, but I just could not. There was so much pent up energy from all the thoughts in my head that I could not focus on anything else. Getting up and doing anything felt like I was moving through molasses. Everything felt slow, blurry, and difficult. This had happened before, but I would just watch TV or look at my phone all day. Now, I did not have that luxury and my attention had no where to go except to the thoughts in my head. It was an interesting time. I felt like I was in the scene of a movie where the person runs around, screaming, tearing at their head as thoughts swirled around getting louder and louder. I would go through bouts of that, then lie down of exhaustion, then start pacing, then the swirling thoughts would start again, then lie down of exhaustion, and so on.

So, the next morning something had to change. I left that spot and drove to the northern end of Olympic National Park, got a campsite and hung out. I thought, “why don’t I go on a run?” This was an avoidance tactic to keep my mind away from the simmering thoughts. I laced up, found a 13 mile loop, and went. I was only going to go to a lake 2 miles away and run back. It was your classic PNW day— rainy, foggy, slight chill in the air. I could not see anything 6 feet in front of me; I did not know I was at the lake until I saw the water by my feet. When I got to the lake I kept going. There was a ridge up ahead on the trail and I thought well I will just run up to the ridge and get out of this fog. Couple miles later I am at the ridge and there is no view. I accepted the fact that there was going to be no view; that it was fog the whole trail. I just kept on going though. No real conscious decision or inspiring story about why I kept going, but I did. I found myself 7 miles in; if I turned around it would be longer than completing the loop. For reference, I had never ran more than 10 miles straight.

At 8 miles I got to the top of the valley and the fog rose. I saw the clouds roll over these two peaks to my left and right and I was able to see the valley below. The view would come and go; the clouds rushing by. The environment around me was changing every second. Trees dancing in the wind. Peaks playing peek-a-boo. Rain changing directions. It seemed like pure chaos. Everything was in flux. But, I felt at home— at peace. For the first time in 3 days, the environment around me matched what was going on in my body. I was no longer at the weirdly calm camp in the quiet woods of yesterday, but I was where world’s met— a battleground for gods.

I decided to sit down and meditate. I listened to the beat of my heart, focused on my breathing, and watched the clouds roll by and the views change. My mind was clear for the first time in awhile, but soon the thoughts rolled back in with the clouds. I thought about just getting up and leaving the thoughts behind. I decided to stay. I faced the thoughts and let them pass through me. I breathed them out and watched them float away with the clouds. I acknowledged that they existed and that they were a part of me, maybe for the first time in my life. I always wanted to hide from them and I would put on a different persona that made others think they never existed. But today I let them be a part of me. Nothing amazing happened; there was no moment where all my problems went magically away on that mountain, but it was a start to accepting where I was, who I was and charting a path forward.

I stopped tensing up, fighting against who I was was, hiding from the thoughts within, and in the next 5 miles I felt like a bird soaring across the valley floor. I did stop smiling, laughing and screaming the whole way down. This dark cloud had been lifted from my spirit and a massive release of energy ensued. I was a wild man, having the best time of my life.