I expected to wake up full of doubt and second thoughts, maybe even some fear and worry, cold and achy at the very least. I’m already up and walking again. North. I have lots of reasons why north but I’m not going north because of any of them. The great thing about running away is that it’s not teleological; you don’t need a destination. I never went anywhere because I always felt that I needed a place to go. When I first got to college I thought to myself “I’m totally going to go out a lot, and go into the city, and do cool stuff”. But then I hardly ever did. It just never seemed to work out. I don’t think I’ve ever walked this much. That’s not right, I have. In junior high I was in this youth group. We went on a couple of over night hikes. We’d hike all day, sleep, and then hike all day again. I was only in the group for one year. I don’t remember why I left. I think I had fun on those hikes. Mostly I didn’t understand them. In junior high it felt like stuff sort of just happened. In know I took part in the planing of those trips and was out there with friends but when I was actually out hiking it all felt alien. At least it taught me a little bit about hiking – I’m no woodsman but I feel comfortable hiking. I have a friend. We worked at the same place one summer. But then she just took off. She called into the office one day to say she wouldn’t be coming in because she had joined this “Peace Walk”. It was actually an Indian thing – ironically enough. They were going to walk from the west coast to D.C. My boss was miffed. I thought it was hilarious. She didn’t last long though. Camping out every night was a too much for her. I think she came back after about a week, didn’t get her job back though. I know an overnight hike and doing it day after day and night after night isn’t the same thing but I have a feeling I can stand it. I don’t even have to keep walking. Nothing is waiting for me anywhere. Except I guess for folks back home. I haven’t given them any thought. I’ll send a letter, not like that kid from Into the Wild, that was plain cruel. This whole thing is nothing against them, actually it’s got nothing to do with them. They’re no longer part of this story; but I’ll still send a letter to be polite and tell them I’m still alive; that doesn’t have to be today though. I have a feeling I’ll forget to. In college I swore I’d keep in touch with people. It never really happened. Once in a while I got on a letter writing kick, the old fashioned kind. The romantic eccentricism appealed to me. It always petered out after a week or two. Sometimes I wanted to write but then I would have to confront the fact that I had let it slide for a few weeks and so it was easier at that point to just let it all go. I have no intention of staying in touch this time, just a polite letter to say I’m alive. I wish I didn’t even have to do that. Not out of spite, I wish there was something neutral I could do. I don’t want to have contact but no contact sends a message just as loudly. Fuck. I was running away because I didn’t want to be part of it anymore. I’m not going to go back though. I know it’s futile, impossible even, but I’m enjoying this just walking too much. I don’t know if I’m entitled. I’m probably not. I won’t say I don’t care and dismiss it all like an eight year old throwing a tantrum. I don’t have a justification, not yet. I’m not saying I’m going to find one or it’ll all end up all right or it’s just for a little while and then later it’ll all go back to how it was. I have no clue what I’m saying. I’m going to shut up for a while. I guess that’s like running away from my own thoughts. Kind of lame. At the very least I’m going to take a deep breath; I’m really tense.
I’ll write a letter. It’s no big deal. That’s the point.
I’m not really sure where I am. I know in general where I am, but I’ve never actually been here. I’ve driven north before but you take the highway then. On foot you take different roads. I wish I could say it was pretty and magnificent. It’s less dull than by car but not overwhelmingly so. I’m not even looking around me that much. Mostly looking down, not at my feet, a few feet ahead, just enough to know where I’m going, not enough to really get a sense of the road. A bit back there was a tree I stopped at. All around it the ground was covered with dead leaves, beautiful oranges and reds and golds. The tree itself was mostly bare but still majestic in a quiet way. I sometimes feel uncomfortable looking at natural beauty. I don’t know what to do with it. My sister would have taken a picture. To me that detracts. You should just enjoy it, not enjoy it as a good picture. I tell her that sometimes. But the truth is I don’t know what it means. I stared at the tree with the perfect dead leaves for a while but how long can you stare. It’s beautiful but static and I don’t know what to do with it and that makes me angry and anxious. I pretend there is quiet nobility, a Zen like enlightenment, in appreciating and then moving on. But I’m not sure I believe it. Not appreciating, I meant experiencing. That’s not right either. I don’t know what is – I guess that was my point. I think I’m getting a shin splint. I hate shin splints. Maybe I should just stop and camp here. It’s a rural road. I should be able to find a spot out of sight of passing cars. The lands just tall grass. In the spring it’s pretty and green (green and pretty would make more sense) but now it’s just dead and brown. I always wondered who owned all of this land and what they did with it. I almost never see cattle out here and it’s clearly not used much for farming. I still have enough food with me that as long as I make it to a town of some sort tomorrow I should be fine. When I drive past these kind of places I sometimes fantasize about pulling off and exploring. It’d be fun, as long as there are no gruff men with double barrel shotguns. For some reason though, I’m confident I’ll be alone. I brought a sleeping bag along. So far I haven’t come across anything I’ve forgotten to take along. If I were still at home I’d be sitting in front my computer right now doing nothing. I don’t know how I spend all my time. I guess I watch movies and surf the net and stuff, and just sit and stare off. I can spend hours doing nothing. I hate it. I’ll look up at the clock and realize I haven’t done a thing and it’s already two or five or 8 o’clock. My muscles tense and I want to hit something, break something, let the anxiety out. My brother gave me a microphone so we could skype. I broker it. I didn’t mean to break it. I didn’t think it would snap. That’s when I get up and take a walk. That helps a little. Or I get something done, like clean a little or take care of some errand or chore. That helps too. Nothing for hours. Just thinking about it I want to scream. Stupid computer. (Stupid me really, I just don’t understand where the time goes, what I do.) I also tried St. John’s Wort tea for a while, but I don’t think it did much. On of my friends called always called it “Happy Tea”. I wasn’t trying to be happy, just beat down the panic. Sometimes I wished I would panic and have a full blown anxiety attack. I figure then there would be something to do something about. Maybe that would be better than this eternal almost panic. Now I’m miles away from my desk and my computer and just sitting and staring. I’m lying on my back with my eyes closed. I’ll probably fall asleep soon. That’s fine. That way I can get up early again and keep walking. While walking today I thought I might go all the way up to Oregon, to the Wallowa Valley, it’s an Indian thing. It’s a long way to walk, and I’m not sure I want a goal. I’ll just leave it as a thought. I’ve actually been thinking less. A lot of today was just walking. Not even walking meditation but seriously just walking. It was nice. But now I’m afraid that I don’t have any thoughts of my own, that all my thoughts were just variations of my fears and anxieties. I might be ok with that, I’m not sure yet. Now I’m just getting introspective for the sake of being introspective, because that’s what your supposed to do when you’re alone out in quasi-nature running away from home. Omphaloskepsis. That’s the first time I’ve had a legitimate reason to use that word. I’ve used halos a lot, just like any college kid joking about sexual imagery and finding meaning that isn’t actually there. If nothing else that alone will have made this all worth it.
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