Day 117: Another Bonus Track! (Safety Nets & Comfort Zones)

Warning! The Maniac Insomniac strikes again! Today’s events and Chickadee’s mention of adventure got me thinking. I cannot seem to brake this brain I was wrongly equipped with, so I write, to push it all out, like it were poop. (It is.) I ought to be grateful: a brain spasm beats a brain chasm. Anyway, the usual disclaimers apply for those who require them.

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Safety Nets & Comfort Zones

“You behave differently when you have a safety net,” a buddy once quipped. I believe the year was 2011, but it could’ve been later. Later year or a later time. In any case we’d been immersed in the usual conversational culprits, our typical topical matter covering the catalog, but it was that simple line that struck a major power chord(1) in me, like the one that kicks off this song. Or maybe this one. Definitely not this one though.

At the time he’d already completed all three major long trails in the US, the coveted Triple Crown. (I’m three-quarters to being two-thirds there.) Also at the time he was working on an S&R crew, Search and Rescue (still does). And in that time he’d already shared a half dozen stories about what he saw as the over-reliance on gear and on cell phones, about how a galaxy of inexperienced men and women were heading to the Big Outside and almost immediately getting into trouble. “But they had their phones on ‘em, so at least they felt safe!” 

“We rescue a lot of dumbfucks--dumbfucks too willing to fall into what they perceive as a safety net.”

Although he loved his job (still does), he knew it put him at risk...just as it does the taxpayers who’re frequently forced to fund such rescues.

Like me, Tommy was a longtime holdout on the portable electronica (still is). He used maps and a scratched-up twenty year-old compass with a wonky dial. He wore old, unfashionable clothing--earth toned(2) garb like wool pants, garb that was designed to work, not to increase sales revenue and keep shareholders happy. (Still does.)

He’d go on to say that one of the things he enjoys most about heading outdoors, be it on a long trail or nowhere near a trail, was not knowing what was next. He hated having everything handed to him, during his hikes or otherwise. He wanted to earn it, and to experience it, whether “it” was a hard-to-reach view, or hard-to-attain skills. He told me he loved the adventure of hitchhiking, the wonder of the unknown camp spot ahead, the connection he made with Nature, at its pace, in its domain, at its mercy, without all the modern trappings to help deal with the hardships or incurred loneliness or fear. “Distractions,” he called them. 

“You know what I mean,” he said, “those tools that eliminate the skills it took to survive before this day and age. The ones that destroy the potential for adventure and deeper understanding.” 

“You’re preaching to the choir,” I replied, even though we both knew I don’t sing. Adventure is defined by unpredictability, maybe by some weirdness, possibly an arrest, or an STD.

There’s little doubt that thru-hiking and the long trail experience is steadily becoming more and more of a homogenized experience, a guided nature trail experience. Splotch of paint on the next tree...check. Guidebook...check. Town guide...check. “Smart”phone...check. Navigational apps...check. GPS beacon/locator...check. Printed water report...check. List of trail angels...check. List of hostels, hotels and shelter...check. List of shuttles...check. Access to increasing amounts of trail magic...check. Increasing number of other trail users...check. Websites advising you to “HYOH” (their way)...check. Access to online forums...check. Check, check, check! 

     Time, I think, to check out.

Thankfully, it’s easy to avoid any such homogenized experience by doing it “in the dark,” so to speak--leaving the all-access portable computer behind (some of us still do this, unbelievably) or doing what McCandless did by not taking the map. Everything’s been mapped out, he figured, so why not leave the maps behind?! Crazy to the infomaniacs; adventurous to others. Certainly adventurous compared to today’s AT experience. 

It is still easy to find adventure outdoors, once you’ve defined it--we each define it differently. Simply do something new, or head somewhere new, or do it when others might be too afraid to (i.e., winter or during the heat of the desert summer). Blaze your own trails! It’s impossible to trailblaze on a treadmill! (Unless you’re OK Go.) Go somewhere devoid of widespread recognition and crowding, somewhere the masses or magazines haven’t yet deflowered, somewhere full of the risk of failure, somewhere full of the potential for learning, and for REAL trouble.

The Appalachian Trail must’ve been like that at one time, maybe back in Earl Shaffer’s salad days, or maybe all the way up to the time cell phones (and towers) started to litter the trail. I don’t know. I suppose to some it’s still considered adventurous to attempt to hike it (one could argue that their day-to-day lives must be extremely dull, but no doubt these are the good ol’ days for all who still believe they are; and again, we each define adventure in our own way). The PCT was an adventure way back when; the number of times I got lost proves that. The CDT still (sort of) is, though it’s becoming less so, compared to yesteryear’s experience. Trailblazing is always an adventure. We’re privileged in the US to have millions of acres of accessible public land, at least at this point in time. There’s adventure.

I think it’s normal human psychology to want to start something new while aiming to remain safely within one’s boundaries, before slowing pushing those boundaries upward and outward after having mastered a specific task. Most folks never seem to step out of their comfort zone (they’d rather drive!), because it’s new terrain and new terrain is frightening.

But to those of us who aim to backpack long miles, to live closer to the discomforts that Nature is known for, well, I think we’re the types, generally, who are willing (daring?) to at least venture toward new terrain (in our own risk-adverse way, anyway!) We feel lucky we’re willing. And we’re lucky to know that upon stretching, the comfort zone never regains its original dimensions. We do not idolize or idealize comfort.

In due time, I always come to discover that the space within my comfort zone is anything but comfortable. Sooner or later, usually sooner, I grow uncomfortable in it, fidgety and fighting myself, finally ready to do something about it. When I don’t do something about it I tend to become more and more dissatisfied and irritable, as friends can attest. I relate to chronically dissatisfied humans a lot, and I’m constantly fighting that Dark Force myself, but it’s fairly easy to know when you’re unhappy with your choices and actions in life. We’re lucky we have choices. We’re even luckier when we recognize we do.

Years ago, when camping, I never slept under the stars. I dread leaving the ostensible aegis of tent walls. But I made a choice to change. Now I can barely sleep inside anything but a sleeping bag or jail cell. Cowboy-camping was a big step, since I was fearful of snakes and bugs or my gear blowing away. I also feared the feeling of how trivial existence is, as I stared up into the endless yawning abyss and at the worlds of the unlife.

But even the most comfortable of houses, replete with lighting and hot water and air-conditioning and skylights can’t compare, certainly not when it comes to the views the skies have provided, the views I’ve encountered. (I was not just a witness; I was part of it all!)

Inside, I’d have never caught the matinee or the late show--the lunar and solar eclipses; the exploding stars; the shooting stars; the comets; the rainbows; the lightning displays; the Aurora Borealis; the interaction with wildlife; that cloud formation that looked exactly like a busload of retarded children flying over a cliff; the UFOs; and so on. There are other examples like this, things I learned to love, things I was once petrified of, and I can’t see going back to my old ways. I’m lucky they’re old ways.

And still, I wrestle with overcoming crap in other facets of life, afraid of changing things that cause me great deals of internal hardship or turmoil. Why? Because change is scary--it takes effort and work and other things I’m not accustomed to--and because I’m comfortable not changing what is hard to change. So I tell myself. We condition ourselves to accept what we’re afraid to change, but we know in the deepest recesses of our hearts that that’s not where we’re happiest. Do we deserve to be our happiest? I don’t know, but I think the world would see fewer problems if more of us pursued it.

"Fifth"note 1: When I say a 'major' power chord, musicians might recognize my flaw. Indeed, I refer to the root and the fifth, and recognize there are no major (or minor) power chords; what I mean is a 'significant' power chord! Word play, my musical mates!

"Foot"note 2: Aren't all colors here on Earth earth-toned? Even man-made ones?