Sometime early in the year 2020, I stared blankly at the light emanating from my phone screen. I was laying on my bed, head spinning from the hours of obscure content I had been watching on YouTube. Although an in-depth analysis of the societal impact brought on by “The Lego Batman Movie” was incredibly entertaining, watching a 50-minute video essay on the concept was decidedly not the best use of my time. At this moment, I felt inspired to change something about my life, dissatisfied with the habits that I had developed over the past year.
Not the most convenient time to reinvent my life, I instead turned my phone off and went to sleep. I knew that changing my habits at this point would require an amount of dedication that I currently did not possess, so I slept soundly knowing that I could save the burden of self-improvement for another day.
When I woke up the next morning, my dad asked if I wanted to go for a hike with him. Hiking was an activity that I enjoyed when I was younger, but the all-consuming angst of middle school kept me from going for a few years. I agreed, although somewhat hesitantly, with the hopes of high adventure and a much-needed change of location.
I pulled on my 100% cotton jeans and laced up my vans, and we drove down to Corvallis to complete one of the many routes traversing the MacDonald forest.
What I hadn’t expected from this hike was an answer to the question that had plagued me the night before. It became the opportunity that I needed for self-improvement.
The moment I remember specifically from this experience wasn’t the end of the hike, or the car ride back, but somewhere in the middle of it all. I remember the feeling of my breath rising and falling rhythmically as I looked up to observe the trees clearing out beyond me. The cloudy sky cleared for a moment, allowing the sun to illuminate the new-growth trees and wildflowers dotting the hillside, and I savored the February air as it grazed across my face.
I have always been very skeptical of epiphany moments, and in hearing others’ experiences, I often roll my eyes at the dramatics and performance of these so-called revelations. Despite my skepticism, it was in this moment that I seemed to feel the fog clear away from my brain as I took in the landscape surrounding me. I felt a sense of tranquility and accomplishment that was completely new.
For most of my life, my accomplishments have felt indisputably connected to my sense of self-worth. Academically, I often felt proud of the work I had accomplished, but it never came without a nagging feeling of paranoia. I knew that losing my academic potential would turn my accomplishment into sour remorse, and that made every moment of pride difficult for me to fully appreciate.
This is likely why the sense of accomplishment I felt in hiking was so foreign to me. It came completely without strings and was refreshingly in the moment. I wasn’t worried about the future or the perceptions of anybody else. Unlike my academic achievements, it simply involved me, my feelings, and my personal fulfillment.
My dad and I started to make this a routine, hiking every Sunday, and I felt more at ease and connected to the world around me. I recognize the tangible effects that such a small change made in helping me to feel grounded, and since this moment, have felt much more comfortable in trying new things. Making small changes in my life is no longer as scary, and I know that stepping out of my comfort zone can help me to feel more fulfilled.
