Predator and Prey

An agreement is made between predator and prey, one that extends back to the beginning of the food chain. Stalking Rabbit, Fox creeps in slowly. With large, unblinking eyes, Rabbit assesses Fox; heart beating quickly, ears pricked to the smallest movement. Fox pauses, for just a moment time is suspended. Rabbit blinks first, agreement sealed, prey. Darting quickly for cover Rabbit is too slow. Some roles are continual themes in life, and perhaps other times we get opportunities to play different parts. How we play our parts may determine our opportunities.

Fun is the theme for at least the first ten years of my true adulthood. From 20 to 30 I will have as much fun as possible. I refuse to fall prey to, “what will you do next?” Everyone seems to have answers but no one seems to be happy or excited about the life they have chosen. I once read about decision making and fear-based choices. I decided then that it was ok to feel fear but the next step would be to separate the fear and ask myself what I truly want. What would I do if I wasn’t afraid?

Say yes to the opportunities that present themselves. Try the new and unknown knocking on my door, asking was I ready? Seek what I had not done. Be uncomfortable.

Discomfort is the narrow seat on the Amtrak train from Raton New Mexico to Dawsonville Georgia. For three days strangers squeeze in and out of the narrow row of seats. Luggage bangs across my legs or pushes against me from the isle and each day my excitement for a trip by train wanes a little more. Sleeping hardly happens as I try to wrangle my limbs and backpack into my limited space while babies cry and somehow, others snore. The passing green scenery out the window makes me anxious for the fresh air and freedom I know await me at my final stop.

Every time a thought goes through my mind of what will truly begin as I depart the train for the last time makes the jittery feeling in my stomach grow a little stronger. When it happens and I stand in the light humidity of early Georgia spring, it doesn’t seem as if I could truly be here.

On the side of the road, thumb out and trying to look as friendly as possible, I wonder who will be right. All the people warning me about the dangers of the world. The dangers of being female and alone. An older man slows and greets me through his window. His eyes are bright as he inquires where I’d like to go and he seems nice enough. We talk a bit as he drives and when he asks if I’d like to stop for breakfast, he buys me the first full meal I’ve had in three days. I eat every piece of food on my plate and the gnawing hunger in my stomach that built steadily over the train ride is eased.

When he finally drops me at the beginning of a path in the woods our good bye feels like one among old friends. There was comfort in our conversation and I’m reluctant to leave the warmth of his generosity. His hesitation at walking away leaving me to my solo quest is apparent as well. He takes a picture of me beneath the rock-stacked arch and asks one more time if there is anything I need before I pass under the stones and begin the first of many miles that await me.

Somehow the light of the day is already becoming soft as I walk step after step up the winding path to flight after flight of ringing metal stairs. Never before have I been so enveloped by such dense green on all sides and overhead. Everywhere something green is reaching up and out, there are no empty spaces, no ground uncovered and only glimpses of sky through the canopy. The closeness of the plants and trees is beautiful and suffocating all at once. Any people I see travel lightly and are headed back to where I came from. I think of the homes they’re probably eager to return to this evening, filled with familiar comforts. The pack on my back grows a little heavier and I wonder where I will call home this evening and who might also be there.

Thinking of the home that I left on the other side of that long train ride brings a quick impulse to turn around, walk back under the stone arch and do something else. But what else I would do, I have no idea. I don’t have an urgency to finish two more years of school and have absolutely no idea where I’ll even do that. Remembering the hours, days and years I’ve spent caring for people’s howling children as a part time gig makes the quiet aloneness of my surroundings seem less daunting.  Swallowing the tightness in my throat, I continue walking and try to be grateful. This is something I chose. I will not have to answer to anyone for the next six months. On the other hand, no one will be expecting me to show up at any time or day. In this new world, I am the sole maker of my existence. How long will it take for someone to notice if I am missing or need help?

But these thoughts do not own me and that is why I am here. I do the things I want to do and don’t ruminate on the what ifs. At least that is what I told myself to get here and it is a nice goal to have such sure thoughts. The innate fear of being possible prey creeps in at the edges of this sure resolve. Various questions people asked me before embarking on this journey run through my head. Will you take a gun? What do you eat? How do you get more food? You’re going alone? What kind of animals are out there?

Every tree stump is a bear cub whose protective mother can’t be far behind. Every person I pass, even infrequently, is another person who knows I’m out here alone. Each step I take feels like a saw to the tether of safety that has, until this moment never been challenged in my life. I am alone.

Summiting the approach trail of Springer Mountain, these thoughts are an avalanche through my mind, ripping up grown trees by the root and wreaking havoc on my well-worn paths of logic. How did I get here and what do I do now? The tightness in my throat that has been building then receding like an ocean tide can no longer be held at bay. Looking around at the trees an emptiness consumes me and I might as well be floating in the black of space for how far I feel from what I’ve known as safety and how to conduct myself in that world. There is no clue in my mind how I will do this. Every answer I gave to the thousands of questions now seem like someone else’s words. I thought perhaps the answer would come to me if I just took one step after the other. But here I am, nothing but the woods to witness me and no further understanding of an answer I still don’t have.

Springer Mountain is the beginning and ending of things tangible and intangible for me. This is the jumping off point of the 2,280 mile hike that I had hoped would bring some clarity to what exactly I’m supposed to do with this life. It is also a further separation from the child I have been and a step towards whatever else comes after that, the beginning of knowingly and unknowingly shaping my chosen self.

Sitting on the rock beneath my feet, I cry as tight discomfort consumes my throat. There is nothing for me to do but admit to all the doubt and unknown around and ahead of me. Lesson number one: the only person we need to answer to is ourselves. We must answer with any honesty we have if we’re going to find ourselves in the roles we want to play.

The unknown is waiting for me on the other side of my tears. Having fully given into the uncertainty and come out the other side, not much has changed. The trees reach up and birds swoop to homes in trees, the woods are quiet. Standing and putting my pack on I imagine adding this title to my cast list: June Othort as adventurer and bold pursuer of life.