I am unemployed. While some would view this as a tragedy or a personal failure, I have decided to rebrand this period of identity crisis and soul-crushing frustration as “summer vacation” because that sounds fun, lighthearted, temporary, and implies the vacationer is on a trajectory toward an exciting new chapter of life; and “unable to find work for several months because of an unwavering commitment to pursuing a career in biodiversity conservation amidst an underfunded, anti-science hellscape” does not roll off the tongue as nicely. So, it’s vacation. Beyond normal summer vacation activities like swimming in mountain creeks, catching fireflies, spiraling into hours of playing online Catan, and doomscrolling through LinkedIn, I have decided to take advantage of the season by going for a walk.

If you know me much at all you probably understand that I have a proclivity for walking. Cumulatively, I have spent about eight months of my life walking ten to fifty-two miles a day, sleeping outside in all manner of elements, pooping in little holes in the ground, and consuming various foods that could generally be described as “tepid slop”. That may sound strange and largely unpleasant – and it is! – but despite a few instances here and there during which this activity drove me to screaming and ugly-crying alone in the wilderness, something indescribably attractive is pulling me back to it. By “it” I mean walking along very long trails from end to end while carrying all of my own supplies and food, colloquially known as “thru-hiking.”

So here I am, staring down another big walk, ugly-crying be damned. Here is some summarized background information behind this decision:

• 2022: I walked 3,000 miles. Ask me about it some time.
• 2023: I moved to a city in the southern Appalachians for a job.
• September 27, 2024: Hurricane Helene hit. It was (/is) very bad. Prior to the storm, I had put in a notice at work – but because of hurricane impacts, my new job fell through.
• Fall 2024-spring 2025: I made ends meet (nautically themed grocery store; park ranger-adjacent seasonal job). I applied to graduate school.
• Spring 2025: I got turned down from the graduate program I was really gunning for. The seasonal job ended.
• Summer 2025: A deep sense of unease sets in as I job hunt and navigate unemployment It’s, um, summer vacation.

Now, this walk: I am going to attempt to thru-hike the Colorado Trail. It’s about 500 miles long. It’s pretty. It’s in a place I have not been before. And most importantly, it does not involve hiding in my house, my frontal lobe throbbing from the effort of making my twenty-seventh cover letter sound just as earnest as the first.

I am hopeful that it will be a nice time, for the most part. Allow me to explain how I intend that to happen.

Four Ways to Make Thru-Hiking Not Suck

(from a seasoned professional who has had hikes that sucked)

Making mistakes while thru-hiking – and having some years to reflect on them – has changed my approach to the act of thru-hiking itself. So in the interest of not having a shitty time on the Colorado Trail (at least not 100% of the time), I am bringing several intentions with me to Denver:

1. Minimize assumptions and expectations. Be flexible. No deadlines for finishing the trail; no assumption that the trail must be completed; no arbitrary number of miles to hike every day in order to feel appropriately Fast^TM and Cool^TM. Embrace side quests, changes of pace, rest, new relationships, and other delights/necessities that might alter the flow and rhythm of your walking.
   • Step 1: show up.
   • Step 2: hike.
   • Step 3: you will know what Step 3 is only once Step 2 has commenced.
   • Step 4: step away from the hike, a little different than when you started.
2. Engage with your surroundings. By “surroundings” I mean the physical space around you, and the current moment (if you were in therapy circa 2015, you might know this as “practicing mindfulness”). Don’t retreat into online spaces; be present in the hike, with the people around you, and with the beauty of the landscape and the natural history behind it.
3. Prepare to be disappointed. Thru-hiking sucks. You will hurt; things you try to plan will go awry; you will spend more money than you thought; you will get scared; you will at times feel a deep sense of meaningless. You will get stressed out. Maybe you need to leave without finishing the trail. This is normal and expected. Go ahead. Cry a little.
4. Prepare to be amazed. Remember when you reduced your expectations? Sick. This is the part where it pays off. You will be dumbfounded; you will meet new people and have adventures with them and at times be filled with joy; the sun will hit your face just right, and the silence of the mountain will calm your heart in a way you forgot possible. You will learn and grow. Drink this in greedily. Savor this. Words cannot describe this immense privilege.