A subtle, energetic shift in the air occurs as it does each September. Dense air that holds moisture and lingering summer laughter lightens. It swirls with crisp winds plucking prematurely browning leaves from twiggy limbs. The air suspends the muted nutty smell of acorns.
The early signs of fall take up residence in my mind. The daydreaming commences. My antigua green backpacking bag strewn against the contrast of dirty yellows and quelled reds. My hiking boots, densely mud-caked. Me, settling into equilibrium. An overgrown, rocky, blowdown-scattered trail lies ahead of me.
It is the time of year I pack home into my backpack and take up residence on wooded trails.
Most of my companions don’t relate to finding pleasure in spending 12 hours a day ascending and descending dirt. Their perspective is one of tempting fate with the murderous shadows of the Appalachian wilderness. The glowing eyes of mountain cats. The ground-shaking quake of black bear bluffs.
They tease and say, “I hope you find yourself out there,” as if it is possible to strike up a deal to exchange souls with a better version of myself floating down the babbling brooks that run between mountain hollers.
Why is it perceived that when we do hard things we must be searching for something?
When I search outside of my being to find the reflection of my truest self, I find only a dissatisfied version of myself standing over a void of questions. What happens if I fail? When will I find the accomplishments I am seeking? With each question, I lead myself astray digging for answers that the world cannot offer me.
I think we all do this. Search for ourselves.
Maybe like me, you’ve scoured booming city bars and dusty bookstore corners. In friends and strangers alike. In delightfully new experiences that grow old like a cheap pair of socks. In habitual experiences that are the hands of a trust fall. In these searches, external validation - shared joy, connection, and praise - becomes my guide. A guide that leads me further away from myself.
I’ve treated my soul like a game of hide and seek. If only I find the thing I am looking for, I will return home to myself. For some time, I did all of what I did with searching in mind. I searched loudly and quietly through self-help books, on new mountain tops, and under the hood of my career. I was boldly announcing my soul search to the world while wallowing in the maddening pursuit.
Searching, though exhilarating at times, is vicious. Searching led me to believe that the most exquisite truths about myself did not belong to me - that those truths were scattered in the world waiting to be claimed. When I asked the world about the deepest essence of my human existence, I heard only the echo of my own voice bounce back to me.
I once thought I “found myself” while asking a woman in Mandarin to cut the ugly mango I picked up at a dirty open-air market in Shanghai. I felt an immense sense of alignment at this moment. The atmosphere was radiant. The connection was sincere. Life seemed to miraculously fall into rightness.
If I plotted all of the places I thought I “found myself”, a constellation would glimmer back at me. Twinkly glimmers of the past.
I don’t feel that we are to discredit these experiences in shaping us. Six months in China refashioned the parts of me that were once impatient and stranger-weary. It allowed me to appreciate connection in a way that was previously limited to the English language and American behavior and customs.
But I think of new experiences like additives and subtractors - either giving to or taking from the various dimensions of our lives - influencing our sense of self, beliefs, and relationships. And new experiences occur every second of our existence irrevocably changing us.
However, I think that new experiences have the sole ability to change what we are. The “what” is one’s surface identity along with the external, observable aspects of a person. What remains unwaveringly unchanged as life evolves is who we are. The ”who” is the divine inner essence of one’s soul and immutable traits.
The what can mask the who if we allow it. And most, if not all of us, will spend a good portion of our lives conflating the two.
We do not search for who we are. We uncover it.
The beauty in uncovering is that we mustn’t have to step an inch further to do it. From where we sit in this precise moment, we can revel in our truths.
If we stand naked and exposed, freed of our possessions and earthly, materialistic desires, we are left with the one thing that is innately ours: our souls.
For me, that is how it feels to be on trail - carrying what I need, and leaving the rest of me behind. I do not find myself as I walk past the wooden arrow with the trail name etched into its side. I uncover myself. Stripping myself of the whats and arriving at the who.
I backpack to learn the intricacies of my soul. I listen to it with one ear, as I ascend the ups and descend the downs with my antigua green pack, and with the other, I listen for murderous shadows, mountain cats, and black bear bluffs.
Thank you for being here and spending your time with me. Hugs to
, , and for your guidance this week. As always, if this piece resonated please share it with a friend.Lastly, I attended a Sofar Sounds concert last night after seeing it recommended in
newsletter. The gist of Sofar Sounds is that you purchase a ticket knowing only the general area of town the show will be in. The address isn’t released until 36 hours in advance and the performance lineup is only revealed the night of the show. Last night’s show was in a beautiful art gallery I probably would never have found on my own. Turns out one of the baristas at my favorite coffee shop is a velvety smooth jazz singer. It is a wonderful way to support local, rising artists and discover new places. It was the most intimate concert experience I have ever had. I couldn’t recommend it more. Go check them out!
There’s so much to love here Haley. Your depiction of Fall, hiking in nature and your eternally profound prose.
I had such a similar experience on my first backcountry trip. My parents didn’t get it, thought I was searching for something, searching for my soul as if I had misplaced it. My friends told me I’d get eaten by a bear. It felt like we were speaking different languages — I couldn’t explain what drew me to it.
Walking on those trails, immersed in the sheer rawness of Mother Earth, is not a process of addition (finding something) but reduction (uncovering what was already there). They’re some of my best days this year.
Awesome work :)
I've read this like five times now. I love how we are in similar wavelengths, but with slightly different interpretations and ways of saying things. I will never get tired of your prose.
Also, I'm so glad you went to a Sofar Sounds concert! And how cool that someone you knew ended up singing. It's incredible the amount of talent that is around us!