As I sit here writing this – alone in front of a fire that I successfully built myself, on the side of a logging road to a destination I was unable to successfully reach - I finally have the opportunity to process the chaos of the past two months.
For a while I lost my independence. I convinced myself that I couldn’t be happy without someone by my side; I forgot what it felt like to actually enjoy spending time on my own; and I let the fear of being alone hold me back from doing the things I so desperately wanted to do. But then, buried beneath my emotional scars and insecurity, I found it again.
We live in a world where we are constantly waiting. Waiting for the day our parents finally let us take the family car for a spin. Waiting until we graduate high school. Waiting for our 19th birthday to take that first (legal) sip of alcohol. Waiting for the next best thing.
They say that everything happens for a reason – and while I’m not sure how much you (or I) buy into the whole fate mentality – I recently had a moment of clarity. In spite of the fact I have experienced what was by far the most challenging year of my life, for the first time ever, I felt truly and genuinely grateful for it.
Since moving to this incredible province, I have found a true passion for the outdoors (the kind of passion where you walk up a mountain with 60 pounds on your back to sleep on the ground, drink lake water, and pee in the forest) - but for me it’s about more than getting outside for some exercise and sunshine. As someone who battles anxiety and depression on a daily basis, for me the mountains have become my medicine.