Introductions
I have always loved being outdoors. There is nothing quite like being surrounded by something so much larger than you. I grew up right behind a marsh in Florida, and I would often come home muddy or soaked from an adventure. I loved the beach. I could body surf for hours and would stuff my pockets full of seashells. I look back at pictures of child-me in Florida, all scrawny limbs and long red hair, and wonder why my mother never put sunscreen on me. I was exceptionally tan for such a fair-skinned girl. (To be fair, this is likely not my mother’s fault. I’m sure she did put sunscreen on me, but I’m equally sure I whined and complained and eventually ran away before the job was complete. I was a terror.) When we moved to France,I could spend all day outside with my horse or reading in the grass. I was a child with a vivid imagination, dreaming of leprechauns, fairies, and their natural homes made of leaves, grass, and flowers. Then in my late teens I forgot about all of this. I got consumed with the daily struggles of being a teenager (ha!) and then going to college. But this was only a temporary loss. When I moved to New York, I fell back in love, hard, with the outdoors. I began to climb mountains and rediscovered that same joy. When you are fully immersed in the natural world, it is inspiring, rejuvenating, invigorating. I have a daily yoga practice and, on a good day, I can be fully immersed in the moment, forgetting my grocery list or the next thing I have to do, or a work stress. It took me a while -- because I’m still working out this whole “mindfulness” thing and it’s always a journey -- but I eventually realized that this same feeling of calm could also be found in nature. It usually came more easily.
The pandemic has been devastating. It continues to be awful. I have had a lot of time alone with my thoughts. I try to talk to my dog and cat, but they don’t have much to say back besides the occasional head tilt. In the midst of the pandemic and its general awfulness, there were some moments of lightness. I made a point to hike as much as I could and spend a lot of time in my garden. I safely left my house to camp more with my dog and occasionally a friend who was in my quarantine pod. In the late summer of 2020, I was at a campsite in Letchworth State Park and I finally admitted to myself that my 9-5 job no longer made me happy. Sitting there next to the fire after a long day of hiking, my dog stealing my sleeping bag yet again, I pulled out my notebook and I began to make a list of what made me happiest and what I wanted to do more. The list looked something like this:
Be outside more
Do something with food
Yoga
It isn’t the most extensive, thorough, or detailed list, but it gave me a very vague map of what I wanted my future to look like. I ran with it. I started taking classes, reading more, mapping out that sparse list with more thoughts and information. I wanted to help others find the same solace in nature that I did and to l just be in nature without having a fitness goal in mind. I wanted to give womxn the tools that they need to feel comfortable being on the trails by themselves. Little by little, Wander Wildly began to take shape.
When I hit the trails, sometimes I do hit them hard for training purposes (Hello, Ultra Saranac 6er). But just as often, I love going to the mountains to wander. My only goal is to walk slowly, quietly, and notice what’s around me. Those wandering walks, without aim or destination, are the best. The constant chitter-chatter in my brain slows down and becomes quiet. I become less anxious and stressed. I leave the mountains feeling restored. I hope you will feel the same.
Wander Wildly is all about wandering in the woods to reconnect with our wildness, our inner peace. Some trails will be harder than others, but all trails are accessible to everyone. We walk to find peace.