If you tell them you are not joking, they will warn you how dangerous that is.
When you don't heed their warnings, they will sternly ask if your mother knows you do this?
If you inform them your parents do know, they will inquire if you at least carry a gun for safety.
You do not carry a gun, or any other kind of weapon, so they will probably scold you, and admonish you to be careful.
They'll probably say if you were their daughter, they'd never allow you to act so recklessly.
When you assure them you are fine, they might scoff at you. They might shoot you a disapproving glance before they walk away.
When they walk away, you might feel as if you have done something wrong.
You might be confused as to why your recreational pursuits have caused someone to be so uncool.
"Maybe they've never been hiking," you might say to yourself. "Maybe they don't like spending time alone."
This might make you sad. You might wish that they could see the sunrises you have seen from a mountain's ridge, or smell the rain-soaked pine forests after a storm, or hear the soft padding of your trail runners on the dirt, or feel the strength of your muscles as you climb, all unfiltered in the silence of solitude.
Maybe it feels like you have been judged for wanting those solitary moments in the wilderness.
You might feel as if you have been labelled as a crazy person or a threat.
This might make you feel angry or hurt.
Suddenly, it occurs to you that they did not ask why you go.
They never asked you if you enjoy it. Or if it's fun. Or challenging. Or rewarding. Or worthwhile. Or cathartic. Or necessary. Or as vital to your life as air or water.
They did not ask why you go alone, either.
They did not wonder how your solo experiences might have changed you, and maybe made you a stronger person.
They did not witness the birth of the unstoppable outdoorswoman within you, she who scales mountains, fords creeks, and walks against the wind, carrying herself on powerful legs with a light heart.
And all at once you realize that it does not matter that they did not ask. You realize that you do not need them to understand.
Because you are understood by Amelia Earhart.
You are understood by Calamity Jane.
You are understood by Isabella Bird and Robin Davidson, by Rita Golden Gelman and Laura Dekker, by Nellie Bly and Sacagewea, by Lady Hester Stanhope and Kira Salak.
You are understood by the incredible women of the human race, the intrepid ones who defy expectations and chase their dreams far out beyond the scope of their horizons. These are your roles models, not because of their accomplishments but because of their choices, every day, to see the world as a place where they are without limits. They choose every day to believe that they are greater than the obstacles before them. And in that belief, they are indeed great.
Now you remember why you hike alone. You remember you hike alone to practice living the way these women lived. You hike alone to seek clarity and to walk a steadfast pathway towards your goals. You hike alone to celebrate the beauty of the world and to fully appreciate it as it happens all around you. You hike alone to remind yourself to choose strength, choose freedom, choose to be greater than your obstacles.
So the next time you tell a person you hike alone, make sure you thank them for the opportunity to remember why you do it.
Today I write because I was inspired by a poem written by another outstanding solo female hiker, Ms. Elizabeth Austen.
Ms. Austen is a writer, poet, teacher, and fellow wild woman who lives in Seattle, not too far from where I type. You can watch a reading of her poem here, or check out her website and other works, at elizabethausten.wordpress.com.
