Searching for Silence
I had one of the most interesting conversations with a hitchhiker. I picked her up outside of Leavenworth. She was taking a break from hiking the Pacific Crest Trail because of nonstop rainy weather. She wanted a warm meal in town before getting back to the mountains. I asked why she had chosen to hike, expecting to get the same answer many of my friends who’ve hiked the PCT give. Adventure, the views, the difficulty, the unique challenge - I’ve heard a lot of answers over the years.
But I hadn’t ever heard her answer. She told me she was looking for silence. She had flown from the east coast to the west coast in search of quiet contemplation. I was fascinated, and kept asking questions about her motivation. She had been a nurse during the pandemic, and life had gotten overwhelming. As almost an invisible tug on her soul, she decided to step away from her job, family, and friends to explore the mountains on the other side of the country.
She said it was very difficult at first. Such a radical change sounded good, until she realized it wasn’t going to be like a book or movie. This real life change was incredibly harsh and lonely. Like most people, she had downloaded books and podcasts for the hike. She walked with headphones on, trying to settle in for the peace she hoped was coming. But nothing happened. In fact, each day got harder. The ship in the distance was getting further away, not closer.
She was in the middle of nowhere, miles away from civilization, with barely any human interaction for days at a time. Why was the wilderness not giving her the peace she was looking for? Then she met a sage on the trail, a wise old man who set her on the right path. It was simple, he told her, “put your headphones away.” He said that she wouldn’t find the space she was looking for unless she truly disconnected from the world behind.
Even though she had physically walked away from the noisy life, she hadn’t fully left it. It was still in her ears, bouncing around inside her head. The infinite quiet in the woods was ruined by the noise pollution coming from that small device that filled her mind with all the stress of the larger world. So she did it. She turned off the noise.
She said that simple choice was more difficult than leaving everything else behind. Miles of trails ahead each day with no friends, no music, and no commentary - just the sound of nature and her own thoughts. She fought it for a couple days, resisting this new way of life. It was boring. Nothing special was happening. No spiritual awakening. No deep contemplation.
Until eventually something did happen. Slowly, she stopped thinking about the world through the lens of all those loud voices in news and social media. She stopped worrying about how everyone else sees the world, and started wondering for herself. No filter, no need to conform. No tribe to pay dues to, no social circles to impress. Just her own thoughts.
As we spoke, I was not only intrigued by her story, but her bravery to step into something as daunting as this adventure. I asked if she had ever done overnight hiking prior to this trip, or been alone in a remote place. No and no was her response.
What a journey. From a hundred miles an hour as a nurse to a walking speed through the trees. Was something wrong with her? Was she crazy? Didn’t she fear bears, Mother Nature, or the lack of human connection? Turns out she did, but she overcame these fears for the chance to experience something new. And when you think about it, silence would be new for most of us.
When I dropped her off in town, I offered to get her dinner. She declined with an earnest thank you. She was going to find a quiet place to enjoy some food and dry her clothes.
The town was filled with the hustle and bustle of busy people living busy lives. The old way of experiencing the world was right in front of her. But she kindly declined. It seems she found what she was looking for.
