There are moments when everything gets a little too loud. The notifications, the group chats, the bills, the “just checking in” texts that somehow carry pressure instead of comfort. I didn’t book a flight or plan a weekend getaway. I grabbed a bag, filled it with snacks, water, and my socially acceptable amount of emotional baggage, and hit the trail.
It wasn’t some grand adventure. It was more like a slow-motion escape from a calendar full of half-meant promises and an inbox full of “hope this finds you well.” It found me tired, actually. And slightly unhinged.
So I went hiking. Not because I’m some hardcore explorer. Not because I wanted to chase a sunrise or find a life-changing epiphany. I went because I needed to breathe. To move. To walk away from everything for a little while—without the pressure to have a destination, just a direction.
The First Few Steps: False Hope and Flat Ground
In the beginning, it felt doable. Peaceful, even. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled. My brain, briefly, shut up. But just like life, the trail changed its tone quickly.
It went from “this is nice” to “why does this feel like punishment” in under ten minutes.
I realized something within those early steps: I brought everything with me. The overthinking. The overreactions. The overcommitted calendar. All of it had snuck into my bag, disguised as silence.
Midway Through: The Trail Gets Real
Midway up the trail is where the real conversation started. Not with another person, but with myself. That quiet confrontation you can’t mute when the only sound around you is your heartbeat, your breathing, and the occasional squirrel doing parkour through the trees.
I wasn’t walking away from problems—I was walking into them. Just in hiking boots.
Memories came up. Some warm, some sharp. I thought about people I miss but no longer talk to. About messages I reread too often. About how I sometimes answer, “I’m fine,” just so I don’t have to explain the mess.
And somewhere between the panting and the overthinking, I laughed. Not because anything was funny. Just because it was ridiculous how far I had to walk to admit that I’m tired—of pretending, of performing, of pushing things down and hoping they stay there.
Reaching the Top: Less Enlightenment, More Exhale
There was no cinematic moment when I reached the summit. No dramatic music. No sudden transformation. Just a long breath out. The view was wide and quiet, like life hit pause just long enough to remind me: it’s okay not to be okay.
I stood there, not exactly fixed, not dramatically different, but less clenched. Less cornered. Less haunted by things I hadn’t had space to process.
Life didn’t magically disappear. It was still waiting for me back home—same group chats, same deadlines, same weird pressure to pretend like everything’s under control. But on that mountaintop, it didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like something I could carry again. Maybe not all at once, maybe not perfectly, but step by step.
Walking Back Down: Still a Mess, But Moving
The descent was quieter. My feet ached. My phone buzzed. Reality crept back in, gently but definitely.
But I wasn’t walking back the same way I walked in. I was still me—but slightly less tangled. And somehow, that was enough.
Would I recommend hiking to anyone else in the middle of an emotional pile-up?
Only if you’re okay with meeting the version of yourself you keep avoiding.
Only if you’re ready for zero signal and full exposure to your own thoughts.
And only if you’re okay knowing that the view won’t fix you… but it might remind you why you still care to try.
So yes—
I hiked to escape life. It followed me. But it had to work harder to keep up.