I have spent the past few days considering and reconsidering and thinking about and dreaming of the Appalachian Trail.
After discussing a different kind of wanderlust (I knew being lazy and not capitalizing things would come in handy!) last week, I decided to get a head start and start researching all things A.T. As of now I have a six page, not-yet-exhaustive list of everything I need to know before I do a thru hike.
Let me tell you, I'm hungry. I want to get out there and start walking. It seems like a lot, those five million plus steps from Springer Mountain to Mount Katahdin. Approximately two thousand two hundred miles.
I've been on a journey over the past year. Approximately one year ago today, I walked away from the Bridges Program. It sucked.
Yesterday, I had some down time so I decided to clean out my RIT e-mail, get it down to the bare bones before I abandon it. RIT uses the Gmail platform, so any e-mail I delete will stay in the Trash for 30 days before it's deleted forever.
Theoretically, I shouldn't be able to find any old e-mails from the Bridges program, right?
Wrong.
I found them all over the place. In nooks and crannies and invisible folders that Google created. And because I'm a glutton for punishment, I read through them.
Wow.
Some of these e-mails are two years old. I was already in my twenties then. Those e-mails I had written made me sound like I was a vapid teenager searching for approval, not a first-year graduate student.
And the responses from the program head? I didn't realize it back then, probably because I was so desperate for validation, but he talked down to me. Maybe he thought I had the mentality of a vapid teenager?
The past two years has been a journey, more specifically the past 365 days. Feeling like I had lost everything, climbing back, rekindling friendships, and finding myself. I'm this close to being done with graduate school (one defense down, one to go....), and the day I finish, my life can truly begin.
Or so I think.
I'm viewing the Appalachian Trail as a challenge, that my courage, the confidence I've gained, my stubbornness, my mentality, my "new" personality, it was not all for nothing.
I never blogged, Facebooked (is that a word anymore) or tweeted about this, but I had a run-in with my old program head (yes, that one) in February. In the past, when I was under him, I was desperate for his validation. He had countless college degrees, dozens of publications, and adoring fans. I felt like if I had his approval, I would be "in." I always got nervous talking to him about anything, but I was so desperate to ask questions, to learn from him.
After our falling out last year (a year ago.... wow), I gained a new mentor and an amazing thesis advisor. Working with Karl has been stupendous, and I now truly understand what a mentor is, and how a mentor should act. My old program head? Completely the opposite of Karl. I am truly grateful to have Karl, and thrilled that our working relationship is stellar.
In February, I was giving a presentation on my thesis project (a "practice" defense, as Karl put it). I went through the right channels and registered for the symposium. However, when I showed up, the organizers told me that I had not asked for a presentation board (okay? I know I did). Fortunately, I had a couple of hours before I had to present, so I set out to find a board. My lab didn't have any, my sorority house didn't have any, and I was this close to giving up before remembering that my old lab (yes, that one) might have one.
I raced over (in a dress and five inch heels, through thick, deep, icy slush) and headed upstairs to the second floor. I was truly hoping that my former program head and mentor wouldn't be there.
With my luck, of course he was. He was at the door, preparing to enter while carrying a watering can for his plants. Truly desperate, sweating and shivering simultaneously, I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked up to him. I politely asked for a poster board, and upon obtaining one, thanked him and walked away.
I wasn't nervous. I realized something as I headed down the stairs. He no longer held any power over me. I would most likely never work with him, and no longer felt like I needed his approval or even just for him to like me.
That was the day I realized I could do anything. I had faced a past source of pressure and fear, and come out on top.
I could do anything.
One year ago, I took my first step in a new life, in a new me. And, if all goes well, in eight and a half months, I will be taking my first step on a dirt trail, turning north toward Katahdin.
After discussing a different kind of wanderlust (I knew being lazy and not capitalizing things would come in handy!) last week, I decided to get a head start and start researching all things A.T. As of now I have a six page, not-yet-exhaustive list of everything I need to know before I do a thru hike.
Let me tell you, I'm hungry. I want to get out there and start walking. It seems like a lot, those five million plus steps from Springer Mountain to Mount Katahdin. Approximately two thousand two hundred miles.
I've been on a journey over the past year. Approximately one year ago today, I walked away from the Bridges Program. It sucked.
Yesterday, I had some down time so I decided to clean out my RIT e-mail, get it down to the bare bones before I abandon it. RIT uses the Gmail platform, so any e-mail I delete will stay in the Trash for 30 days before it's deleted forever.
Theoretically, I shouldn't be able to find any old e-mails from the Bridges program, right?
Wrong.
I found them all over the place. In nooks and crannies and invisible folders that Google created. And because I'm a glutton for punishment, I read through them.
Wow.
Some of these e-mails are two years old. I was already in my twenties then. Those e-mails I had written made me sound like I was a vapid teenager searching for approval, not a first-year graduate student.
And the responses from the program head? I didn't realize it back then, probably because I was so desperate for validation, but he talked down to me. Maybe he thought I had the mentality of a vapid teenager?
The past two years has been a journey, more specifically the past 365 days. Feeling like I had lost everything, climbing back, rekindling friendships, and finding myself. I'm this close to being done with graduate school (one defense down, one to go....), and the day I finish, my life can truly begin.
Or so I think.
I'm viewing the Appalachian Trail as a challenge, that my courage, the confidence I've gained, my stubbornness, my mentality, my "new" personality, it was not all for nothing.
I never blogged, Facebooked (is that a word anymore) or tweeted about this, but I had a run-in with my old program head (yes, that one) in February. In the past, when I was under him, I was desperate for his validation. He had countless college degrees, dozens of publications, and adoring fans. I felt like if I had his approval, I would be "in." I always got nervous talking to him about anything, but I was so desperate to ask questions, to learn from him.
After our falling out last year (a year ago.... wow), I gained a new mentor and an amazing thesis advisor. Working with Karl has been stupendous, and I now truly understand what a mentor is, and how a mentor should act. My old program head? Completely the opposite of Karl. I am truly grateful to have Karl, and thrilled that our working relationship is stellar.
In February, I was giving a presentation on my thesis project (a "practice" defense, as Karl put it). I went through the right channels and registered for the symposium. However, when I showed up, the organizers told me that I had not asked for a presentation board (okay? I know I did). Fortunately, I had a couple of hours before I had to present, so I set out to find a board. My lab didn't have any, my sorority house didn't have any, and I was this close to giving up before remembering that my old lab (yes, that one) might have one.
I raced over (in a dress and five inch heels, through thick, deep, icy slush) and headed upstairs to the second floor. I was truly hoping that my former program head and mentor wouldn't be there.
With my luck, of course he was. He was at the door, preparing to enter while carrying a watering can for his plants. Truly desperate, sweating and shivering simultaneously, I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked up to him. I politely asked for a poster board, and upon obtaining one, thanked him and walked away.
I wasn't nervous. I realized something as I headed down the stairs. He no longer held any power over me. I would most likely never work with him, and no longer felt like I needed his approval or even just for him to like me.
That was the day I realized I could do anything. I had faced a past source of pressure and fear, and come out on top.
I could do anything.
One year ago, I took my first step in a new life, in a new me. And, if all goes well, in eight and a half months, I will be taking my first step on a dirt trail, turning north toward Katahdin.
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