I called someone I had backpacked with before. He was leading a group on a section hike of the AT in Virginia at Mount Rogers. It was guaranteed to be the hardest trip I had made yet, encompassing three days of backpacking and two overnights of remote camping. There was one spot left, and he signed me up with reassurance that I would be just fine. I thanked him and began preparing for my diversion. It would be my first hike on the renowned Appalachian Trail. A date I wanted to remember.

     Carpools began in Columbia, as we then picked up others in Charlotte and continued north past picturesque farmland complete with my favorite cows. We arrived at Grindstone Campground in Grayson Highlands State Park and quickly readied ourselves for three days in the wilderness. My backpack was still heavier than it should be…but I was continuously working on that.

     As we began our first ascent, I realized I needed to pace myself. Almost immediately, there were four in the group who hiked in sync—faster and more sure-footed than the others, so they trudged on ahead. Then there were two who struggled to keep up, leaving me somewhere in between. It couldn’t have been a more perfect situation. I enjoyed the small amount of time I had on the trails and at the campsites with new friends–bonding over similarities with past relationships or personal lives or trying to find humor in the fact that our leader referred to this climb as ‘moderate.’ But I also cherished the time I had alone. It was my time to reflect and enjoy being in the moment…being somewhere void of memories.

     I spent much of the first afternoon reveling in the fact that I was backpacking on the AT. I had talked about it for almost two years, and now here I was, actually doing it. As we all reached the first shelter, hiking the last mile up to the campsite was an option. It was the most difficult mile of the day, but we all made the decision to continue on. We camped in an open pasture on top of the mountain and saw our first wild ponies of the trip. They kept their distance as we made our dinners and watched them graze on the hillside.

     As our campfire waned, we hung the remainder of our food supply in a nearby tree and crawled into our respective tents before the sun went down. Tomorrow’s hike was offering up twice the distance we had covered the first day, and I was already exhausted…but extremely happy and perfectly content.

     Day two provided the same scenario of allowing me to basically hike by myself. I checked in with our organizer and asked for landmarks so I’d know I was still going in the right direction, and promised to wait at designated points. Much of the trail was like a rocky riverbed—making every step a thought process and quick decision, so I kept my head down and tried to stay focused. Eventually, I came out of the woods and hit a sunny stretch along the edge of the mountain. I glanced up to see my first mountain vista of the hike, and I wasn’t expecting it to be so beautiful.

     I guess I had become visible to those below as I heard someone calling my name, so I continued down the hill to join a few in our group waiting inside a horse paddock. As they taught me how to open the gate by pushing up the silver O-rings, I told them I wanted to keep going while they waited for the others. I had noticed the really steep climb past the paddock and thought a head start would be a great idea since being last was still not on my agenda. I closed the outer gate, adjusted my backpack, which seemed slightly lighter than the day before, and began my breathing exercises. I then heard my name being called again.

     “Hey, Sonya! When you get to the top, don’t forget to turn around and look back.”

     I lifted my hand in the air with fingers formed in the universal ‘ok’ and began the slow and steady climb. When I finally reached the top, I did as I had been told—I turned and looked back towards the mountains I’d hiked through the day before. Everywhere I looked, the views were simply stunning! And coupled with the silence, I felt the natural high I’d heard about all my life. No anxiety. No sadness. No pain. I suddenly felt weightless, and I could have stood there forever.

     The remainder of the day brought about multiple challenges of climbing over large rock formations, literally squeezing through the AT Rite of Passage (or “Fat Man’s Squeeze” as it’s commonly known), and wondering if the mountain was growing taller with each one of my steps. When I finally reached the ridge, I stopped again to take it all in. But how could I? With just so much as a cloud movement, the scene changed and gave me a different perspective. It was amazing in every way…the views…the warm breeze…and that pure silence.

     I thought about my life and how much easier it might have been if I could have changed my own perspective so quickly and so frequently. For the last eight years, I felt like rain clouds had set in for the duration. No matter what issue I somehow managed to get through, there were always so many more hanging over my head—dark and ominous.

     It was late afternoon when I reached the last shelter and caught up with a few more in our group. We hiked together to the last water source of the day and filtered water into every available container. We drenched our bandanas in the cold mountain spring and wiped the dirt and sweat from our faces, then forged ahead to our final campsite on top of Pine Mountain. A herd of wild ponies greeted us, a much friendlier group than the night before, and insisted on helping us set up our tents. We later discovered that, unlike cows, these ponies frolic through the pasture all night–stopping to chew heartily on the grass as close as they could get to our sleeping bodies, and several attempted to join us inside our tents. But it was comforting knowing they were there, and I finally fell asleep to their gentle mowing.

     After a second cup of coffee and a perfect mountain view from the comfort of my tent, we packed our bags and headed up a steep hill to exit the pasture and enter the woods for our last few miles of the trip. The rocky trails soon gave way to a flat-packed surface with an easy descent. We picked up the pace and soon found ourselves back at the campground under a spray of hot water–inhaling the scents of aromatic shampoos and citrus-infused soaps. I air-dried my hair in the warm sun as I chatted with the other freshly showered backpackers, and we honed in on our lunch spot to bring our trip to a close.

     As we drove back through the winding roads of Virginia and watched the Christmas tree farms and lush rolling landscape grow smaller in the rearview mirror, I wished I hadn’t waited so long to backpack the AT. I had always heard of the amazing and positive changes this hike had made for so many people. I get it. I just need to constantly remind myself that although there’s beauty in where I’m going, there’s also beauty in where I’ve been. And the farther I travel, the lighter my backpack will feel...assuring me that time does dull the pain and will eventually heal my wounds.

     So I’m learning that I should always look back. I hope those views will constantly remind me that there's a more positive and renewed perspective ahead so I can continue to move forward in life and in love.