When I think of the wilderness, trees, bugs, animals and unfamiliar terrain come to mind. It terrifies me. In fact, I am more comfortable walking alone through the city than I am walking in the woods. Though I’m not crazy about all the city noise, I feel more in control of my destiny. I know what to do if things get hanky. Now don’t get me wrong, as a city girl I don’t take stupid chances. I’m always aware of my surroundings and make sure my keys and phone are accessible outside of my purse. But there is a part of me that longs to experience the solitude found in the wilderness. Sometimes when I walk the local trails near my house, I imagine the rustling of the trees without the subtle hum of traffic in the background. I can almost convince myself that I have the courage to go on a real hike. But I don’t understand nature they way I understand the city. I fear that I won’t survive.

I came close to taking a real hike a few years ago. I attended a low-residency MFA program that met at Fort Worden State Park in Port Townsend, Washington. One of the workshops I participated in dealt with writing and nature. Our instructor challenged us to find a place, either in the forest or by the beach, to sit quietly for twenty minutes in order to observe our surroundings. Then we were to write about our observations for another twenty minutes. My instinct was to go to the beach. I’ve always felt comfortable by the water. But I sensed that comfort wasn’t the key to this exercise. So I headed to the forest. My heart raced as I entered the trail. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to find my way out or that I would encounter a coyote or even a bear.

A bit melodramatic, I know.

But in my defense, on one of my trips to Fort Worden I watched an eagle soar in and out of the trees of that very forest. There had to be bears there, too. Well, needless to say, I didn’t venture too far onto the trail, settling pretty close to the trailhead.

I thought of that day often as I read Wild by Cheryl Strayed. I couldn’t help but feel as if I had lost the chance to really learn something about myself and life. I began to fantasize about going on a life changing hike. Though I would love to experience the Pacific Crest Trail, it’s too risky for me to even muse about. So I thought about the Appalachian Trial instead. I read somewhere that you can stay in motels along the way. [We won’t even talk about sleeping out in the wild.] But my fantasy hiking trip has made me realize that I am not equipped for such a trip. I need to build up a tolerance for hiking and more importantly, I need to overcome my fear of animals. Granted, I know that some fear is healthy – the Grizzly Man documentary comes to mind – but some fear paralyzes and prevents you from experiencing life to the fullest.

I feel that paralyzing type of fear in other areas of my life that are no where near the forest. It’s the internal wilderness that as a writer is inescapable. It’s that dangerous and unfamiliar place in our minds that we’d prefer to avoid. And much like I felt on the edge of the forest, we fear that we won’t be able to find our way out.

My daughter is going away to college in a at the end of the month. She is my youngest child. For the first time in almost twenty-six years my role as mother is slipping into the background, and there is nothing tethering me to my husband besides our relationship to each other. There was a time that wouldn’t have worried me, but now we seem to be hanging on by a very fragile string. The terrain is unfamiliar. It scares me, but unlike that day I spent hovering around the trailhead, I have no choice but to venture in the wilderness.

I have to believe that those hikers who brave the wilderness have learned that the beauty of the journey outweighs the risk. They know the wilderness challenges you to grow and opens you up to new discoveries. It stretches you to become more than you have ever been before.

I don’t know if I will ever hike the Appalachian. But I do know that it’s ridiculous to believe that we can get through life without encountering our own personal wilderness. My hope is that I learn to embrace each wilderness experience with anticipation and excitement for what I will discover.