It’s what we’ve all heard before. The unpredictability of life. How plans aren’t guaranteed. Trails are like that too.
You can read the reviews and study the pictures. Familiarize yourself with the map and pack accordingly. But you don’t know the true condition of the trail until you’re on it. It is in the moments of balancing on single-plank boardwalks over muddy creeks, and holding your breath as you cling to the hillside, as a ravine looms alongside you, that are the most centering. In the moment, they are a challenge, and upon reflection, they are a lesson, testament, and a celebration.
If it wasn’t for friends and family, who join me on trails, I wouldn’t be writing this. On or off trail, these people offer the same support throughout the journey of life. Along with lessons from nature, I hold lessons from these experiences of being together close to my heart.
So, here’s the dirt…
I’ve been stuck along a muddy stretch for the last year and a half. Though I chipped away at various projects, like redesigning my website, recording podcast episodes, and crafting and delivering educational trainings, doubt shadowed everything I did. This doubt, was amplified as I searched for jobs that would keep me afloat. As I worked a part-time retail gig, I wrote cover letter after cover letter to only receive a letter of decline or hear crickets from prospective employers.
To make matters worse, my employer began expressing ableist remarks. After being told I was a risk to the store’s sales because of my disability, and that my manager questioned if they should hire me solely on my blindness – I fell into a dark place, my fears were true. Once I disclosed my blindness, or entered an interview led by my guide dog, assumptions greeted me, and pity followed me out the door.
An opportunity finally opened at a local Center for Independent Living, and upon being hired, I was able to start climbing out of the hole. My job, however, was very computer dependent, which led to frequent eye strain as I stubbornly avoided learning how to use a screen reader.
I was also navigating, without Frasier. He started showing signs that he wanted to retire in late 2022, and in February 2023, I hung up his harness. Relying on my cane full-time again has been a major adjustment as I wait for my new teammate. With all of this going on, I struggled to find energy to return to The Blind Naturalist.
It seemed like every step I took, I had sunk in deeper. Being reminded of the ableism that exists, revisiting my complicated relationship with my white cane, and accepting that I could no longer fully depend on my eyes to navigate my high contrast, magnified screen efficiently pulled me into the mess. Joy, wonder, and creativity all cheered at the edges of the mud pit, shadowed by the sadness, frustration, and isolation I felt as I continued to trudge along.
There are some battles that we need to navigate on our own, and there are others where support from others can pull us out of the mud.
In any case, it’s never easy.
The looming ravine, or mud pit underneath the rickety boardwalk are reminders along a trail, that fear lingers in the shadows, and is happy to join us at any time. It’s easy to invite fear along for the company, to listen to what it has to say, and to take its advice. It’s hard to go our separate ways, to say, “thank you, but I got it from here,” and to believe in yourself.
It’s easy to keep thinking, distracting, and spiraling. It’s hard to be vulnerable, to trust, to build connections.
Those hard times are invaluable. They provoke us to grow, and growing isn’t easy.
Along the trail, there are sure to be rough patches to navigate. There is also the chance to find a clearing that reveals a beautiful overlook, follow a spur trail to a quaint resting spot, or experience the awe of a wildlife sighting.
These are the experiences we may often seek, joy, wonder, and beauty. Their antheses are standing beside them, arms extended and waiting. Sometimes, you take a hug. Other times, you acknowledge and extend gratitude. All of them have something to teach us.
In any case, I’m drawn outside. Away from the noise, distractions, and obligations of life. The trails offer a reconnection to being. Being content, upset, lost, at peace, worried, certain, disconnected, connected.
And in the moments, I feel most alone, I’m reminded that I’m not. And you’re not either, none of us are.
Whether on or off the trail, if you’ve joined me for a short or long segment, or just a quick encounter. I extend gratitude; thank you, for being you.
The trail ahead is uncertain, I’m traversing it as I am. I hope to see you along the way.
With much love,
Shannon
Photo Descriptions
Featured image: An image of a marsh amongst the forest. There is a creek reflecting the light of the sky to the left, and tall grass and vegetation to the right. Behind the marsh vegetation is trees. In the lower right corner of the image is text that reads “Life’s a Muddy Trail” in a white, handwritten font.
Photo 1: A two-plank boardwalk trail through a forest. The boardwalk curves slightly to the left before it vanishes into the trees ahead.
Video: The camera pans over an inland lake at the beginning, and then panning to the right to show an endless sea of green trees.