Welcome to the second release of my newsletter where we’re exploring building connected and thriving lives overflowing with abundance. It’s a newsletter about vulnerability, risk taking, connection, re-enchanting our lives and the world. We’re exploring finding deep roots and abundant futures. Inspired by over 4,000 miles hiked on the Appalachian Trail and Continental Divide Trail.
It’s always 100% human written, by me. From the heart.
~Amy
When fear nearly stopped me
By: Amy Johnson
The world feels pretty heavy right now.
There’s a lot of fear, enough to go around.
It feels like so much is broken.
Too often, we resign ourselves to the broken state of the world, telling ourselves this is simply how it is. We retreat into ourselves and muscle through our days— going through the motions but still feeling like something is off. Something that we’re not quite sure how to fix. Something that we worry there may not even be a fix for. We survive, but we are not thriving.
But is it possible that a better path is closer than we realize– simply waiting for us to see it and take the first step along it?
What would that first step look like?
One of the first steps for me was leaning into the fear and vulnerability. And leaning into the community that would eventually catch me.
When I first wanted to do a hike alone, I was terrified. Almost everyone around me was telling me it wasn’t a good idea (“surely that is not safe for a young woman”).
But a solo hike is something I had wanted to do for a long time. I wanted to see what it would be like– just me and nature, no distractions. And two of my “friends” from college had just bailed on me. The three of us had been planning a month long trip to Colorado, and they decided that they were better friends with each other than they were with me. They no longer wanted me to come.
I wanted to take the free time I now had to finally do a solo hike. But I was scared, and I knew there was no way I was going to do this without someone– at least even just one person– supporting me, because at that moment I didn’t have anyone.
There was a man that worked for REI who had helped me pick out backpacking gear on a few occassions– Bman (his nickname). I don’t know what made me think I should talk to Bman. But I walked into REI, and I found Bman. I explained to him that I wanted to do a solo hike and I asked him “Do you think it’s good idea?”
He replied “I would recommend it.” He told me that hiking alone can be a really amazing experience, and that there was a much higher likelihood of something very positive coming from the experience than something negative. I asked him for suggestions of places to go that would be safe. He suggested a 4 day section of the Appalachian Trail in Maryland.
He assured me that it was a very safe section, with cell service most of the way. “It’s beautiful,” he said, “and if anything comes up, anything at all, just give me a call and I will get someone to help you, I know many people in the area.” He gave me his phone number and a can of bear spray for self defense from people (not necessary, he assured me, but to give me peace of mind).
That hike went amazing. And I found beautiful community along the way– in the hikers I met on trail, and the people in town who helped me along the way. Needless to say, I was hooked.
A few years later, I’d be stepping on the trail in Georgia, embarking on a 7 month thru hike to Maine that would change my life. A journey that would lead me to a depth of peace, connection, and confidence that guides my life to this day.
Prior to talking to Bman, I had only heard of the Appalachian Trail in passing– I had never considered that I could hike its entire length. Had it not been for my fear of solo hiking and for the discouragement of the people around me, I would not have felt compelled to walk into an outdoors retail store to talk to a near-stranger about my dreams. I wouldn’t have found support and love from that near-stranger, either. And I would never have set foot on the Appalachian Trail.
It was through the brokenness of a world where a woman frequently has to consider the possibility of violence– and the fear, doubt, and vulnerability it caused me (and still causes me) that I was led to an experience that changed so much for me.
Perhaps in the brokenness of our world, we have an opportunity. In each moment that we feel afraid, vulnerable or at risk– physically or emotionally– perhaps it is a signal that this isn’t something we should be doing alone. A signal that we need others too. An opportunity to turn to one another for support. To find that love and support from one another. To find true community.
Perhaps each vulnerability is a crack in our lives, letting the light in to illuminate something even more beautiful. If we allow it to.
Light filtering in through an old barn somewhere in Virginia. I climbed the ladder to the place where I would sleep that night, and the kaleidoscope of light and colors dancing across the old wood stopped me in my tracks.
So I’ll leave you with a few questions.
What are you afraid of right now?
How might you be able to turn to community today?
And…what might you find on the other side?
Reply and let me know your thoughts, I’d love to hear about it.
Until next time,
Amy
P.S. Too often, leaning into vulnerability can feel like a risk. That’s why we’ll be exploring risk taking next. We’ll be looking at the two risks to consider— the risk of doing the thing, and the risk of not doing the thing.