On Perseverance and Hope

Sunset from Brandeis University on Tuesday

I’ve started and stopped typing more times than I can count.

Last week I shared about the physical pain I’ve been experiencing, no doubt due to stress and perhaps extreme sensitivity to the tension felt among loved ones and in the communities I’m part of.

What I’ve been trying to articulate for myself amidst the collective sadness, disappointment, anger, hurt, and fear is, how do I feel, and why do I feel that way? What does this all mean to me?

It’s not all about me. But I think it’s important to have a clear understanding of what’s important to you, how you feel, and why you feel that way, because your decisions and actions have a far reaching impact, perhaps more than you will ever know.

I started to describe all of the ways I feel disappointed, then decided that was helpful to write out for myself, but not helpful in terms of what I want to put out there in the world.

I was struck listening to some of my favorite podcasters this week. One of them shared, “I’m 37 and I don’t have children…” I thought where she was going was that, she’s worried that if she decides to have children, she might not get the medical care she needs if there are life-threatening complications. But instead, she shared tearfully that she didn’t know now if she wanted to bring a child into the world at all.

My heart broke when she said that. Even though I don’t know her, in my mind all of my favorite podcasters are my best friends, and I just wanted to give her a big hug and tell her it would be okay. Of course I don’t know that everything will be okay, and I can’t tell anyone how they should feel (and I don’t fault anyone for feeling this way), but I certainly don’t think of the future as a bleak void, even if things feel really dark and uncertain right now.

There are times I have made decisions out of fear, and I’m talking about lighthearted stuff, like bailing on a race or an FKT because there were scary possibilities ahead, or I felt bad in the moment, and I wasn’t sure what would happen. So instead of seeing what would happen, I quit. I can’t fault myself, sometimes it was the best decision, but it never feels great.

On a deeper level, I have a vision for my own personal future to consider while navigating the time we live in, or what could be. I am firmly committed to making choices grounded in what truly matters to me, rather than out of fear. I’ve never felt more strongly about this.

I think everyone deserves a chance to pursue their dreams and their happiness without fear of persecution or consequence, so long as they’re not hurting others. It may not be the world we live in now, where so many don’t have basic freedoms, and so many are struggling to merely survive, but it’s the world we can keep striving for.

On Wednesday this week, I received an email from the Pacific Crest Trail Association. “Your permit application is approved!”

I’ve been thinking about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail for a long time now. For me it would be a huge dive into the unknown. There are a lot of uncertainties when it comes to this trail, from the challenges of the trail itself (long desert stretches, exposure, remoteness, snow, water crossings), to the very real possibilities of wildfires making it impossible to hike the entire trail at all. I’ve considered alternate possibilities, but the thought of not trying, or seeing what could happen, makes me really sad.

I felt the same way when my initial goals slipped away from me on the Appalachian Trail. I could have stopped. Why was I out there? I had envisioned myself reaching Katahdin so many times, and the thought of not doing so was devastating. So, I kept going.

I feel extremely aware that thru-hiking the Pacific Crest Trail may not be a straightforward journey, or a complete one, depending on trail closures and other circumstances. But the thought of not even trying, and not seeing what could happen sounds like a much worse alternative to me than not trying at all. So, I am going to try, and see what unfolds.

When I picked my trail name Mercury, I liked it for a few reasons. It was initially inspired by the orchestral piece, “Mercury” from Gustav Holst’s The Planets. The music sounds like how I feel when I’m out running trails: light, jovial, free, full of heart. Then I read that in Roman mythology, Mercury is a messenger. I thought of what kind of message I’d like to share; from the beginning it has been one of perseverance and hope. And that rings true with what I want to continue putting out into the world now, in whatever way I can, through my own decisions and actions.

💫

Thank you for reading and being part of this journey with me. If you’re enjoying this space, I’d love for you to subscribe to my newsletter, or join Pink Feathers as a supporting member. My heartfelt thanks to those who already have–it means the world to me.

Supporting members receive access to exclusive content in the member portal of my website, plus a handwritten “thank you”, and occasional surprises in the mail from my treks around the world.

Also, if you are in the Boston area, or if you have a bit of free time to tune in via livestream, please feel invited to Songs of Longing and Persistence this afternoon at 3pm ET in Pickman Hall at Longy School of Music. This is the graduating master’s recital of my friend and colleague, soprano Mona Majid, who I’ll be accompanying on piano. Tickets are free, just be sure to register here.

From Mona: Tonight’s program explores the spiritual meaning of love. The keystone of this program is the world premiere of Rúzí ke dúr níst, a new song in Persian composed by Charlotte Koonce, based on the poetry of Mahvash Sabet. Ms. Sabet is currently in prison in Iran because she is a member of the Baha’i Faith, a persecuted religious minority. I share Ms. Sabet’s faith and important aspects of heritage that run throughout my family background. The song is about hope, and her act of courage and fortitude in accepting imprisonment for her beliefs through her strong faith and her unfailing love for humanity.

‘Til next week! ~Mercury