When we finished the Appalachian Trail we knew there would be some confusing feelings to dissect, what the thru-hikers refer to as “post-trail depression”. Disregarding my awareness of the ailment, days passed and I didn’t recognize this new form of the blues. It showed itself in varying shades. Catching me off guard with blinding flashes of royal blue sadness and baby blue nostalgia.

In my time post-trail, I’ve gained a new appreciation for my life in the Appalachians. Regardless of how exhausting or difficult a day could become, the struggles felt simple. The chaos of cities constantly overwhelms me now and I feel at odds with the overstimulation of it all. The sole reason we arrived in this new pace was to visit with our families after this challenging and soulful endeavor. Along the hike we found our minds drifting to memories of loved ones and often hoping for more of those good times. We sometimes carry the heaviness of being absent. It’s excruciating to live in an endless merry-go-round of farewell and “until next time”. It’s hard to explain the craving to be back in the woods, struggling and surviving in a harmonious way.

Nearly a month has passed since we summited Mt. Katahdin. In many ways I feel so detached from that fact. My healing body occasionally whines reminding me just what I put it through. If it weren’t for that, I might truly believe it was all a fantastic dream. To better cure this thru-hike hangover, we head to the same place that intoxicated us: the outdoors. Hair of the dog, I guess.

When we hit the road, we are considerably less proactive about our route. There’s a gentle relief in that way of living. The necessity to plan every detail along the trail contrasts starkly with the freedom of the open road. A few miles off course would previously be detrimental, now it’s just a detour. Wherever the road takes us, I know it’s where we’re supposed to be. The sky above us radiates a blue that pales the ones we’ve experienced, it’s a hopeful shade.