91 Days in the Woods

As I looked at my surroundings, I couldn’t help but scrutinize over the long series of decisions and incidents throughout my life that had led me to this exact moment. The moment where I found myself alone in the woods with nothing but a sleeping bag, some food, a change of clothes, and a tarp (note- not a tent). My unshowered hair sat in a tight tangled bun at the top of my head and my skin was dry from the cold January weather. And as I sat by a tree, next to the very first fire that I was able to make without a lighter, the only thought I had was- How did I end up here?

At this point, I was roughly two months into my three month wilderness therapy adventure. The program consisted of sleeping outside in the Blue Ridge mountains, while hiking every two days to a new location. Showers were replaced with boiling river water, and beds were replaced with sleeping bags. The company I kept consisted of a group of roughly seven people and collectively we helped each other survive. Some were charged with finding firewood, others were charged with finding potable drinking water, and the remainder were charged with cooking.

At this particular moment, the moment in which I found myself contemplating my entire life trajectory thus far, I was completely alone as it was the first day of my three day solo endeavor. Solos went something like this: each member of the group was blindfolded by a staff member and led to separate areas in the woods. Once we reached our respective areas, the blindfold was taken off and we were greeted with a “see you in three days!”. The point of the three day solo was to not only test out our wilderness skills but to allow ourselves time to be completely alone with our thoughts.

The first day went by quickly, as I spent the majority of my time collecting firewood, setting up a shelter, building a fire, etc. By the end of the day, however, I found myself consumed with complete boredom. I had done everything I could possibly think of and I still had two whole days ahead of me. My saving grace, I thought, would come in the form of a notebook and pen with which I could write (one of my favorite past times). The catch was that we could only receive our notebook after completing an assignment that was dropped off at our solo spots at the end of day one. As day one ended, my assignment arrived. I was greeted with nothing but a single blank sheet of paper.

Of course my thoughts immediately spiraled; What is the assignment? Did they tell us the assignment before we were dropped off? Was I not paying attention? Of course I wasn’t paying attention! What am I supposed to do? How am I going to get my notebook? If I don’t get it, what am I going to do for the next two days?

I allowed myself time to spiral regarding the assignment, but ultimately I decided to leave it be, and go in an entirely different direction in regards to how I would fill the remainder of my time alone.

To my left, I noticed the perfect swing bearing tree with thick, solid branches stemming from the side of a study trunk. Next, I saw the four long pieces of paracord that were holding up the four corners of my shelter. I looked at the pile of firewood I had already gathered, and saw thick logs. Logs that could easily bear the weight of a 20 year old girl.

I was going to build a swing.

The plan was flawless, the cords that once were used to hold up the corners of my shelter would be tied together to form one long rope. One end of the rope would then be thrown over the swing-bearing branch. Either end of the rope (now on either side of the branch) would then be tied to the either end of the log which would serve as the seat of the swing. Finally, I would sit on the log and swing.

Perfection.

The execution, however? Far from. For one, I severely overestimated my stick throwing abilities. The branches were high above the ground and I stand at a towering 4' 11' tall. Secondly, it was in the middle of the polar vortex so the wind was not on my side. Finally, visibility was waning as the sun began to set. Call me stubborn, but I was still determined to build this swing.

At this point, I hadn’t looked at a clock in two months, so my concept of time was questionable, but I flung that rope into the air for what felt like hours. Sometimes, I would miss the branch completely. Other times, the rope would get stuck between leaves. The few times that I was able to throw the rope at the perfect angle, I would use too much force and both ends of the rope would be thrown over the branch and land on the ground.

At some point I felt kind of silly. I had no idea why I was so determined to build a swing. Nobody would be around to see my accomplishment. I don't particularly love swings. At no point in my life have I ever said that I wanted to someday build a swing. And yet, I felt the need to finish nonetheless. Not the desire, the need.

I thought about everything that had led me to this moment: going to college, leaving college, making the decision to better myself, entering rehab, leaving rehab, getting on a plane to North Carolina, committing to wilderness therapy (with zero knowledge of what that entailed), getting dropped off at the bottom of a mountain, realizing I had grossly misinterpreted the meaning of wilderness therapy, admitting my reality, and ultimately committing to seeing it through.

I could and would build this swing. My silly little DIY project turned into a testament of my will and determination, and my ability to see something through.

And I did.

On the morning of my three day solo, I finished the swing. I went back to the drawing board and picked a new, lower branch to bear my swing. It was far from ideal, but it was functional and it was mine.

Upon arrival, the staff member who came to bring me back to our group camp site saw my swing, chuckled, turned around and left me there. I was confused, but shortly after another staff member came with him, apparently amused by my swing. Finally, the third and final staff member arrived with a camera for the sole purpose of documenting the final product.

I was confused as to why they would be so amused by a simple swing, but they laughed and said they just hadn’t seen anything like it. After reuniting, I asked the others in the group what the original assignment was- the assignment that was to be completed on the pen and paper given on day one. They all said that the instructions were clearly written on the paper. I turned to the staff members with a look of confusion and they told me they purposely gave me no instructions, knowing that I would overthink any assignment given.

So what did my swing symbolize? To the staff members, it was just something neat that they haven't come across. But to me, it meant so much more. It gave me insight to who I was as a person; both good and bad. It showed creativity. It showed determination, both to complete the task and a somewhat stubborn determination to not be alone with my thoughts. It showed my ability to create something out of nothing. And of all my 91 days in the woods - days that consisted of sleeping in negative ten weather, hiking in the rain, and crossing cold creeks in bare feet- that swing is one of my proudest accomplishments.

Within the building of that swing lies the answers to the question posed at the beginning of the story; How did I end up here? What were the moments in my life that led me to the extreme life altering experience of living in the Blue Ridge mountains? They were moments of trying, moments of failure, moments of reassessing, and ultimately moments of strength.

In an unfiltered moment of creativity and determination, I was able to recognize those moments that made and continue to make-up the “real” me.