AT 2017

On Sunday, May 7, I slept five hours, drove five hours, rode in a shuttle van two hours, then hiked eight miles. It was a great day.

My start: Fontana Dam, where I ended last year's AT hike. As soon as I got out of the shuttle, two separate tourists, back-to-back, asked me directions to the Trail. "Where'd you come from?" One asked, eyeing my stained clothing. "Nashville," I said. "You hiked here from Nashville?!"

my favorite thing to see when I look up

I spent the following nine days hiking south towards Unicoi Gap, GA, where I'd left my car. Along the way, I interviewed and photographed northbound thru-hikers for a project modeled loosely after Humans of New York — which, surprisingly, not many thru-hikers had heard of.

Here are a sampling of the photographs (ones that I don't plan on selling to magazines):

I asked them what being American means to them. Nearly everyone paused to consider the question, and nearly everyone concluded, "Freedom." But most couldn't articulate exactly what that meant. I think America is about diversity and about embracing that diversity to move forward together, so I liked the answers that riffed on that idea. One person said rather bitterly that to be American means to consume.

I also asked everyone what they think is the number one problem our country faces. Many talked about political divides, ignorance, fear, selfishness, and the like. Only two or three out of 50 said "global warming." A handful said drugs, one said homelessness. A couple of people said greed/love of money. Several people talked about the federal budget. I liked the answers to this question a lot more than the answers to the "being American" question.

Other favorite photos from the trip:

the best kind of bed canopy

#foodintheair

self-timer self-portrait

sunset that evening

sunrise on my last morning on the trail

same sunrise

trail mix burrito: my lunch for 10 days

last peak on last day

I love hiking! And sunshine! And trees! And mountains! And sunrises and sunsets and trail mix burritos! And my tent and my sleeping bag and my sleeping pad and my stove and morning camp tea and camp oatmeal! and memorizing poetry and knowing the "I have a dream" part of MLK's "I Have a Dream" speech! and feeling physically capable! and meeting new people and encountering new ideas! This hike was a nice reminder of how much I love all those things.

how much brunch does a half-marathon earn you?

 Last weekend was a whirlwind of activity. It started on Friday at 6am as I began the 2.5h drive to economist Arthur Laffer's farmhouse in eastern Kentucky. As I drove through unincorporated towns with names like Marrowbone, Summer Shade and Tinsley's Bottom, I was entranced by the rolling green fields speckled with brown cows and red barns, as well as the dark, furrowed clouds overhead.

I arrived having no idea who this man was, but quickly realized he was famous for his tax theory, known as the Laffer Curve. The paper napkin on which he drew said curve now lives in the Smithsonian National Museum of American History in DC. 

I was there at Laffer's house to record an interview conducted by BBC reporters over the phone. BBC recorded their end of the conversation in their studio, and I recorded Laffer's responses with the equipment I have on loan from WPLN. As soon as I got back to Nashville, I sent BBC the audio file. They paid me several hundred dollars to drive myself to a farm and hold a mic. It was a great morning.

Laffer's interview was about how his theory applies to President Trump's proposed tax plan, which Laffer wholeheartedly supports. I felt a bit self-conscious driving away with the Clinton-Kaine sticker on my bumper. But only a tiny bit.

I drove straight from Laffer's farm to the Nashville airport to pick up my baby sister!

We spent the whole weekend together, visiting the Frist...

Claire Morgan's "Stop Me Feeling" -  a statement on the careless way humans interact with nature

...running the Music City Rock & Roll half marathon...

I beat last year's time!

...eating beautiful food...

toad-in-the-hole at Butcher & Bee

We found Loveless Cafe to be underwhelming.

 ...and sipping wine at a hillside vineyard with a jazz band playing behind us.

It's strange how accustomed I've gotten to being alone. I loved spending such quality time with my sister but also found it exhausting to be with another human for three consecutive days. Will I be able to survive full-time office work, surrounded by other people for 8-10 hours per day??

The Dinner Party

In January, my 21-year-old sister asked if I could introduce her to any of my friends living in San Francisco. She wants to spend her summer interning there, and thought it would be helpful to speak with people already working there. One of the introduction emails I sent was to an old friend whom I met through my college scholarship program, someone who actually hosted me at UNC during the scholarship finalist weekend in my senior year of high school. One thing this friend and I had quickly found out that we had in common was we had both lost a parent at age 11.

In the casual catching-up email conversation that proceeded from my sister's introduction, I sent that friend, Sam, a personal essay I'd recently written for Southern Foodways Alliance's print quarterly Gravy. The essay is the first piece of writing I've published about my experience with grief, and I thought Sam would appreciate it.

She liked it so much she asked permission to share it on social media, and in response she also told me about an organization called The Dinner Party. "I feel like you'd be a stellar host," she said in her email. I clicked the link.

WE ARE A COMMUNITY OF MOSTLY 20- AND 30-SOMETHINGS WHO’VE EACH EXPERIENCED SIGNIFICANT LOSS. WE GET TOGETHER OVER POTLUCK DINNERS TO TALK ABOUT THE WAYS IN WHICH IT CONTINUES TO AFFECT OUR LIVES AND HOW TO THRIVE IN #LIFEAFTERLOSS.

Intrigued, I filled out the form for "joining a table," answering questions about my interests, my experience with grief, and what kind of people I most enjoy spending time with. The email I received in response told me that the Nashville "table" was at capacity and the national organizers were waiting for someone to step up to host a new group. 

"I am totally willing volunteer as a host," I wrote back. "What does that entail?"

Fast forward three months, and I'm sitting at a table with six other people, laughing and crying about the absurdity of death. And the absurdity of life. And the beauty of togetherness. Eating tacos. Drinking wine. I was in awe at the strength and courage of the people who surrounded me: a woman whose alcoholic father died during withdrawal 11 weeks ago, a man who'd lost a brother to addiction and suicide two years ago, a woman whose 30-year-old husband's heart had stopped suddenly just one year ago.

The bravery in telling those stories, the honor of listening to those stories, the responsibility of listening compassionately — that space was sacred. These weren't people I'd normally seek out as friends, whether because of difference in career paths or the six-to-fifteen-year age gaps — but I feel lucky to have met them and to have sat with them in that context. We started the night with a toast to the people missing from our lives, and we ended the night with an agreement to meet again as soon as possible. 

I moved to Nashville without knowing anyone here. I've developed friendships with a handful of people whom I plan to stay in touch with after we've parted ways — but in a year of actively investing in relationships, I haven't had a single night that comes close to the raw and genuine openness and connection I witnessed through The Dinner Party.

Here's to my mother Lisa, and here's to breaking bread with a group of people who understand.