Luck

A couple weeks ago, my new boss, Jon asked me, “So, Rich...why are you here?”

Good question. In fact, great question. I'm a philosophy major--how could I not love that question?

Unfortunately, Jon wasn't asking me for a five minute existential monologue about my place in the universe (which is too bad because I would have nailed it). What Jon wanted to know was why I wanted to spend the summer helping him rent kayaks on the Allegheny River.

I gave him the short answer because it was all I had time for:

“Well, I used to play online poker for a living. I was pretty good, but last year, some hastily passed legislation took that away from me. I woke up one morning, the major poker sites were closed, and I had lost my only source of income. So, here I am: a thirty-year-old, washed-up card player, filling out job applications.”

Yes, that is my real handwriting

I told Jon this because he asked, but honestly, I don't like telling people about online poker getting shut down because when I do, people start to feel sorry for me. The story makes me sound like someone who is down on his luck.

And nothing could be further from the truth.

I'm not an unlucky person and if I came across that way to my new boss, it was only because he couldn't see the bigger picture.

If I had more time to answer that question, I could have explained to Jon that after college (and a brief Peace Corps stint), I had chosen to play poker for a living. No one made me do it—it was my choice. I could have started a more traditional career, but instead, I drove to Las Vegas and started playing cards.

Looking at Canada from the US side of Niagara Falls

And I didn't stop playing for five years. No work. Just poker.

I hung out in Caesar's Palace with crazy tourists and B-list celebrities. When I got tired of Vegas, I hitchhiked and rode Greyhound buses to Mount Rushmore simply because I'd never been there before. I spent half a year living a few minutes away from Niagara Falls because I liked the way it looked at night. And then I walked from Georgia to Maine.

I told Jon that it was unfortunate that I can't play poker for a living anymore, but what I didn't get a chance to say was that after aimlessly wandering around the country without a care in the world for five years, I came out ahead. I had a great run and when it was over, I ended up in Pittsburgh with a girl I'm crazy about and a kid on the way.

You don't get much luckier than that.

Doctors and Midwives

I like doctors.

That cold, sterile smell of a doctor's office is reassuring to me. That smell means I am in a building with well-trained professionals who are qualified to make serious health decisions. That smell means that the old guy in the white coat with the stethoscope around his neck knows what he's talking about. I like that smell because I trust that smell.

So when my fiancée, Laura, suggested going to a midwifery as opposed to a doctor's office, I was skeptical. Laura assured me that the nearby midwife center came highly recommended and she would receive more personal attention there than she would at a traditional doctor's office. I wasn't convinced, but I also wasn't the one who claimed to have a little person growing inside me, so it wasn't really my call. (You have to pick your battles.)

The first thing I noticed when we arrived was that the waiting room was staffed by girls in their 20s wearing jeans—not doctor's scrubs. I took a seat next to Laura as she filled out some forms, but I couldn't find any newspapers or magazines to read. The only available reading materials were brightly colored pamphlets that contained words like “chakra” and “holistic.”

I don't like that word: Holistic. Last year, I spent a lot of time around new agey hikers and I have a really cool uncle that is a chiropractor, but I just don't trust that word. Call me closed-minded, but when I hear the word “holistic,” in my head it sounds a lot like “super groovy herbal shit that hasn't been tested by western medicine.” I don't want hocus pocus--I want the scientific method.

I only had to spend a few minutes hating the waiting room before they called Laura's name. That was fast, I thought. In a doctor's office, you'd wait far longer than that. Maybe Laura was right about midwiferies giving their patients more attention. I started to think that maybe this wasn't such a bad place after all.

But the enthusiasm fizzled when we entered the examination room. Not only was there no cold, sterile trustworthy smell, there was a bunch of Native American decorations on the wall where the diplomas should be. Laura informed me that the decorations were Mayan, but that definitely didn't make me feel any better seeing how I'm pretty sure the Mayans believe that the world is going to end right around the time Laura is supposed to go into labor. 

The midwife entered the room, but she didn't refer to herself as Dr. [insert last name here]--she enthusiastically said, “Hi, I'm Kathy!” She reminded me of a really upbeat version of the little old lady from the Poltergeist movies. She seemed friendly enough, but I didn't want “friendly,” I wanted “official.” I wanted a crotchety old man who used 13 syllable words that I didn't understand.

To her credit, Kathy seemed very smart and she was a good listener. She answered all of our questions and repeatedly reassured me that we were very close by a hospital that would be easily accessible if anything were to arise that the midwifery couldn't handle. Finally, someone was saying the right thing.

...

After about 30 minutes of questions, Laura was getting a physical examination while I was playing Angry Birds on my smartphone. It's not that I didn't care about what was happening—I just didn't want to distract Kathy and I needed something to keep myself occupied.

I was about to get the third star on a really tough level, when Kathy said that we were going to try to find a heartbeat. I quickly glanced up from my phone to make sure that while she was looking for this heartbeat, there would be some kind of scientific looking instrument involved and she wouldn't be waving around voodoo dolls or something.

I saw the Doppler fetal monitor in her hand and decided that no witchcraft was afoot and went back to my game.

And then, I heard it.

Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom...

It was fast, but steady and clear. I heard the little heartbeat and suddenly, the pregnancy became very real.

Maybe up until that moment, I hadn't been totally convinced that Laura was pregnant. I mean, I had seen the little blue cross on the store bought pregnancy test a few weeks earlier, but maybe there had been a mistake or she had accidentally smudged some toothpaste on it. The box said it was 99.9% accurate, but at the end of the day, it was still just a little stick that my girlfriend peed on.

And yeah, Laura had been experiencing some mild stomach problems that she had claimed were morning sickness, but who knows? Maybe she had just eaten a bad burrito or something.

But then there was this heartbeat. And it was real. I couldn't pretend it was anything other than a heartbeat.

Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom...

As soon as I heard that beating, I stopped thinking about doctors and midwives. After all, Kathy might have had a bunch of crazy crap on her walls, but she had explained very clearly that she was a certified nurse-midwife licensed by the state of Pennsylvania. She's been delivering babies at this midwife center since I was six. And with that thought in mind, my fairly uninformed, personal hangups with midwifery didn't seem worth dwelling on anymore. 

There are more pressing matters now. I'm going to have a kid in 7 months.

I need a job.

The End

I started walking north from Georgia. 190 days later, I climbed a mountain and when I got there, I didn't find anything but a big brown sign. Nothing was solved and I wasn't any wiser than I was six months ago. There wasn't any great revelations about nature, life, or my place in the universe. My calf muscles are a little bigger and my bank account is a little smaller, but other than that, I'm exactly the same person I was when I started. There aren't any answers out there on the trail--just trees. And that's okay. I was looking for nothing and that's exactly what I found. Long distance hiking doesn't fix all the broken pieces in your life. Whatever problems you leave behind when you put your pack on and walk out your front door are still going to be waiting for you when you get back. You don't "find yourself" out there in the woods and sleeping outside for six months isn't going to turn you into Yoda. The trail isn't like that. At least, it wasn't for me. Who knows? Maybe I was doing it wrong. For me, it was just a game. For just a little while, everything else in the world was put on hold and life was whittled down to one simple goal: walk. I walked amongst wild animals and over mountains. I walked through snow in the Smokies and 100 degree heat in Connecticut. I walked in late March when winter became spring and I walked in late September when summer became fall. I met generous people who gave me food and opened their homes to me. I received encouraging emails, texts, and phone messages from friends, family, and occasionally, total strangers. I befriended fellow hikers along the way and as time passed, we instinctively learned how to look after each other. And all the while, I walked. Some people golf. Some play the banjo. Others like suduko. The reason is recreation, but the purpose is nothing. I hiked The Appalachian Trail. And that's that.

This Is It (Miles Hiked: 2066) (Day 182)

I'm about to lose cell phone coverage and all contact with the outside world for a while. This is the 100 mile wilderness--the last great hurdle of the Appalachian Trail. Wish me luck. "See you on the other side, Ray." -Venkman

2000 Miles (Day 175) (Number of Braids in my Hair: 52)

I'd been fording rivers, dodging lightning bolts on ridge lines, and walking in the rain for 5 straight days. Maine has been tough.

But today, the sun came out.

What Storm? (Day 164) (Miles Hiked: 1890)

I wish I had a cool hurricane story. I wish it had been necessary to tie myself to a tree to avoid being blown away and I wish I had spent the duration of the storm with wind whipping through my hair while I cursed the gods like Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump. Unfortunately, when the rains came, I was in a cheap hotel playing cards and eating caramel ice cream. If it weren't for the condition of the trail the next day, I wouldn't have noticed that a hurricane had been here at all. The picture above is NOT a creek--that's the trail. My feet are soaked but I'm in a great mood. Today, I cross a state border for the 13th and final time. States finished: Georgia North Carolina Tennessee Virginia West Virginia Maryland Pennsylvania New Jersey New York Connecticut Massachusetts Vermont New Hampshire States remaining: Maine