Hiking Changed My Life… Just Not My Attitude

So, I was thinking… yes, again. Dangerous, I know. But somehow, this topic even came up mid-hike—somewhere between the first and 60th rewrite of this blog. Proof that we hikers are basically just the same feral cat, just with different smells. And oh, so many smells.

Somehow hiking is my zen. Look, I’m not saying I hate people. I’m just saying that if given the choice between forced socializing and chewing on actual shards of glass, I’d need a minute to think about it. Small talk? Torture. Parties? A cruel and unusual punishment. Group dinners? Please, just push me off a cliff instead.

But then—then—put me on a trail.....throw in a group of hikers, oh, suddenly, it’s like I've discovered the meaning of life. I'm just thriving in the wilderness, surrounded by sweaty strangers - it’s like a spiritual awakening.

Forget structured hobbies and communal sports—those can burn in a fire. Teamwork? No thanks. Organized fun? Absolutely not!! But hiking? Hiking is perfect. It’s just you, your trail, and the beautiful realization that you can maintain your status as an introverted hermit while technically socializing. It’s loophole-level genius.

See, in normal social settings, there’s an unspoken expectation to, you know, engage with people. Make eye contact. Say ....um....words. Maybe even pretend to care. But on a hike? Silence is not only acceptable—it’s encouraged. You can walk alongside someone for miles without uttering a single syllable, and instead of it being awkward, it’s just the vibe. You bond over mutual suffering, not forced conversation. And if you ever need a moment to yourself? Just hike a little faster (or slower). Bam—instant solitude.

But then—then—sometimes something deeply unsettling happens. I go on a group hike, and suddenly, I’m gushing. I’m chatting. I’m making conversation like some extroverted lunatic who actually enjoys human interaction. Who is this person? Because I sure as hell don’t know her.

One minute, I’m a proud recluse. The next, I’m enthusiastically discussing trail conditions, trading electrolyte recommendations, and (please no) actually bonding with people. It’s like some freaky, nature-induced personality transplant.

And honestly? I have no explanation for it. Maybe the altitude messes with my brain. Maybe endorphins make me temporarily forget that I despise socializing. Or maybe—just maybe—hiking tricks me into believing that people aren’t completely unbearable.

…But don’t get any ideas. The second we’re back in civilization, I’m ghosting everyone and retreating to my glorious, people-free solitude.

I mean, friends of 20+ years are fully aware that a reluctant “casual coffee chat” with me entails me staring blankly into the abyss while they talk. It’s like they think they’re going to have a fun, normal time (shame)… and then—they’re trapped in the absurd, awkward roller coaster that is my personality.

Oh, and don’t you dare feel sorry for my friends. They knew what they signed up for when they made the catastrophic mistake of befriending me. No sugarcoating, no coddling—just pure, unfiltered social chaos. They know it. I know it. And yet… they still invite me places.

Why? Well, either they have the patience of saints or a seriously concerning lack of self-preservation. Maybe both. Which means, at this point, it’s on them..

As for the hiking? That’s different. A post-hike coffee or feast with my fellow trail warriors? Non-negotiable. If that doesn’t happen, the whole hike did not even happen.

So to sum it up, BH (Before Hiking), I was a certified hermit. I despised people, crowds, and the soul-sucking horror of public spaces. AH (After Hiking—catch up, people), I still hate people, crowds, and public spaces... more, probably.

So, hiking did not “heal” me. It did not make me “whole.” It did not teach me to “love life.” Nope, still broken.....But it did give me a social loophole. And I’m absolutely loving it.