How would you feel if you never tried?
maybe it's time to shoot your shot
Wild Letters is a newsletter about self-exploration and building a right-fit life.
Thank you for being here with me!
My dear reader.
Imagine for a moment that we are sitting together on a cozy couch, each holding a mug of something warm and delicious. You notice that I keep shifting around, unable to settle, and from that you can tell that I’m a little nervous, a little excited, about whatever it is that I’m about to say.
It’s in this sweet mood of anticipation that I begin today’s letter, a more personal one than usual in which I’ll share something I’ve been dreaming about, working on, and trying for, something that fascinates me and terrifies me in equal measure.
Here we go.
This starts, like many things do, with desire.
It starts with me admitting to you that there is something I want.
Something that feels impossible to achieve.
And yet I have thought about this seemingly impossible thing almost every single day for the past five years.
Five years, it turns out, is quite a long time to want something. I tried to stop — to stop thinking about it, stop wanting it — I tried and I tried. It would be so much easier, I told myself, if you did not want this particular thing.
The pandemic came, and I still wanted it. I lived in a 20 square foot van, and I still wanted it. I moved to Massachusetts, and I still wanted it. I published two books, and I still wanted it. I adopted a puppy, and I still wanted it. I hiked another 1,500 miles, and I still wanted it. I had a mental health collapse, and I still wanted it. I quit Instagram, and I still wanted it. I got married, and I still wanted it. I adopted a second puppy, and I still wanted it. My endometriosis got worse, and I still wanted it. I built up my offline life in lovely ways, and I still wanted it, still wanted it, still wanted it.
Well fuck, I finally said to myself last autumn, five years into all that interminable wanting. Now what?
There are many different ways I could begin this story.
There’s one about Michael Jordan, one about sushi, one about fantasy novel assassins, one about cancer, and in the coming weeks I’d like to tell you all of them, but first I need to skip to the end and tell you this:
This spring I’m going back to the Arizona Trail. I’m going to hike as hard and as fast as I can for those 800 miles, and I’m going to try like hell to break the women’s self-supported speed record.1
That trail, that record, is the thing I have thought about almost every single day for the past five years. Seemingly impossible, since nothing in my athletic background says I’ll be able to do a hike anywhere near this level.
But five years of attempting to logic myself out of this dream didn’t work. It didn’t stop my longing to just… try. And so, sitting around the fire on last year’s autumn equinox, I took out a small piece of paper and a pen, and I wrote:
Babe, do you want to be stuck still wanting this same exact thing for another five years? How would you feel if you never tried? What’s worse: failure or regret?
And then, right before throwing the paper into the fire as both a blessing and a prayer, I turned the paper over and on the back of it I wrote three more words:
Let’s fucking go.