episode 1
I didn’t notice how loud my life had been until it went quiet.
One moment, the truck engine ticked in the cool air.
The next, only the creak of pines and the whisper of ferns brushed against the edges of my thoughts.
It felt like the forest was asking a question I didn’t have an answer to yet.
And maybe that’s why I was here.
The pack on the passenger seat looked heavier than it should.
Books I probably wouldn’t read.
A tin cup.
A journal.
My father’s wool blanket, even though I had a sleeping bag.
The emergency poncho Gina made me bring, stuffed into a side pocket—
mostly to end the conversation.
I waited before opening the door, letting myself feel the difference:
the faint hum of human life on one side of the glass,
and on the other, everything I hadn’t let myself hear in months.
When I stepped out, the air wrapped around me like water around a stone.
Cool. Pine‑sweet. Almost like permission.
I walked slowly toward the trailhead.
One boot, then the other.
Past the last picnic table.
Past the sign about campfires.
Every step felt like peeling away something I didn’t need.
I thought of the last text from my sister:
Just let us know you’re safe.
And the sink full of dishes.
And Gina—Mom, if I ever called her that.
The brow that says I love you, but I don’t approve.
Maybe this was selfish.
Maybe it was brave.
Maybe I wouldn’t know until I stayed long enough to hear what the forest was trying to say.
I paused under a crooked cedar, hesitating.
The forest didn’t seem to care. Or it was just busy being what it was.
A chipmunk darted across the trail. “For its own urgent appointment.” I thought.
The whole world could take me or leave me.
But it was ok. It felt… steady. Like nothing I could do would rock its world.
I took a deep breath.
Then one foot.
Then the other.
The week had just gotten quieter outside, and I was waiting now for it to happen inside.
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Reflect...
What part of you keeps asking for silence—and why do you keep ignoring it?
I know there are plenty of good reasons why this doesn’t feel like the right time for silence. There’s work to be done. Responsibilities. And then there are the smaller, easier things—the distractions that seem harmless, but quietly take the place silence was asking for.
Letting silence into your life—letting it do what it’s meant to do—is a skill. One with its own awkward learning curve.
Start anyway.
Even if you’re bad at it. Even if it feels foreign, selfish, or irresponsible.
It gets easier. It becomes more of a friend. And you’ll be better for it.
(You could start now.)
Get the whole Journey
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