Tails and Trails #2
Being Okay With Being Uncertain
Our next adventure takes place on the Loch Raven Reservoir Loop in Gunpowder Falls State Park, another hike that is less than a 30-minute drive from Baltimore. There are a plethora of trails to choose from in the Gunpowder/ Loch Raven area, but I highly suggest this one since you get a mix of forest and lake with stunning views.
Dog friendly
Not very well maintained, not many markings, and there were a lot of slightly overgrown areas and fallen trees when we went
Difficulty 3.5/5
Length: 5 miles
Bathroom: No
Best tip I have: Hike the loop counterclockwise. Normally I would save the best views of the hike for the second half, as I sort of like the build-up, however, the terrain alongside the lake is pretty rugged and demanding. We were thankful we started in this direction and had the easier part of the hike as our back half because we needed the fresh energy to get through some of the more challenging parts of the first few miles!
After grabbing the last parking spot in the small lot at the beginning of the trail, Louie, my boyfriend Nick and I set off into the thick brush of the Reservoir loop. I advocate wearing long sleeves as a lot of this trail is overgrown and a bit thorny. None of us three minded the extra foliage too much though; it seemed to pull us more into adventure mode and away from city life mode.
Within just a few short minutes we found ourselves a private span of beach and a spectacular view!
I am so thankful that Louie inherited my love of the water. Watching him splash around made my heart swell, as I saw absolute delight reflecting in his eyes when he looked at this lake. After a quick break in this first little paradise we found, we set back off onto the trail and made our way alongside the water. The path was very narrow with variable gradients, and a heck of a lot of fallen trees to scramble over (well, I scrambled, Nick and Louie made hopping over them look easy). We trekked single-file and about one mile in decided to switch up our order from Louie, Me, Nick to Louie, Nick, and then me. I am very happy we shuffled when we did because the trail became pretty arduous, and I needed both hands leash free to progress over some rocks and more trees.
Being the caboose was also fun because I got to admire how surefooted both Nick and Louie are, lightly bounding and maneuvering over the trickiest parts of this trail. It was hard not to commend Nick’s confidence in his steps and agility in a rocky situation, especially since we were cliff-side and one wrong move could send us tumbling into the water and injury.
My absolute favorite part of this hike was when we stopped at an opening by the lake to relish in the view. We perched on top of a rock and on a whim, I decided to jump in the lake. Seeing how eager Louie was running around on this rock, getting as close as he could to the deep water made me curious about how an impromptu swim lesson might go. So I hopped on in and grabbed Louie for his first time swimming in deep water. He was a mix of absolutely terrified/wanting to cling onto me for dear life and yet so full of fervor and glee when doggy paddling.
After getting him comfortable in the water, we decided to see if he was brave enough to jump from the edge of the rock to me, just a couple feet away. The sight of my little guy soaking wet with legs anxiously quivering on the side of the rock is something I’ll never forget. His eyes were fixated on mine as I coaxed him to jump- wide brown irises so expressive I could almost hear them asking “ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?!” in reply to me promising I would be there to catch him.
The look in Louie’s eyes reminded me of something I think that we are all going through right now, an overwhelming fear of uncertainty. I’m finding that trying to determine the correct next steps to take “post-COVID” feel just as precarious as the steps I was taking on this uneven cliff-side hike.
I’m going to do my best to delve into the topic of “post-COVID” life without using the phrases “new normal” or “unprecedented times,” I know we’re all sick of those. At the beginning of this pandemic, I used another phrase so frequently: “When this is all over… blank blank blank.” I’ve been putting the term “post-COVID” in quotations because even though it seems like we are approaching that time that should be the “all over” part, we are obviously so far from that.
We’re more so in this weird gray area, where most of us are not on statewide order to stay tucked away in our homes anymore, but navigating life outside our homes is weird and awkward.
When this all started in March, I was not too perturbed by quarantine life. The whole situation kind of brought me back to my childhood, where growing up in Florida I became accustomed to Hurricane season every year. Once something was assigned a name and the news said it was on its way to you and to hunker down, you grabbed some toilet paper and water and you hunkered down.
And so life in isolation went, we adapted to working from home, got our virtual socialization on, and had some fun making bread and watching Tiger King. Now that months have gone by it seems like we are reaching an expiration date on how long humans can keep themselves busy without the stimuli of other things they are used to having in their everyday lives. It’s not even clear if we are closer to the hurricane being past us or if we are in the eye of the storm, and every day our world becomes more and more divided by opposing viewpoints on masks, BLM, politics, you name it. But there is one thing that unifies us all, and that is uncertainty.
I can’t help but wish there was a way to navigate these times the same way Nick and Louie were able to navigate Loch Raven Loop. I keep thinking there has got to be more discernible information, like a universal mask etiquette handbook or something, but there sure isn’t. It’s scary to think that life moving forward is going to look more like me in my slippery shoes, hoisting myself over humongous trees and awkwardly jumping down paths where one misstep could send me tumbling.
So how do we come to terms with this, and let go of our need for familiarity, clarity, and stable ground? How do we accept a “new normal” (cringe) if we have no idea what that is going to be?
“Being okay with being uncertain” is a concept that has been reiterated many times in self-help books. In The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, Mark Manson relates the feeling of uncertainty to his idea on Feedback Loops from Hell
“The more you try to be certain about something, the more uncertain and insecure you will feel. But the converse is true as well: the more you embrace being uncertain and not knowing, the more comfortable you will feel in knowing what you don’t know.”
In Unfu*k Yourself: Get Out of Your Head and Into Your Life, Gary John Bishop proffers the idea of this black hole we call uncertainty being a place of potential growth:
“Our obsession with certainty can be tragic and counterproductive for two reasons. First, uncertainty is where things happen. Uncertainty is your personal pathway to opportunity. It’s the environment in which you grow, experience new things, and produce new, unprecedented results. Uncertainty is where new happens.''
I could sit here and regurgitate quotes about uncertainty from books with F words in the title all day. But no matter how you rework or rearrange the sentiment, it remains to be very difficult to integrate into everyday life.
I also realize that it might seem out of place to consider that the uneasiness we feel from a global pandemic and the change that is taking place around us (most of it being so heavy and overwhelming) is something we can use to grow.
But being okay with being uncertain, to me, is less about completely letting go of all fixations on the future, and more about taking a breath and reconsidering what is happening in the now. This inevitable change from the outside, good or bad, welcome or unwelcome, can be a catalyst for something positive. We may not know what lies ahead of us or what big changes are to come from an election, the progression of the BLM movement, or this global pandemic. But with small brave steps, we can use the present to become educated, to self reflect, and to reexamine growth possible in the now.
There was a point when I was coaxing Louie to jump to me where I saw his legs becoming so unsteady he was almost falling on the rock, and I nearly gave up and said “well maybe next time.” While I was ready to move on with the hike and resolved that we would try again in the future, Louie decided he had other plans. Out of nowhere he fully committed, launching off the rock and into the depths of uncertainty. The landing was less than perfect, he actually ended up flailing mid-air and scratched the crap out of my face, but he did it! It was an uplifting moment of bravery that energized me for the rest of the hike, where my steps continued to be clumsy and unsure, but I continued to take them one after the other.
