One thing that’s long been on my bucket list is to hike the Appalachian Trail. The trail is 2,190 miles long running from Georgia to Maine. Imagine! No tech, no obligations, just peace and beauty and a rewarding challenge. It sounds wonderful, but I shouldn’t go. It’s not just the problem of time and money, or that I’m out of shape and have zero wilderness skills, or that I don’t like being hungry, dirty, wet, cold, hot or tired, all of which define the experience. I’m sure these are all trivial problems that can be easily overcome. No, the insurmountable obstacle is that I suffer from a complete and total lack of direction. It doesn’t matter that the trail is well marked, and that there are maps, or that the compass has been invented. I’d be lost before I’d got out of the parking lot.

Somewhere out there there is a dog who understands me. I saw him when he was a puppy on a show called “Too Cute.” The episode followed a litter of puppies who were to be trained as agility dogs for competition. Everyone else in the litter had a great time. They raced up and down ramps and jumped through hoops, full of joy. But one pup, my spirit animal, just didn’t get it. No athlete, he couldn’t figure out what the fuss was about. He’d waddle vaguely up a ramp behind his brothers and sisters, then plop down with relief and bask in the sun.

One day, the task was to run through a tube. This should not have been difficult. The tube was only a few feet long, there was only one way to go, and the exit was large and clearly visible to the dogs the whole time. Everyone scampered happily through, except my puppy. He was baffled. Whining pitifully, he turned circles then tried to create a new hole through the side. I think that was the day the trainer gave up on him. He eventually found his forever home as a pampered lap dog, proving (in my opinion) that he was the smartest of the bunch after all.

This is me. I spend half my life looking for my car only to realize that I must have come out another way and am in the wrong parking lot altogether. I’ve been lost in many places, but my record was the night I got lost in my own tent. It was still daylight and I’d gone back to the tent to get a game or something. I crawled inside, and zipped up the door behind me to prevent bugs getting in. This was a mistake. When I turned around to leave, I unzipped — wait a minute, that wasn’t the door. How could that not be the door? We already had our sleeping bags in the tent with the feet pointed toward the door. Where else could the door be? I unzipped the next thing, and the next. How many windows does a two-man tent have??! Whining pitifully and turning circles, I tried everywhere. It felt like hours before I finally found the door and escaped.

So, the Appalachian Trail? I’d want to hike it with someone, but that’s not enough to save me. What if I went into the clump of trees just over there to go to the bathroom? Or wanted to turn around to pick up the thing I dropped? That would be it. Over. I’d never be seen again.

The trail calls to me. I am sorely tempted, but I must NOT go!

Anneli Byrd is an academic adviser in Weber State University’s Student Success Center.

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