Written by: Brandon Imp

This is the story of transition. Get from point A to point B in two worlds – simultaneously. Physically, I must get from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine. In life, I must get from an academic-focused lifestyle to a career-oriented lifestyle. HOW DO I GO ABOUT THAT? How do I transition in the real world while being practically removed from it? Agh! The challenge!

This is my plan: be awesome. The traditional, American word “awesome.” Figure out what needs to be accomplished and use all of my available resources to reach that goal. My resources include, but are not limited to: my mind, my body, my parents, my sister, Cornell University, my friends, time, my story, my smile, and my lack of an oral filter. The physical goal, walking over 2,000 miles, is straight forward. Eat, sleep, walk, repeat. The life goal, transitioning from academia to a career, is complex. I set myself up with potential employment for the fall. Hopefully, that will pan out. The year after is medical school (?). I need to apply right now to be considered fro 2011 enrollment. I will need all of the above resources to accomplish this task. Let’s focus on one: my story.

For an initial background, check out our “About Us” page on the website (link on the right!) The rest. I have no idea how I got to be the way I am or where I am. I moved from Illinois after 4th grade to New Jersey. For almost four years, I had few close friends. I did not understand how to branch out. I was good in school, but nothing too special (in my opinion). Then, in 8th grade, I joined theatre. It was excellent and suddenly my friendship circle expanded in all directions. High school hit and I was enrolled in all honors courses. Why? I have no idea. It just happened. I realized the classes were not as difficult as the hype said they were. Looking back, friends say I got smart in 9th grade. Whatever, I will take it. High school continued: theatre, clubs, friends, craziness. I applied to colleges and was rejected from my top three schools. What was left was Cornell University and a few others. I applied to Cornell on a whim and against my parents wishes (honestly, I did not like the other Ivy’s I had visited and figured I worked too hard to deny myself a chance at an ideal Ivy education). I visited Cornell, figured it was pretty sweet, and went. I fought with the school to fix my education the way I preferred – went against the norm by entering as a non-pre-medical Biology major, internally transferred colleges, did theatre for kicks, studied abroad, and graduated early. Cornell, as it should, beat the crap out of me during sophomore year. Life continued, and I switched tracks from research to medical. Life was on the upswing, I developed a life pan, and pieces gradually fit together. Then, I graduated and left society. Here I am.

But why the Appalachian Trail? What has directed my life of strong academia and suburban glory to the mountains? Honestly, the challenge. I cannot refuse a great challenge. I am not an athlete, I am not a hiker, and I am focused on my future. Hiking the Appalachian Trail directly conflicts with each of those. So, if I complete a thru-hike, I will be more well-rounded. Right? RIGHT?

We will see.

In the mean time, I will think about chocolate pudding.

Written by: Brandon Imp

I was homesick once. It was winter break December 2009, the one immediately following a great semester in Rome. Already in Europe, I decided to keep traveling for a few weeks, so I found myself in Venice with friends Alisa and Katie. It was the last day in Venice and my friends left early for Barcelona; I would be leaving later that night for Bologna. Venice was flooded (two feet deep in water), the city was cold, and I had the impossible task of finding my sister a specific twisted glass ring streaked with blues and golds. This was the one thing Kate REALLY wanted from Europe. To make the task more challenging, the style had been discontinued over the summer. I searched all day, swishing through the flooded alleys in my drenched, beaten sneakers and a constant shiver down my spine. Nothing.

Around three in the afternoon I walked into a unique canal-side store. It was obvious these pieces were hand-crafted rather than mass produced for the tourist market. A man and woman were talking in Italian while I browsed the collection; they were talking about recent sales to American museums. I chose a small jewelry box for my grandmother and struck up conversation during checkout. The woman, it turns out, was the provider of precious stones and glass products to the American Museum of Natural History and other large establishments. She had never been, so I told her about the rooms of dinosaur fossils and the semi-secret room full of gems from all over the world. The man joined in the conversation, confessing that he was the keeper of a gallery containing religious Venetian paintings. Tired and craving a dry, warm place, I followed the man down the canal to the gallery. He gave a personal tour of the gallery, bringing out relics from thin air to physically show me the inspiration for the paintings. We went through the entire gallery in such a manner; at the end he asked, “Why Venice? You were not looking for this gallery, but you came here. What are you looking for?” I explained my search for the ring, and admitted that I accepted the tour for a change of pace. Unphased, the man told me of an area I had not yet explored. The area is where the oldestgondolamakers work, at a point that juts into the river. I may find my ring there. I left.

The weather worsened as I got closer to my newest destination. The drizzle turned into rain which turned into a downpour. I kept going, hoping for that darn ring. Shop 1: closed. Shop 2: closed. Shop 3: closed. I kept going, thinking the closings were due to flooding and off-season. I made it to the boatyard. The incomplete gondolas bounced in their watersheds. I was the only person out. The stores were all closed. The rain turned sideways and bit my face. A wave of defeat was creeping over me when my umbrella (or poor excuse of one) tore to shreds in the wind. With a metal stick in hand, an incomplete improbable task, and being alone in a foreign, terrible environment, I wanted to go home. Crawl into my twin sized bed and snuggle with my dog. I wanted a glass of chocolate milk with a side of bacon. There was nothing worse than what was happening at that very moment. I was homesick. I left.

The walk back to my hostel was miserable. Everything was drenched, and I barely had a second pair of clothing packed for the next three weeks. This was not what I wanted on vacation. Wandering the alleys in the general direction of the hostel (as Venice is not made for street signs nor direction), I bumped into a new square. There was one store open. As if driven by an undead zombie-like force, I walked into the store and sifted through the rings. There, at the bottom of the container, was the ring. The size was right, the colors almost a perfect match. I splashed my way to the counter and choked back tears. Five euros later I was in heaven. I jumped in the puddles on the way home. I treated myself to a chocolate. I blow dried my shoes a little, climbed onto a taxi boat, and was on my way to Bologna. I have never been homesick since.

Written by: Brandon Imp

Oh man! Remember in eighth grade algebra when variables were introduced? The students’ minds were blown away. Unknown quantities and figures, oh my! Thankfully I was a smart, obedient student which led to an easy A for the class (don’t worry, Calculus 2 kicked my butt four years later). Anyway, the unknown variables! I laughed at them, owned them, and moved on. There was always a correct answer, and there was always a set of rules to follow to arrive at the answer.

If only life was still that simple.

There have been a billion (plus some) unknown variables since Algebra, with most of them leading to the wrong answer. And honestly, getting the wrong answer is frustrating! When did this intelligent, good-natured kid start living the seriously goal-hindered life? The first half of college.

College was rough, but worth every second. Sophomore year sucked! I was told my life could be one of two things: do research or be a doctor. So, I pursued research. I got the research jobs, scholarships, and internships that every young scholar dreams of. However, I could not get past the question, “So what?” The question negatively affected my determination and curiosity. Frustrated, I spent a semester in Rome. One morning (while living in Rome) I woke up, relieved, and said out loud, “Yeah, I’ll be a doctor.” That was that, and life made sense again.

The intelligent, good-natured kid began living again. I had faced tons of variables, instigators, limitations, and excitations, but none of them mattered. None of them told me to be a doctor; it just, happened. My decision did not follow some formulaic rationality. I listened to my dreams, nature, and intuition, coming to the conclusion that medical school was the correct answer.

So, what’s the point of this story? When someone asks, “Why would you EVER hike the AT,” I respond, “Because it’s the correct answer for me.” Forget the justification and rationale! This is it, and I trust myself. If you need to ask again, you should find your Rome and get reacquainted.