Written By: Katherine “Ringleader” Imp

I’m high. Right now. Sitting on the public bus. Listening to music. At 8am. Next to a dude that smells like urine. I’m high as a kite.

My mama told me when I was young
We’re all born superstars

Should I be waiting for the other shoe to drop? This is absurd! I haven’t cried once since leaving the trail. I haven’t felt angry or sad or lost or bored in 7 months!

She rolled my hair, put my lipstick on
In the glass of her boudoir

This can’t be normal. Maybe I should see a doctor about this.

There’s nothin’ wrong with lovin’ who you are,
She said, ‘Cause He made you perfect, babe

Or maybe . . . I finally found it.

So hold your head up, girl and you’ll go far,
Listen to me when I say

The perfect high.

I’m beautiful in my way,
Cause God makes no mistakes
I’m on the right track, baby

Before law school, I taught a few wilderness courses with Outward Bound and Landmark Volunteers and one of my favorite stories to share was, “The Perfect High,” written by Shel Silverstein. It’s a story about a drug addict, named Gimmie-Some-Roy, who was in search of the perfect high. He went “up a trail no man could conquer, to a cliff no man could climb. . . . He’d sit and cry, then climb some more, pursuing the perfect high.”

And of course good ole’ Baba Fats, whose wisdom Roy had sought, gave the answer that no one likes, which was: Find it in yourself!

Great poem. Great writer. Great message. But I’m not sure I completely agree — If I had found the “perfect high” within myself before the trail, would I have ever attempted a thru-hike? Would anyone?

I’ve always been intrigued by nature’s ability to transform. It’s the sole reason why I worked for Outward Bound, why I obsess over the show Survivor, and why I threw myself (and my two closest loved ones) on a trail for 5 months. When you take away comfort, familiarity, and societal norms, and throw yourself into a pool of strangers, you are bound to learn something. Outdoor adventure is a catalyst to finding that perfect high.

Kurt Hahn, the founder of Outward Bound, once said, “There is more in us than we know. If we can be made to see it, perhaps for the rest of our lives we will be unwilling to settle for less.”

On the Appalachian Trail, some people found that “perfect high” in the tranquility of its natural landscape. Some found it in the social community or physical challenge. And some found it in a joint. But for me, the perfect high came from the journey of it all.

Hiking in the woods for five months was hard. Traveling in a group was harder. Traveling with a camera and time constraints nearly broke us. But we all came out of it . . . better. Better at relationships, better at communication, better at understanding our own needs and wants, and most importantly, better at finding that perfect high we all strive for.

My name is Ringleader. I practice law, and watch Survivor, and listen to Lady Gaga. I like pushing boundaries, breaking stereotypes, and doing things that scare me. I dream big. I created this blog/documentary to spread love, knowledge, and inspiration onto others as my mentors have done for me. I’m high as a kite. This is only the beginning. Keep up with me.

I was born this way ….

Sometimes, when I’m on the bus, or at my desk, or even when I’m out with friends, my mind wanders to those moments. Those moments of physical exhaustion and mental strife. I remember the days that I was so tired I couldn’t find the energy to eat. I remember the days where every step sent a bolt of pain through my knees and broken toe. But worst of all, I remember the loneliness. I never knew what lonely was until I went on the trail. I remember taking breaks to cry. I’d put my pack down and I would just cry. For hours. Alone. On the side of a mountain.

And sometimes, when my mind wanders to these moments, I think … why? WHY. Why do we do this to ourselves? Every thru-hiker has been there, whether they admit those moments or not. And often times it is these moments that make people quit. Hell, it almost got me.

And then I force my mind into a better place and I remember. I remember Emily’s laugh in the tent at night. I remember Bran’s monkey noises over lunch. I remember the joy that one small can of orange soda could bring. So many thoughts come rushing to my mind while I stare at the inbox of my Outlook account or pay the bartender for a round of drinks at happy hour — the smell of pine trees, the fresh spring water, the stars, the cows, the hitchhiking, the trail magic, the clouds MY GOD HOW ALIVE WE FELT and that’s why. That’s why we endured. That’s why the trail is magical. That’s why an experience like this stays with you forever.

It’s been four and a half months since I finished the trail and I feel the weight. And I’m not talking about the 20 lbs. that have made their way back to my stomach and thighs. I’m talking about the memories that both haunt me and bring me joy. And it is this weight that makes me feel closer to my thru-hiking community more than ever. 

Written by: Katherine ‘Ringleader’ Imp

In 3rd grade, my teacher gave me a detention for staring out the window during class. That’s all I remember from the 3rd grade.
……….

In college, I met this lawyer guy. I asked him if I should take time off before attending law school. I don’t remember much of anything I learned in college, but I remember the answer to this question: “Picture yourself in, let’s say, a contracts class in law school. Are you looking at the professor or are you staring out the window?”

I planned a trip to Europe the very next day.
……….

When I graduated from college, I crammed 5 years of livin’ into 8 months of freedom. I knew that I wanted to go to law school, and I didn’t want to put it off, but I also didn’t want to spend 3 years and $100,000 to stare out the window.

So I took that advice to heart and dreamed like I was livin’ forever, and lived like I was dying tomorrow. I went to Europe. I led canoeing trips in the Everglades for delinquent kids. I danced at music festivals. I built homes for Hurricane Katrina victims and watched Barbara Streisand movies while couch surfing in Fairhope, Alabama. I dyed my hair purple. I lived out of my car. I hugged my dog.

And I didn’t stop there. How could I??? I had too many dreams!!! So I kept goin’ — I traveled with my brother, with friends; hell, I traveled alone. I led a trail maintenance crew in Maine, I meditated in Sicily, I painted orange trees on an Italian organic farm and worked on a vineyard in the south of France. Shit I even slept on the floor of a cargo boat just so I could watch the sunset from Santorini.

And when law school orientation came around, I thought I was ready. Ready to be an adult. Ready to be serious. Ready to give back to a world that has given me so much joy.

And then I got to window dreamin’ again.

And I realized somethin’.

I DON’T HAVE TO CHOOSE. We don’t have to choose. I love the field of law, and I’m excited to have a career, but window dreamin’ is a part of who I am. And no matter how many times I, a teacher, or someone I know, tries to kick that from my system, it will always be a part of me.

And so I dreamed a new dream. And 3 years later I was standing on top of Katahdin.
……….

Now that I’m back home, I’ve got commitments and responsibilities like everyone else—commitments towards my friends, family, job, and creditors—but I’m still me. I’m still the girl who painted orange trees and slept on the floor of a cargo boat. And while this may be a sign that I’m finally grown up, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop being me.
……….

A month and a half after summiting “Big K”, I find myself on a plane headed to Florida on business. Starin’ out the window of aisle 18. Smiling. It’s time to dream a new dream.