Struck Mute by Fear

Bill says he knows I was scared because I was so quiet. 

As an extreme extrovert, I hardly ever am noticed for my quiet demeanor. When he pointed this out, I knew it was true.

My otherwise bubbly, verbal chatter languished while an internal dialogue of fear raced inside my head, from the "what ifs" and "is this really designed properly?" to the self-soothing words to squelch the distress.

I've been zip lining twice and each time it takes more zips than not to overcome my fear. I stand on the platform, knees literally knocking (on this last trip, I suspect it was the persistent cool wind that fueled it most), before jumping off into the air, trusting the harness, my guides, and my own skill to remember to stop using my right, leather-clad palm behind me on the wire.

My friend Desiree posted on her Facebook page this morning, "Everyone's scared.
Few carry on. Keep calm, The Universe." She also posted this: "Your fears won't keep you safe. They will keep you small." 

She's a wise friend, and while I suspect she'd talk slightly differently about the fear that eclipses a soul on a treetop platform of a zipline course, I will still apply them here. They're relevant metaphors for this life experience. Zip lining, like hang gliding, like backpacking, life, or running one's own business has inherent things we perceive as dangers, places to slip, and points for failure.  But, if we never step off the platform we won't know what we can accomplish. And, once we're off, the rewards, the adrenaline, the celebration when we succeed what we set out to do absolutely rock!

Bill has lost more than 160 lbs. He knows. Hard work. Trust. Attitude. These things matter for any obstacle. Daily, he's forging new territory: zip lining, dance classes, dating, seeking out challenging and new life experiences.

Scott, me, Laura, Bill

Right now I'm facing fear of the unknown. I'm standing between the ever present challenges of self-employment and the equally challenging commitment to full-time work with an organization that is as close to my own heart as the blood in my veins. While the path ahead of me isn't quite clear, I know that I must trust and step boldly off the platform, so that I can land somewhere new. It's growth. It's evolution. It's life.

One Week, Two Restaurants

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In January I moved in with Marcus. The final and most “official” piece of my move-in wasn’t the bed, it was my coffee mug. Since our cohabitation began we’ve been sinking deeper into domesticity. We brought Annie The Dog home from our early-February travels. We’ve planted flowers, shrubs, and trees, built raised beds, and established, at least in theory, a household cleaning schedule. We’ve gotten the “family plan” for our cell phones, which feels to me like a really big deal because our data and payments are now hitched; this just feels like commitment (even more than moving in together).

With all we’ve done to mesh ourselves and our stuff in the 340 sq. ft. of this house, I think the thing I enjoy most is cooking together because making meals, nourishing our bodies, and collaborating over kale is frugal, healthy and fun.  Needless to say, between my explorations of the finer points of rehydrating and cooking dried beans (I still haven’t gotten it down pat) we haven’t eaten out too much. So, it’s with delight that we explored not one, but two, new restaurants in Asheville in the past week.

Because we so often return to places we know and love, it’s a perk that both restaurants at which we ate were new to us as well as being new to the Asheville community.

Last Sunday, ravenous from thoroughly cleaning our tiny abode then visiting friends in their new home, Marcus and I popped over to ZIA Taquaria. I ordered two tacos, a shrimp and a carnitas. Marcus ate a barbacoa plate. We ordered at the counter and found a table on the patio (farthest from where someone was smoking). The chips and salsa hit the spot for knocking off my immediate hunger, and I really liked the flavor of the salsa. 

In short order our meals arrived. I ate my shrimp taco first, and it was pretty good. It didn’t knock my socks off, but it had a pretty good flavor. The carnitas, on the other hand, was pretty gross. I ate a few bites of the greasy taco before I realized I could actually pour out all the oil that had settled into the bottom of my flour taco. When I talked to the waiter, who I believe may be a co-owner, about the grease in my carnitas he exclaimed that it’s meant to be that way. In my experience it’s not, especially because the fat didn’t seem like animal fat, it seemed like vegetable oil. It was odd and not particularly tasty. 

I thought Marcus’s barbacoa was pretty good, mind you, I’ve never eaten barbacoa in my life. I rated his meat as a B. He graded it at a C based on his experience growing up in Texas and traveling to Mexico a lot. His accompanying beans and rice were off somehow, though neither of us could tell how. It tasted like the cook got his hands on some Goya Adobo seasoning and used that exclusively for the beans. I’m glad we went to see what all the hype was about. I may get back that way for a margarita, chips and salsa at a future date, but I’ll refrain from ordering anything more substantial.

While our meal at ZIA was disappointing, we had lots to celebrate after our meal at Magnolia Ray in Woodfin last night. We went to dine out for the Y yesterday since 10% of certain restaurants’ profits were being donated to the YMCA Healthier Communities Campaigns. The ambiance, attentive staff, and the food were all top notch. Marcus ordered a Magnolia Ray Burger that came with caramelized onion and bacon. The burger and bun were melt-in-your-mouth delicious, topped with spinach, goat cheese, and properly caramelized onion. Most importantly, it was cooked to order, served medium, just as he asked. I ate Zucchini “un-tagliatelle” with chicken. The generous portion was well-seasoned, fresh, and hearty pasta-alternative meal. I had intended to hold back from eating it all in one sitting, but I just couldn’t stop myself from enjoying it all hot from the kitchen. Several friends I saw there that evening had shrimp and grits and reported satisfaction with the deliciousness of their orders (maybe I'll get that next time).

So, I’m back to bit of blogging, restaurant-dining and home-making. I hope you’ve been well.

Settling Into a Pace

I went for a run today, my first solo run in a very long time. Honestly, I was a bit apprehensive about it before I started. My hesitance came from not running frequently and the inclination I have to compare where I am now with where I was last year in regards to my fitness.


In any event, I was going. Marcus and I agreed that he would drop me off at the Orange Peel after we ran a morning errand so I could run the 3 or so miles distance back home. I unzipped my white fleece vest and left it in the passenger seat; I wouldn’t need it since the temperatures were already approaching 60 at 10:30 a.m.


I started to run, and I felt a tinge of ache in my right knee. This is something I’ve observed more regularly at the outset of my dance workouts. I worried for a split second about it, then noticed the employee of the new brewery Wicked Weed sweeping up cigarette butts off the sidewalk. And, as it happens, I slipped into a comfortable pace, churning up the slight hill of Biltmore toward Pack Square, past cute dogs on leashes, over top of the textured concrete of the new ALoft Hotel, and the bustling Bomba on the corner of Patton.


I zipped west on Patton Avenue, remembering as much as possible to soak in the perspective of the mountains that nestle this city and her residents close, providing nurturing, comfort, sustenance – like a good, round mother.


I cut through the used car lot and onto Clingman where gravity added ease to an already light run. I hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Over the French Broad on the Riverlink Bridge, I started the ascent of Haywood. As easily as I’d come down to the river, I was met with the challenge of climbing away from it. The gradual hill felt manageable at first, but as it extended beyond my sight, turning in a bend in the road, my mind said stop. And, in response, another strain said “it’s not how fast you get there, it’s that you get there.” Automatically my stride shortened. I took on a measured pace to more strategically tackle the long obstacle of my course.

“It’s not how fast you get there, it’s that you get there.”

I was talking to a woman at the Y the other day about hiking. She said she’s all for big vistas with sweeping views. If a hike doesn’t have that, she wants no part of it. Now I’ve always liked hiking in the forest, feeling safe and sheltered there. Despite the fact that I am just as happy without a view or a waterfall as with one, I shared with her a nugget of wisdom from my Appalachian Trail thru-hike that relates to my own revelation today, “it’s the journey not the destination.”


You can start the Appalachian Trail, but never finish it (or not finish it in the timeframe you intend). You may run a race but not finish it at the goal time you set. You may commit yourself to exercise but not see results as rapidly as you’d like.


It’s not how we do any of these things, but that we do them in the first place. That we try is they key, and that, in trying, we focus on where we are at, by noticing our surroundings, greeting people along the way, remembering to make it feel good will get us farther (and ultimately faster) than if we have to stop.


Often the lessons I gain on a run or on trail are messages intended for the rest of my life. I’ve been facing challenges lately that seem like long, winding uphills, where I just can’t see the end of where this path will take me. So I’ll figuratively shorten my stride and settle in to tackle it just as it appears.

15 Minutes A Day

I set out to write a blog post a day in 2012. It’s December 12 and I’ve reached the grand total of 44 posts. That’s an average of 3.6 per month. If I could look back on the me that started the challenge in January, I would probably feel disappointed that I didn’t make my goal. But the me that’s sitting in the now of falling short of my intention feels totally fine with my shortcomings – if I should even consider them such.

I realize that it was important to have the goal to strive toward. I did do more writing in the early part of the year, before I started dating Marcus, before I started writing even more for hire, and before I undertook more consulting projects.

I know that writing is an important exercise. Especially writing for myself. Writing my stories. Writing my experiences. Writing my truth. That’s something that writing for hire can’t do. When I work for someone else, it’s in my words, my style, my ideas on structure and organization, but it’s not the same as deciding this is 100% the most important thing to share with the world. It’s not necessarily my optimism, my joy, and my hope (though I do strive to find work projects that allow the good to shine through, because we have far, far too much bad news in this world).

This morning I was at the gym reading a magazine, and I read something about a woman who wrote ten books while working a full-time job. Ten. She wrote these ten books by writing for just15 minutes each day. 15 minutes. Every day. Her work. Her projects. Her books. She didn’t spend the whole day on it. She didn’t have time. She spent what she could eek out. Perhaps it was the first 15 minutes upon waking, or 15 minutes after a morning run, or 15 minutes after dinner. But the accumulation of 15 minutes, daily is 91 hours and 25 minutes in a year.

Really her challenge was not much different than the one I set out to tackle at the start of this year. A book, like a blog, is an accumulation of words, thoughts, and ideas. A book is a bit more refined because it’s organized in a cohesive manner, but a book and a blog are the same beast. They’ve got the same bones.

I return, again, to my 15 minutes.

The Courage of Discourse

I got a handwritten letter today. The letter came from someone I’ve never met. Carol lives in the nearby town of Marshall.  While I’m not sure how she got my address, I’m glad she wrote.

She wrote me this letter, explaining some of her decisions to vote democratic and for Obama in the upcoming election.

A letter from Carol Dixon

Before I opened the letter I considered it. I wondered if this hand written envelope enclosed a letter from someone espousing political views. Before I even opened the letter I thought about the fact that we do need to be using our voices, our pens, and the tools of communication to share our opinions with our neighbors.  We don’t have to agree, but we should feel empowered to discuss our ideas, even if those ideas are different from those of “our” established political party lines. This is the power of democracy that I feel is commonly overshadowed by media pundits, the commentary of editorial talk-show hosts, and the pervasive and simplistic arguments of “We’re right. They’re wrong.”

Not knowing what the letter would be before I opened it I decided that no matter the position presented, I would reply with a letter that acknowledges her feelings and opinions, and thanking her for writing to start the dialogue.

Thankfully, I opened the letter to find it expressed her personal opinions. Based on her life and family experience she intends to vote a straight democratic ticket.

What I didn’t find was a finger pointing at me with “you should” or “what you don’t know…” that I feel has slid into political discourse. That kind of dialogue devalues the listener. It supposes you are incapable of a decision. It supposes that you’ve given no thought or consideration to your experience and what you witness in your life. We all have opinions, experiences, and feelings. If we tune in to what’s inside us instead of repeating arguments or ideologies conveyed by the media, we’d be much closer to the democracy we claim to be part of as Americans.

I love that she wrote to start a conversation among her neighbors. I love that she wrote for what she believes in, based on her experience, to members of this county that are largely republican, and I love that she spent her hard earned money on the paper, envelopes, and stamps to send this mail to people.

I deeply respect that she has opened herself up to the dialogue with her neighbors, those who agree, and those who disagree. It may produce mail that is filled with vile and bitter tones, rather than a calm response of personal opinion in opposition that makes up a true discussion. Regardless, she has knowingly opened the door to this discourse, and I admire her courage.

I talk politics sometimes, but I generally do it in the company of close friends or relatives. I don’t generally use Facebook or Twitter for sharing my political opinions because I believe its purpose is to connect people, not divide them (and our current political structure is very divisive). But Carol’s letter reminds me that as long as what I present is my opinion, my feelings, based on my experiences, it’s a fine idea to talk politics, because this type of discourse is the cornerstone of our nation.

Perhaps, I’ve taken to heart the expression to not talk about religion, politics and money (or is it sex) in mixed company, to garner a more peaceable existence. Then again, if I do that am I short-changing what it means to live in a democratic society?

What do you think? Do you talk politics with your neighbors? Why? Why not? 

(I seek a civilized conversation. All comments are welcome as long as they are thoughtful arguments rather than combative assaults on a difference of opinion.)

Interview with PCT Thru-Hiker Anne Tully

Anne is a 2008 Appalachian Trail thru-hiker who said she’d never hike another long trail after completing the A.T. Two weeks later, she thought she might want to hike the A.T. again, but then didn’t give it much more thought. 

Four years later the urge to hike another long trail hit her hard. She started planning for the PCT at the end of 2011, and she and I met in March 2012 to talk about the similarities and differences of her experience on the A.T. and what she could expect on the PCT.

We talked again last Saturday, and I asked her about her experiences on the PCT and insights she gained on her 2012 PCT thru-hike.

When did you start at the Mexican border and when did you get to the end in Canada?

I started on April 20 and on September 4 I had made it to the border. I left through Manning Park on September 5.

Anne's trail name is Stride.

 I was talking to my aunt the other day, and realized, all of that is 2,700 miles.

What are your overall impressions of the PCT?

It’s interesting for me because I hiked a lot of it as a solo hiker. That’s a totally different experience than my A.T. hike where I had people with me. I walked at least 1/3 of the PCT alone and spent nights by myself. Northern California was the longest stretch where I was by myself.

When I look back at pictures I am taken back by how absolutely beautiful it was on the PCT. Moments I stopped in my tracks and was just literally in awe, but it didn’t make up for the fact that the trail was hard. When I talked to people before my hike, people told me I wouldn’t experience the physical pain of the trail because of the beauty. People romanticize the trail, in particular, the high Sierras. In fact, I think the Sierras were more difficult for me mentally; I became resentful because it was beautiful but it wasn’t enough to take the pain away.

At one point I was talking to [trail legend] Billy Goat, and he gave me the lesson I took away, to “take the trail for yourself.” Don’t allow other people to formulate your experience based on their experience.

There is stunning scenery, but you have to go in with the blank slate, without expectation, because it will likely be more difficult. If you go in with a romanticized vision you could be disappointed.

What was the best part of the hike?

Goat Rocks wilderness in Washington State is for sure a section that has stuck with me. When we went through the weather was perfect, the wildflowers, the lupine, were in full bloom. One fella I met had lived in the area for 57 years said he’d never seen the lupine in full bloom like that, ever. We had beauty of wild flowers everywhere and jagged rocks. You could see Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Adams you just finished walking around. Then, BAM!, Mt. Rainier. It was spectacular. There was lots of ridge walking there, and I liked that. 

In Oregon I liked the Three Sisters and Mt. Jefferson, and in California, Muir Pass was my favorite. I was blown away. It was one of the first times I felt truly stunned with what I was able to experience and live in.

What was the hardest part of the hike?

After I left Ashland Oregon alone, I was by myself for next three and a half days. Physically I was so tired. I had been doing 30-mile days in northern California. There were hikers ahead of me and hikers behind me. I couldn’t go any faster than the 30, 32, and 35-mile days I was doing in Oregon. I couldn’t slow down for people behind me to catch up because I was on a deadline to finish so I could return to work on time. I was by myself, feeling mental weariness. I was just struggling to stay in the game. I was hard on myself too. I just wanted to quit.

When I got to Crater Lake I really wanted to stop, and ask some tourist to take me away.

It was a time of growth, because I realized that I didn’t have a guarantee to finish the trail. It doesn’t matter how tough you think you are.

What kept you motivated to continue?

When I got to Crater Lake, I got food, and picked up my mail, but my maps weren’t there. That was almost the straw that broke camel’s back.

At the same time, I got mail from friend of mine that had letters of encouragement from other people. I sat outside and read all the letters. I was truly humbled that people would write me letters, and words of encouragement. There were letters from people I didn’t know. Those letters were awesome.

After that I had to go to the hiker box at the store. While I was there I talked to this girl, Jenna, and told her I was having a hard time. She and I talked for 5 or 10 minutes while I finished packing my food. She came back 20 minutes later with words of encouragement, energy bars, and invited me to her campsite for dinner. I ended up spending the night at her campsite.

It’s those kinds of interpersonal relationships with people, either in letters, or dinner with Jenna that kept me going. It was a rich experience to share life with people I wouldn’t have otherwise met. It was a beautiful experience that just connected for me, and gave me a morale boost.

What advice would you offer someone planning or starting a PCT thru-hike?

Try to touch base with as many people as you can who have hiked the trail to learn about their experience, but recognize that the weather is so variable. I talked to you, and you had a lot of snow. I didn’t have much snow but I had a ton of wind. A ton of wind. It was scary.

Be flexible in your mind. Maintain inquisitiveness the whole way. Ask people you meet along the way questions. I learned that people on the trail are very creative with their gear.

Lastly, be aware that there’s an obsession with ultra light hiking gear on the PCT. I probably, realistically, had forty people say, “wow, your pack looks heavy.” Even into Washington where I had walked 2,400 miles, they were still amazed. Ultra light isn’t for everybody.

I had a man challenge me about my tent, then lecture me about the number of ounces over 3 pounds. Ounces aren’t going to make or break my hike for me. That’s not important to me, but it was really important to him.

I encourage people to research it, learn from people, keep some perspective, and be confident in what you decide works for you. Be ready to pop off sassy comments; because people don’t get off the ultra light soapbox, I had to have my own.

The Northern California blues actually happened. It took me three months and week to walk California, two weeks for Oregon, and three weeks for Washington.

What did you do to prepare for the trail?

I felt really overwhelmed. I had a back injury the year I decided to do this. I had a strong conviction about hiking, so I took a slow, patient approach to physical activity until my back healed up. I did some running, and I did three day-hikes up to Wesser and back with food in my pack. I didn’t do much training.

From my Appalachian Trail experience I knew that if you are slow from the beginning, the trail will kick your tail into gear as it needs to be. Nothing prepares you for the trail except the trail. If I took it slow and mindful in the beginning my body would acclimate.

It takes realizing that the first couple of weeks does feel like work and is hard.

I had to be sensitive to the transition from normal life to trail life by understanding that I may feel overwhelmed at moments, because of the east coast to west coast culture change, by going alone, walking through the desert, and the elevation of the Sierras.

I had to start by learning about the first part of the trail, and then take the rest of it as it comes after that.

It’s cool when it moves from a feeling of working, to a feeling of a lifestyle. Eventually at some point you wake up robotically, pack up and start moving. You embrace it and enjoy it.

The same thing happened on the Appalachian Trail, where I felt like I can do this forever.

Name change

I just changed the name of the blog from "Shadow of the Moon" to Leanna Joyner.

May's Super Moon viewed from the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Shadow of the Moon referenced my trail name "Moonshadow" that has been my alter-identity on long-distance trails, the Appalachian Trail and Pacific Crest Trail, and in trail circles for nearly ten years.

Maybe one day I'll write about how I got my trail name, how it stuck, and my general thoughts on trail names as part of the hiking subculture, but for now, suffice to say that this blog is an outward expression of myself in this world, as so it will be named.

There's another reason, too. When I started this blog I wasn't sure what my presence would be online. I was wary of identity theft, unsure of my posting frequency, or if anyone but friends and family would read it. I'm moving beyond the anonymity I one sought here to claim the voice and opinions that I share.

Thanks for sticking with me along this journey. I'm having a lot of fun with it so far and hope to bring you much, much more.