I remember one English assignment in high school where we had to write a short story following the archetype of the Hero's Journey. It's the story we all know and love: our protagonist, called to adventure, becomes the hero of their world through extraordinary feats. A critical component of this story is the call: something, usually a catastrophic loss or change of circumstance, gets the hero off their ass and on the path to transformation. Odysseus is called to fight the Trojans and forsaken by his gods. Luke is pulled from Tatooine by Leia's distress call. Nemo touches the butt. I remember not doing that well on that assignment; my hero didn't have any cataclysm with which to contend, he just kind of... wandered off.

And that's what my life, for the most part, has pretty much been like. I'm lucky to say that I've been sheltered from a number of possible cataclysms, but I also know that those very upheavals are the impetus to growth. Without change, I can feel myself stagnate, wearing down the same familiar grooves of hedonism and doom-scrolling in complete comfort while opportunities to do good near and subsequently pass me.

So I wander.

I've found that there is no better way to turn my world completely on its head than to stumble into a place I have no business being. To constantly be coming and going, arriving and departing, to become familiar yet remaining completely a stranger. To drift. I learned that in Thailand 8 years ago - almost a third of my life now.

Drifting, like life, is full of contradictions. The experience is generally uncomfortable: hard beds, loud dorms, unfamiliar toilets, long hours on winding roads with drivers that would put Boston residents to shame - but there is also a profound comfort in the flow, the ethereal feeling of moving through places and people completely unencumbered, the pace your own to set, the expectations your own to hold and be beholden to. In this state I feel weightless, yet completely grounded in the moment. In the hazy lens of my memory, at least, it is an experience that hits me in full, blistering technicolor.

As soon as I started university after my time in Thailand, I knew that I had to wander off again. My freshman dorm felt like a prison (no offense my guys), and the existential dread came in waves that built upon each other to thrash me into the stained carpet of every room I rented throughout those years. It was never a question of if, it was a question of where and how soon. And it would have been 2020, but it couldn't be then so now it's now.

As for where, I'm going to Nepal. That's it that's all. I'm actually writing this on the plane. And why Nepal? Well.

The Relentless Pursuit of Local Maxima

My sister Julie was the first to get me out hiking, and she's always been my backcountry partner. Even before this year, we'd done some really cool stuff; my favorite was Cascade Mountain in Banff. She's also been trying to get me to climb for as long as I can remember, taking me to Earth Treks out in Crystal City, VA to boulder a few times, but for some reason it never caught on. I told myself it was because I had to keep my nails manicured for guitar, but that was a flimsy excuse. I hardly ever practiced anyway.

But something stirred when I came out to Seattle for the first time in 2019. I hadn't ever before had such easy access to the mountains, and the jagged granite spires of the Cascades are unambiguously beautiful. I knew I wanted to expand my scope of adventure, so I signed Julie, Greg, and me up for a crevasse rescue class in 2021 so we could take on some glaciers like Mount Rainier and Dakobed, but after one failed attempt at the latter, the season was already over. Finally, last August, at my wonderful girlfriend Lindsay's advice, I took the leap, got a climbing gym membership, and immediately became completely obsessed. The time since then has been a dogged rush to catch up with the experience I missed by starting so late. I managed several summits and found great friends and powerful experiences there, on Rainier, Dakobed, Hood, Ruth, Ingalls, and many others.

The question, "Why climb?" has gnawed at me since I began, and I'm still working on my answer. The magnitude of unmitigable risk we take on whenever we go into the mountains is staggering, no one can deny that, but so too is the majesty of these timeless cathedrals of rock. To rope up is to step into the ring with an ancient force of nature, a progenitor of entire ecosystems, an expression of Earth's awful might. To climb is to spar with Titans. It is beautiful and terrifying. Maybe I climb as a way to feel powerful, to forget how small I am. Or maybe I climb to remember exactly that. Maybe I climb as spiritual expression, to feel closer to my home planet as it feels we as a species are pushing it away. I don't know really, but I know that for some reason I just have to. Nepal seemed to me an opportunity to commune with the greatest titans we have, the (relatively) young guns of the Himalaya, and to see how the communities that live with them internalize the lessons they have to teach.

No, I'm not climbing Everest. The highest peak I will attempt will probably be Mera Peak, at 6,476 meters (21,247 feet). But what comes will come. I'll keep you updated.

For everyone I know at home and around the world, thank you for supporting me even when you think I'm crazy. While I romanticize drifting and fleeing attachment, I feel so loved and supported by my friends and family and I want you to know that I appreciate you and love you very much. I firmly believe that there is so much to learn here, and I can't wait to share it with you.