The Woods

I'd completely run out of food in the backcountry of Alaska. We had drunk the very last of our olive oil seasoned with assorted spices and diluted down with hot water. The plan was to remain immobile in our tents to preserve energy until a plane could drop off our food. For years I had romanticized going into nature and exposing myself to the elements in full. While our food situation was resolved quickly, it has taken me years to unpack the re-wiring of my brain chemistry after living outside for a month.

We hiked upwards of 10 miles a day carrying all our belongings, while rarely seeing another human outside of our 12-person group. As an extremely out of shape 19-year-old with a primary diet of shitty beer and Chipotle, there was a lot of adjustment needed. I learned to eat and love the wide range of food we packed, especially onions. Our group became close over endless hours of conversation and our NOLS-gold colored poop due to our shared high-fat diet of blocks of cheese and butter. Living life outside made me feel that I had found my place. I was only a few hundred miles from the Bering Strait where our ancestors crossed into the Americas as fellow nomads. The views of nature were novel and surreal, and my body felt incredible being on a circadian rhythm alongside getting proper exercise for the first time in my life.

Enamored with the lifestyle, I began to consider and learn what it would be like to live my life off the grid for more substantial periods of time. Ultimately, I care too much about my family and friends to disappear from society entirely. While I'm not as messed up as Chris McCandless, there is something about living off the land and exiting society that remains alluring.

The quiet and simplicity drove me to insanity in a way. I started making Sudoku puzzles and scratching out nonsensical math problems just to keep my mind stimulated. I wanted the simplicity of living outside without the simplicity of having nothing to think about.

Building a startup from the ground up is a logical fit for me in hindsight. Volunteering to hike endless switchbacks enduring physical pain translated into a marathon of intense work and carpal tunnel. In the early days, the site would crash from high traffic nearly every weekend for months and I'd blindly be trying everything I could until I learned more. Letting down the team and our customers doesn't feel quite as existential after you've mentally prepared to starve in the Alaskan backcountry.

I'm currently living in New York City and am more excited about my work than I've ever been. Yet, nine years after my trip to Alaska, I cannot get it out of my head. I often think back to an empty bottle of Smartwater we found on the trip after not seeing any signs of human impact for days. If we had not picked it up, it would have likely blown around by the wind and slowly decayed over thousands of years. When I walk out of my apartment I think about Native Americans roaming around Manhattan, bears and deer in the forest, and men fishing out of wooden boats for striped bass in the Hudson.

One day I plan on going back to the woods when my work is done. When I return it will be for simplicity and peace. I'll probably need some people with me, a bit more mental stimulation, and some fishing poles.