OLYMPIC NATIONAL FOREST, WA:
Fueled by confidence from my last waypoint, I felt optimistic about my search for a new trail. The Olympic National Forest resonates with my spirit. I rise early, embarking on a serene two-hour drive to the Lower Lena Lake Trailhead, located off HWY 101 on N Hamma Hamma Rd (NF-25). It was a delightful early morning journey through Olympia on the way to the peninsula. This drive, much like my previous ones, was a meditative experience, filled with gratitude accompanied by the soundtrack of Kelly’s playlist. As you’ll discover, my gratitude at this waypoint relates to the ‘thought’ I brought on the trail—an exploration into the role of the mind, heart, and soul, and how it can manifest into something ‘real.’ I arrived at the Lena Lake/Brothers Trailhead by 7 AM, ready for this exciting 8.5 mile out-and-back hike with a 1,693′ elevation gain, which gave me about 4.5 hours on the trail.
The Journey…
As I stepped onto the path, I could feel the rhythm of the hike would be different than my previous ones. This trail revealed a steady ascent, a gentle climb that served as a great metaphor for life’s journey—one foot in front of the other, embracing each step as it came. The trail had deep veins with a stunning network of roots, a testament to time and resilience. I was surprised by the number of rocks embedded in the path; they reminded me that sometimes, the road can get a little bumpy. On my return, I might trade my trusty hiking shoes for boots, just for that extra bit of stability—like life, it’s about finding your footing, isn’t it?
While this trail had its share of fellow hikers, there was still a sense of solitude. That was until I had a rather amusing encounter. As I approached a fallen tree, an impressive giant that had toppled over, I couldn’t help but marvel at its roots, exposed and vulnerable. It felt almost forbidden to gaze upon such a secret, like peeking into The Upside Down from Stranger Things. In a moment of whimsical connection, I turned to the neighboring tree and said (out loud), “Sorry bud, looks like you’re next.” Strange, I know, but just then, a fellow hiker appeared behind me. Embarrassed by my outburst, I explained, “I don’t usually talk to trees!” He chuckled and replied that he was about to say the same thing to that very tree. It was a delightful reminder that we’re all on our own quirky paths, sharing the same trail.
As I continued, the Lower Lena Lake Trail eventually ascended to a stunning lookout point, where I perched on a large rock, gazing out over the tranquil waters of Lena Lake nestled in the mountains. It was a peaceful pause, a moment to breathe and appreciate the beauty that surrounded me. I pressed on to the end of the lake, where the river flowed gracefully into its depths. Though this would be the only river I encountered for the day, the sound of rushing water was with me at many turns, a reminder that beauty doesn’t need to be seen to be enjoyed. The descent felt quicker, like the release of a breath held too long, yet I remained cautious, careful not to let my guard down and risk an ankle-twisting stumble. By the time I reached the trailhead, I gave a satisfying exhale, recognizing that my weariness was a sign of a day well spent.
Gratitude…
If you’re familiar with my musings, then you know I like to begin with gratitude, an important staple in my life. This week’s gratitude relates to my “trail thought” for the day—how the mind, heart, and soul can manifest into something very ‘real’ when you need it. Some time ago, a brave soul asked me to describe the pain and sadness that accompanies profound loss. I don’t recall how I responded, but I’m sure I attempted to use words to describe something indescribable. This morning I realized that I just may have a way to touch its edges—how I spend time on these early morning drives. My drive is connected to Kelly through our shared love of music, listening to her playlist. My mind leads me there, typically from a memory or a particular song; triggering a feeling, in my heart; and landing on a connection, bringing us closer. This morning, I paid special attention to these details, to see if it could be described in any meaningful way. So, this will either make sense, or not, but I’m good with that if you are…
I’ve found that there’s a unique kind of sadness that creeps in when you lose someone closely connected to you, a sadness that feels starkly different from the loneliness we might associate with being alone. It’s a profound ache, one that often begins with a thought, like a whisper of an image from the past, triggering a cascade of feelings that connect your mind, heart, and soul in a way that’s both beautiful and heartbreaking. For me, this happens on these early morning drives when the world is still quiet, where I can finally hear my thoughts without the noise of distractions that usually fill my day (some by design). It’s in these moments, that I find myself reflecting. As I listen to Kelly’s playlist, memories swirl around in my mind—tiny snapshots that tug at my heart, pulling me into a deeper understanding of what’s been lost.
At times, this feeling hits me like a series of waves. It starts with a memory, something mundane yet precious, and suddenly I’m reminded of her absence in the most visceral way. I glance at the empty passenger seat where she once sat beside me, and it feels like a punch to the gut. I’ve heard people describe that sensation as a “pit in your stomach,” but I never truly grasped it until recently. For me, this feeling doesn’t start or just sit in my stomach; it begins as a thought, a memory that triggers a certain tightness in my throat. That tightness descends, settling in my chest, radiating through my arms, creating an uncomfortable mix of anxiety and adrenaline, the precipice for panic. It’s as if there’s an electric current surging through me, like an internal goosebumps sensation that floods my body. It’s at that point when I feel like a marionette with strings being pulled downwards, the audio version of this would be a “bass drop” where everything in the song slows down and morphs into something else. With each tug of that string, that feeling deepens with a heaviness, a void, that pulls me down but also requires me to be ultra present with it.
What I’ve learned on this journey is that when I allow my mind, heart, and soul to work together, they can create something tangible, something real. It’s a blend of sadness and connection that, while painful, also brings me closer to Kelly’s spirit. My gratitude for the day is that I get to have these moments, and I would not have known about them unless I stepped out on the trail. Life has a way of guiding you in the right direction if you’re paying attention. With that, it should be no surprise that the thought I brought on the trail today is the role the mind, heart, and soul.
Then I reach that moment—the moment where I look back at the empty seat—I can feel her there. It’s a connection that transcends the physical; it’s a sense of her presence that almost grabs my hand at the center console, making me feel both the weight of my loss and the warmth of our shared memories. I don’t often speak aloud to her, but in these moments, words slip out, almost uncontrollably. “Ah, there you are,” I find myself saying, a small acknowledgment of the bond that remains unbroken. This bittersweet experience is something I’ve come to cherish during my morning drives to the trailhead. It’s a gift I wouldn’t have discovered if I had allowed the distractions of a normal day to take hold. In that stillness, the sadness transforms into something else—something real and profound, a reminder that my love for Kelly continues to exist, even in her absence. The idea that “Life ends, but the relationship does not” reflects this sentiment of enduring love transcending physical existence.
Reflections…
At each waypoint, I lace up my hiking shoes and step onto a new trail, using the serenity of nature to contemplate my thoughts. The ever-flowing rivers, the gentle whispers of the wind, and the stillness of a lake untouched, creates a perfect backdrop for reflection, allowing me to explore gratitude and the complexities of loss. At this waypoint, I pondered the roles of the mind, heart, and soul in the landscape of grief and personal growth, and what role this powerful trio may play in what we come to perceive and believe as “real.”
Since Kelly’s passing, I’ve been gifted with experiences shared by others, moments where her presence was felt. Whether it was a sudden change in weather, a perfectly timed song, a vivid memory, or even some form of communication, these instances serve as spiritual whispers, reminding me that she is still with us, within us, using our minds, hearts, and souls to manifest into real connections. I’ve learned that the names we give to these experiences—be it spiritual communication or mere coincidence—matter little. What truly matters is the authenticity of each experience, and how they echo across the hearts of those who share them. As I followed the path today, I recalled a quote from Dag Hammarskjöld: “The greatest journey is the journey inward.” This perspective resonated with me as I considered how my mind, heart, and soul contribute to my understanding of loss. Each step became a conversation with nature, a reflection of my inner world. And, as you read from my daily gratitude, this started a couple hours before even hitting the trailhead.
The mind is a powerful tool. It guides our perception of reality, allowing us to revisit memories that can feel so vividly real. Just the other day, I awoke in a moment that felt like a lucid dream, gently getting out of bed as if not to disturb Kelly, who I thought was still fast asleep. The realization of her absence hit hard, but it also underscored the mind’s incredible power to create emotional truths. If Kelly were actually there, it would not have felt more real, which begs the question, what is ‘real?’ While the mind can help navigate the deep forest of grief, it can also get stuck in a tree, trapped in a cycle of rumination, where negative thoughts spiral endlessly. I’ve found grief to be a fluctuating journey, much like the unpredictable stock market—at times, sorrow feels volatile and overwhelming, but I trust that resilience and acceptance will become the long-term investment that pays off over time. I channel my mind through the activity of journaling, a creative outlet that provides clarity and emotional regulation. If I was a golf cart, journaling is my governor. Engaging in cognitive behavioral techniques, like CBT, helps a bit, to acknowledge negative thoughts and replace them with more constructive ones. My mind can be both a sanctuary and a battleground. As I’m in this constant state of learning, I rely on my mind for self-awareness and expression along this healing path.
Then there’s the heart—the emotional center that feels love, sorrow, and joy. My heart connects me to the memories my mind produces, tying stories to feelings. Maya Angelou said, “They will never remember what you said, but they will remember how you made them feel.” It’s the feelings that are imprinted into my ‘being.’ Yet, I’ve also faced moments where my heart seems to stall in progress, stuck in cycles of sorrow and unresolved feelings. Vulnerability is crucial for emotional growth, but it can be challenging to embrace when the heart feels heavy with grief. Creative expression is the lifeline for my heart. It allows me to channel my emotions into art, music, and journaling, creating a safe space for my grief. I’ve developed several rituals to keep Kelly near. One example, I wear a bracelet infused with her favorite perfume. This gives me quick access and transport back to her through my senses. This small act serves as a gentle reminder of the love we shared, while still allowing my daily routines to continue.
Finally, there’s the soul—the most elusive of the trio. My soul represents a deeper connection, a comforting presence that I feel when I’m in places we once shared. It’s the essence of who I am, connecting me to something greater. Hiking brings me a sense of peace, as I find solace in nature. Journaling helps me release pent-up emotions, making space for healing and introspection. The mere act and sequence of traveling to a new trailhead, hiking, seeing, smelling, touching, and pausing to jot down a few notes along the path; followed by a few hours of unpacking those thoughts into creative writing, all play a role in contributing to my purpose, a purpose that has lacked a north star since Kelly’s passing. I do this because the soul can be a double-edged sword. If neglected, it may cling to pain, mistakenly believing that by holding onto grief, onto pain, it honors her memory. The fear of letting go (of pain) can lead to despair and stunted healing. To combat this cycle, I lean on the same tools I use for my mind and heart: rituals like hiking and journaling to channel my emotions in constructive ways. When I express my personal struggles in my journal, it’s a message to myself—a reminder to maintain self-awareness and engage in healthy reflection. Maybe I’m both the patient and the therapist? God help me.
As I navigate this profound journey, it feels much like hiking along a winding trail, each step leading me deeper into the landscape of my own existence. The path is often steep and rocky, but with every challenge, I find my mind, heart, and soul working together in harmony, guiding me forward. My mind, recalls the views I’ve encountered along the way—the laughter we’ve shared with friends, the quiet moments of reflection bedside, and the warmth of visiting family and friends. Each memory is a vibrant color, woven into the fabric of my experiences, reminding me of the beauty that exists even in the simplest of moments.
Meanwhile, my heart is like the steady beat of my stride, processing the bittersweet emotions of loss that often accompany this journey. It feels heavy at times, like trudging uphill with a weary pack, but each pang of sadness only deepens my appreciation for the love I’ve known. My soul, the quiet guide within, provides me comfort and continuity, like the gentle breeze that whispers through the trees. It reassures me that, despite the challenges and heartaches, there is a thread of resilience that connects each experience to the next. My soul invites me to pause, breathe, and reflect, reminding me that the journey is as important as the destination.
Together, these three—the mind, heart, and soul—create a rich tapestry of my experience, intricately woven with the threads of joy and sorrow, laughter and tears. As I continue on this journey through life, I see how each step forward is a blend of all that I’ve seen and felt, guiding me toward a deeper understanding of myself and the world around me. And in this dance, I find both beauty in the journey, and the strength to embrace whatever lies ahead. The path continues.
-Ken
- Olympic National Forest, WA
- 47° 35′ 59.43962″ -123° 9′ 2.9628″
- 8.53 miles | 1,693 elevation gain | ~4.5 hours
- 43-54 degrees and clear
Musings 