CAPITOL STATE FOREST, Olympia, WA:
I stepped into this day with a quiet anticipation that felt serene, the kind of morning where the air was crisp enough to wake you up before the sun even thinks about peeking over the horizon. Driving down I-5 toward Capitol State Forest, I traveled a familiar route, my mind weaving through thoughts of gratitude and reflection. The dark road was mine for the taking, and as I listened to Kelly’s playlist, I found myself thinking about the Tulip Festival Parade yesterday in La Conner. I recalled something special about tulips: how they continue to grow after being cut, and their natural instinct to bend toward the light. This ignited a sense of connection within me, a reminder of the beauty born from science, art, hard work, and dedication. It made me consider if I, too, was seeking my own light.
Arriving at the trailhead at dawn, the world still glowing in a gentle gray, I felt the weight of those reflections settle around me, warming me like the first sip of coffee in the morning. I had chosen a trail-thought inspired by a post on Finding Solace to ponder: self-love. What does it even mean to give and receive self-love? As I laced up my boots, I realized that each step today would be a chance to explore not only the winding paths of the forest but the labyrinth of my own heart. The trees loomed tall, motionless without a breeze, but seemingly whispering secrets I was eager to uncover, while the rhythmic crunch of my boots on the soft ground brought me deeper into this exploration.
With each mile, I found myself navigating not just the terrain, but the complexities woven into my understanding of self-worth. The gentle ascent mirrored my internal climb, reminding me of lessons in humility and kindness. During moments of stillness, I felt the comforting embrace of nature, urging me to confront the truths I often sidestep. Could I extend the same compassion to myself as I readily offer to others? The answer began to unfurl like the ferns lining the trail, a gentle invitation to lean into the discomfort and discover what self-love truly looks like. Today’s journey was not just about the miles covered, but about the internal landscape I was willing to traverse, one thought, one step at a time.
The Journey…
I pulled into the trailhead at 6:15 AM, while that deep, pre-dawn hue, illuminated the sky. It was a cool 46 degrees, cold enough to feel it in my lungs, so I did what I usually do and rolled the windows down for the last few miles while bouncing through the potholes. There is something about letting the heat out, and the forest air in, that gets my head right, like waiting in queue for a ride at an amusement park where the anticipation is half the experience. By 6:30, the sun was technically up somewhere behind the overcast sky, and I was stepping onto the Greenline Climbing Trail. I managed to get myself turned around within the first few minutes, wandering onto a side trail before I’d even broken a sweat. It was a quick lesson in how easily you can be led astray when you aren’t paying attention. Once I retraced my steps, the woods opened up into this lush, moss-draped corridor lined with ferns, where the sound of birds filled the space. this morning, it was just us.
The first few miles were a steady, honest climb that never felt overwhelming. Around mile three, I found myself on a rust-colored bridge overlooking a creek that was cascading down the mountainside in a series of small, lively falls. I stood there for a while watching the water find its way over and around the boulders and downed logs without any hesitation. It just flows, adjusting its shape to whatever obstacle the mountain throws in its path, always finding its way without complaint. It made me think about how much energy I can conserve by simply going with the flow of life, a concept in Taoism. Water seems to have it figured out by just being flexible and unbothered. By the time I hit the higher elevations, the trail felt magical, almost like a fairy tale with moss so thick it looked like a carpet. My mind typically spends much of the first mile racing through future plans or past regrets, but eventually, time compresses to the present, where past regrets and future anxieties fall away. Everything slows down until the only thing left is the damp smell of the earthly mix and the rhythm of my boots on the path.
I picked up a companion somewhere around mile five, a bee that decided we were traveling together. He darted back and forth for miles, and I eventually stopped wondering if he was going to sting me and just accepted his company. Maybe he was just as lonely out here as anyone else. As I transitioned onto the Wedekind Trail and began the descent, the forest changed, the foliage grew taller and the thick fog that I was just above now enveloped my path. The silence was eventually broken by the distant pop of a shooting range and the sudden rush of a mountain biker who came out of nowhere, but even that didn’t spoil the serinity. By the time I hit the nine-mile mark and reconnected with the main stem of the loop, I felt that familiar calm that only comes from being outside long enough to forget what day it is. It was a little over eleven miles of just being, and now the only thing left to figure out was where to find a good burger and cold brew.
Gratitude…
The drive down I-5 toward Olympia was quiet at five this morning. Most of the world was still asleep, leaving the roads to me, Kelly’s Playlist, and the steady hum of the tires against the pavement. It only took about an hour to reach the Capitol State Forest, but that stretch of dark road provided the exact kind of space I needed for reflecting on gratitude. As I watched the occasional taillights fade into the distance, I found myself thinking about the Tulip Festival parade in La Conner yesterday. There is something about the way those Skagit Valley fields transform this time of year that stays with you. As I drove, moving through the pre-dawn shadows, I found myself thinking about the sheer balance and scale of the work required to make something that beautiful happen. It isn’t just nature doing its thing; it’s a massive, coordinated effort of human intelligence and will.
My mind kept returning to the farmers up north, the people whose hands are actually in that dirt from dawn until dusk, but the thought of those fields eventually brought me back to Kelly. She had a deep, specific love for white tulips. She used to marvel at how they kept growing even after they were cut, as if they refused to give up, but what she admired most was how they’d bend toward the light. I really think she appreciated that they’d spent their whole lives following the sun, shifting their weight just to catch a glimpse of it. Thinking of those farmers tending to their bulbs, and their business, now felt like a quiet nod to that same persistence, a rugged kind of commitment to nurturing something that carries so much meaning for those of us left to watch them bloom, and then to continue to grow in our own spaces, all reaching for something brighter.
By the time I pulled up to the Greenline trailhead around 6:15 AM, the first hint of gray was bleeding into the sky. I sat in the stillness for a moment before stepping out to get ready for my hike, the gratitude for those Skagit Valley farmers, and the memory of Kelly’s fondness for white tulips, warmed my heart. There is a connection we all share with the land here in the Northwest, whether we are working it or just walking through it to find our center. Those farmers handle the heavy lifting so the rest of us can experience a bit of wonder, and that realization felt like a good weight to carry as I tightened my laces. I looked toward the dark treeline, wondering if I’m doing as well as the tulips at finding the light each day.
Reflections…
As I laced up my hiking boots to step onto the path at sunrise, I felt a sense of anticipation for my trek. Today, I carried a trail-thought: self-love. It’s a idea that feels both foreign and essential. My mind wandered, pondering its depths. Do I really know what self-love is? Can I give it to myself just as freely as I do to others? And more importantly, can I genuinely receive it? Each step through the crisp morning air feels like a metaphorical ascent, where the sun rises not just behind the overcast skies, but also within me, illuminating shadows that lingered around my understanding of love for myself.
As I hiked, I reflected on a blog I recently read that struck curiosity within me. The author of Finding Solace spoke of a profound awakening, an admission that, despite having the ability to love and nurture others, falling short when it comes to extending that same tenderness to ourselves. At first I discounted the idea as a simple one. After all, can’t I just love myself as I love others? However, after some consideration, the idea became more complex, echoing a truth I had been avoiding. I’ve always equated my kindness toward others with self-love, believing that my devotion to their well-being mirrored my own. But that notion began to unravel as I embraced the complexities of my own heart. This realization was both liberating and daunting, a doorway to a new way of being that I’m cautiously stepping through.
I thought about my formidable years, the lessons ingrained in me about achievement and humility. My family didn’t practice the hyper-critical feedback that many others around me experienced; instead, I became my own harshest critic. I had adopted an internal dialogue that demanded perfection, while my heart now knows that love is found in imperfection. This journey of self-exploration has unveiled a paradox: how can I embody humility while also honoring my self-worth? I’ve learned that genuine humility isn’t about diminishing myself; it’s about recognizing that I deserve the same compassion I offer to others. This awareness stirs a sense of discomfort, and an invitation to challenge the narratives I’ve lived by.
As I navigated through the Capitol State Forest, I considered how self-love intertwines with self-esteem and self-confidence. Each step revealed nuances I hadn’t fully grasped before. I considered that self-love wasn’t contingent upon achievements or external validation; it’s more of a commitment to my own well-being. It’s about treating myself with gentleness, even in moments of doubt. The idea that I could provide myself self-love, yet reject it, feels unsettling…it’s a truth I need to face. Simply engaging in self-care does not guarantee emotional acceptance of that care. I’m learning that self-love is a skill, one that requires patience and practice, just like any other.
In the spirit of this reflection, I look forward to nurturing self-love with discovery and curiosity; pausing my inner critic and responding with the same kindness I extend to those I care for. Another challenge will be to embrace failures without shame, reminding myself that as they may shape my behavior, they do not define my worth. Time and time again, I’m learning that this journey is not a linear path; it’s a series of trials and triumphs, where each ascent and descent mirrors the ebb and flow of life itself. As I reflect in my trail journal, I feel a sense of clarity and purpose. Today marks another beginning of a slow and steady practice, a commitment to include myself in the love I so freely give to others, but just as important, accepting that love. The trail ahead may be rocky at times, but it’s a journey worth taking. The path continues.
-Ken
- Capitol State Forest, Olympia, WA
- 46° 56′ 15.9″ -123° 7′ 53.148″
- 11.6 miles | 1,925 ft elevation gain | 5 hours
- Sunrise: 6:30 AM, 43-51 degrees, overcast
Musings 