This past summer, I took a solo roadtrip meant for “self-exploration and discovery”—and some other hippie bullshit I thought would make me more introspective as an individual. Ironically enough, though I exuded a pseudo-whimsicality and spontaneity for adventure, I rigidly revolved my life around rules and schedules. My first stop was Mount Washington in the New Hampshire Whites, which was the highest peak I would’ve ever climbed. I joined a group of other solo hikers, but it was clear that I was the expert in the group—in tip-top shape to
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