We weren't quite yet old enough for a high school reunion, and not quite close enough to become Facebook friends or follow each other on Twitter. And yet, here we were. Jack had been one of my best ... [+]
Originally published in Creative Nonfiction magazine's Sunday Short Reads series
I was still uncivilized. Among the Starbucks Wednesday morning commuters who awaited lattes while wearing ties, pencil skirts, and blowouts, I stood out. Air-dried hair frizzed from my head, baggy hiking pants hung off my skeletal frame, and instead of a purse I clutched a nylon stuff sack.I hadn't gone back to work yet after my 675-mile backpacking trip on the Appalachian Trail. In fact I didn't have a work since the whole point of my journey, cut short by a broken bone, had been to find my life's purpose. Reclaim the "squandered gifts" I had pretended to forget in favor of capitalism's charm