Understanding The Dichotomy of Control

The Journey Begins

In 2019, I set off on a journey that would change me in ways I could never fully prepare for: thru-hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. I quickly realized that the journey was an intense lesson in the dichotomy of control, learning what I could control, like my preparation and mindset, and accepting what was beyond my control, like the weather and the trail’s unpredictability. Stretching over 2,600 miles from the Mexican border in California all the way up to the Canadian border in Washington, the trail promised not just physical endurance but an emotional and mental challenge I wasn’t fully prepared for. All I had was my backpack, a rough outline of a plan, and the kind of optimism only someone about to make a crazy decision could muster.

As I stood at the starting point, looking down the trail, my mind buzzed with anticipation. This wasn’t just a hike. This was a test, a chance to prove to myself that I could take on something monumental. The mountains ahead seemed both welcoming and intimidating, and the road to get to that point had been months of preparation. I spent hours mapping, strategizing, checking and rechecking gear, mentally rehearsing every section. It felt like everything was in my control. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true.

Control vs. What’s Beyond Control

The thing is, no matter how much we plan or how much we prepare, life has a funny way of throwing curveballs, especially when you’re out in the wild for months at a time. The trail, in all its grandeur, would soon reveal just how much of the experience was beyond my control, and how embracing that uncertainty would make all the difference.

This journey wasn’t just about walking from point A to point B. It was about learning the fine art of surrender, the dance between what we can control and what we can’t. And trust me, I was about to learn that lesson the hard way.

The Beauty and Brutality of Nature

The Pacific Crest Trail was like stepping into another world. From the moment I hit the trail, I was surrounded by nature in its purest form: towering pines, vast meadows, and snow-capped peaks that seemed to stretch on forever. There were moments when the trail led me through lush forests, the air thick with the scent of pine and fresh earth, each step muffled by the soft pine needles beneath my boots. In those quiet moments, it was easy to forget everything else—my goals, the world outside—and simply exist in the rhythm of the trail.

But even in the peacefulness, nature had a way of reminding me of its sheer power. The landscape would change in an instant, like flipping a switch from serene beauty to the raw force of wilderness. The first time I looked out from a high ridge into a valley far below, I could hardly believe my eyes. The world seemed infinite, as though the mountains went on forever, a beautiful reminder of how small we are in the grand scheme of things. The sun was setting, painting the sky in colors I didn’t know existed, and for a moment, it felt like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. But that beauty was always followed by the brutal reminder that nature doesn’t care about your plans.

The Internal Struggle

I remember one particular evening, when the sky darkened faster than I expected, and the temperature dropped suddenly. One minute, I was sweating in the afternoon heat, the next, I was shivering in the cold, trying to find shelter from a storm that came out of nowhere. The rain was unrelenting, and the wind seemed to whip through the trees with the force of a freight train. I huddled under a tarp, listening to the rain battering the ground, feeling completely at the mercy of the weather. The exhaustion from hiking all day set in, my muscles sore, my feet aching, but I was too cold to sleep.

In that moment, all my careful planning seemed pointless. I had packed extra layers, a tent, and a sleeping bag rated for colder temperatures, but nothing could have prepared me for the sudden ferocity of a storm in the mountains. The more I tried to control the situation, the more I realized how little power I truly had over it. Nature didn’t care about my plans or expectations. It had its own rhythm, its own timing, and I was simply a visitor in its vast domain.

Recognizing What You Cannot Control

The unpredictability of nature became a constant companion on the trail. One day, the weather would be clear and warm, making for perfect hiking conditions. The next, I could be caught in a hailstorm or walking through snow in mid-July. I had mapped out my route and calculated how long it would take to complete sections, but I quickly learned that the trail didn’t operate on my timeline. There were times I would push myself harder than I should have to make up for lost time, only to find myself completely drained, stuck in a storm with no shelter in sight.

It was a constant internal battle: to plan and prepare, yet accept that the trail would always have the upper hand. My efforts to control everything, from my pace to the weather, only led to frustration. The more I fought against the elements, the more I realized that the only thing I could control was my response to it. There was no way to fight the wind or the rain, no amount of planning that could change the fact that nature was always going to be unpredictable. And yet, that unpredictability was part of what made the experience so profound. The trail taught me that sometimes, letting go of the need for control was the only way to truly embrace the journey.

The People You Meet Along the Way

The Pacific Crest Trail wasn’t just a physical journey, it was a social one, too. The community of hikers, each with their own motivations and stories, became as integral to the experience as the miles of trail I covered. There was an unspoken bond that tied us all together, one that didn’t need words to be understood. It was a shared understanding of the struggle, the ache in your muscles after a grueling climb, the quiet joy of reaching a beautiful campsite, the exhaustion after a long day of walking, and the sheer elation of finally eating that next meal. In a way, we were all fighting our own battles, but together we were part of something much bigger than ourselves.

The beauty of the trail community was that it brought together people from all walks of life, each bringing their own quirks, perspectives, and personality. There was no real “beginning” or “end” to this community, the hikers I met at the start of my journey might be long gone by the time I reached certain milestones, but their stories and laughter stayed with me. Strangers became family over shared experiences, campfires, and the inevitable mutual struggles that came with hiking day after day.

The Bond Shared With Strangers

I remember meeting a hiker named Josh early on in the trip. He was one of those people who seemed to have a perpetual grin plastered on his face, like the trail was one big joke he was in on. Despite the blistered feet, sore legs, and constant feeling of hunger, Josh always had a way of making everyone around him laugh. His favorite pastime seemed to be cracking jokes, sometimes at his own expense, but it was impossible not to laugh along with him. One night, around the campfire, Josh told the story of how he had accidentally dropped his map into a river and then tried to “eyeball it” through the wilderness, leading to a day-long detour. Despite the frustration of being lost, he had managed to find humor in it, making light of the whole situation. “At least I got some extra miles in,” he joked.

Yet, as close as the trail community became, it was impossible to control who you would be hiking with from day to day. Not everyone on the trail was there for the same reasons, and not everyone’s personality meshed. Some hikers moved at a different pace, others preferred solitude, and some wanted to push hard to finish the trail as quickly as possible. There were moments of camaraderie, of shared meals and laughter, but there were also moments of tension, when personalities didn’t quite align.

Personality Clashes

I remember one encounter with a hiker who insisted on having the perfect campsite every night, down to the angle of the tent and the positioning of the gear. It was clear from the start that his meticulousness clashed with my more laid-back approach. The tension was palpable one evening when, after a particularly tough day, I simply wanted to crawl into my tent and get some sleep, but he started rearranging the campsite as though it were a military operation. He gave me a long, irritated look when I didn’t join him in his tent-setup perfectionism, and after a silent, awkward dinner, we parted ways the next day. Some people just weren’t meant to walk the same trail together, no matter how much you wanted them to.

The unpredictability of the people you meet on the trail became its own challenge, one that mirrored nature’s unpredictable whims. Sometimes a hiker you had shared laughs with would disappear just as quickly as they arrived, moving on to different sections of the trail or even abandoning the journey altogether. Other times, you’d stumble upon someone who seemed like an unlikely companion, and by the end of the day, you felt like you’d known them for years. There was no way to predict how these relationships would unfold, just like there was no way to predict the weather, the terrain, or how your body would feel after 20 miles.

There was one instance when I hiked with a group of strangers who, at first, seemed like the perfect team: the quiet but steady hiker, the chatty optimist, the experienced solo backpacker who had hiked in every state, and me, just trying to keep up. We fell into a natural rhythm of sharing food, navigating together, and offering support when things got tough.

The Unpredictability Of Relationships Along The Trail

But as we made our way through a particularly rugged section of trail, tensions started to rise. One person was always lagging behind, the other was pushing too hard, and the optimist’s relentless cheerfulness began to wear thin after the fifth hour of endless uphill climbing. It all came to a head one evening when, after a tough day, one of the group members suddenly announced they were leaving the group to hike on their own. There was no drama, no grand confrontation, just the simple realization that sometimes, the best way forward was alone.

That evening, as we sat around the campfire, the quiet that followed felt both heavy and freeing. Each of us had our own goals, our own rhythm, and while we had briefly walked together, it was clear that some people are only meant to be part of your journey for a short time. And that’s okay. The trail, like life, was full of these fleeting moments, of shared paths that suddenly veered off in different directions.

The unpredictability of the people you meet along the way is one of the most profound lessons the trail taught me: no matter how much you plan or hope for a certain outcome, the people you encounter will always be part of your story. Some will leave footprints on your heart, others will simply pass by, but all of them will shape the way you walk the trail. And much like nature’s unpredictability, the relationships you build on the trail are a reminder that, sometimes, you can’t control who stays and who goes. But you can always choose how you respond to it.

Facing the Uncontrollable

There were plenty of moments on the Pacific Crest Trail when things went wrong, some small and others that felt like major setbacks. Despite all the preparation, the careful packing, and the miles of planning that went into the journey, I learned quickly that things rarely go as expected in the wilderness. The weather didn’t always cooperate, the gear didn’t always perform the way it was supposed to, and the trail sometimes threw unexpected detours my way.

One of the most memorable instances happened early in the trip, as I crossed into the high Sierras. I had been hiking for days in clear, sunny weather, perfect conditions for a long stretch of trail. But as I climbed higher, the weather began to change.

Where Things Went Wrong

What started as a few dark clouds gathering in the distance quickly turned into an intense storm that caught me off guard. I remember the wind picking up, blowing so hard that it seemed to push me backward with every step. Then came the rain. Sheets of water came crashing down, and I was soaked within minutes. My carefully packed gear, which I had thought would protect me in any weather, failed me in that moment. My waterproof jacket wasn’t as waterproof as I’d hoped, and the tent I had trusted to keep me dry quickly became a soggy mess.

I found myself huddled under a rock outcrop, feeling the cold seep into my bones as I tried to wait out the storm. At that point, the thoughts started flooding in, How could I have missed this? Why didn’t I check the forecast more closely? I had thought I had every base covered, yet here I was, stuck in the middle of nowhere with no control over the situation.

In that moment, I couldn’t change the weather. I couldn’t make the storm go away, and I couldn’t get to a shelter in time. All I could do was sit there and feel the weight of the elements pressing down on me. It was one of those moments when you realize that despite your best efforts to control the uncontrollable, life will always have the final say.

Despite The Best Planning

This was when the teachings of Stoicism really came into play. Stoics like Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius often talked about the importance of accepting what’s beyond our control and focusing our energy on what we can change, our response to the situation. The storm wasn’t going to stop just because I was frustrated. My soggy gear wasn’t going to magically dry itself. But what I could control was my attitude and how I chose to deal with it.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that this was just a part of the trail, part of the adventure. This wasn’t the first storm I’d face, and it wouldn’t be the last. So, I focused on what I could do. I found shelter under a larger rock, tightened my jacket, and waited out the worst of it. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was manageable. Slowly, the rain began to ease up, and the storm passed.

The Only Thing You Can Control Is Your Response

But not every attempt to control the situation was as successful. There was another time when, after several long days of grueling hikes, I had reached a river crossing that seemed, at first, relatively harmless. The water was flowing fast but not dangerously so, and I was feeling pretty confident in my ability to tackle it. I had crossed streams before, but this was different. The current was stronger than I had anticipated, and in my attempt to keep my gear dry, I misjudged my footing. The result was a clumsy stumble that ended with me falling face-first into the icy river.

It was a classic case of overestimating my control. Instead of calmly assessing the situation and waiting for a safer crossing point, I tried to rush through, thinking I could handle it. I ended up soaked from head to toe, shivering uncontrollably, and having to set up camp in the rain to dry off. It was a frustrating experience, but looking back, I had to laugh at how my efforts to control something so simple ended up backfiring. I had learned the hard way that rushing things only leads to more problems, and sometimes, the best thing to do is simply accept the situation and adjust your approach.

Focusing On How To Respond

In those moments, it became clear to me that no amount of planning or preparation could fully protect me from the uncontrollable forces of nature. The weather, the terrain, and even my own mistakes were things I could not change. What I could change was how I reacted to those challenges. Stoicism taught me that the only real control we have is over our thoughts and responses. When things went wrong on the trail, I could either fight against the situation, which only led to frustration, or I could accept it, adapt, and find a way forward.

Through these experiences, I learned to focus not on the things I couldn’t control, but on how I could respond with resilience, patience, and a sense of humor. The more I embraced this mindset, the less power the uncontrollable had over me. The trail, like life, was full of surprises, some unpleasant, some even downright comical. But each time I faced the uncontrollable, I had a choice, to fight it or to accept it, learn from it, and keep moving forward.

What Stoicism Taught Me on the Trail

Throughout the Pacific Crest Trail, there were countless moments when frustration, confusion, and fear seemed to loom around every corner. Whether it was the blisters on my feet that made every step feel like agony or the sense of uncertainty when I realized I had no control over the weather, the trail constantly tested my patience and resolve. But what I didn’t anticipate was how much Stoicism would help me through these challenges, especially in moments when I felt like giving up or when fear threatened to take hold.

The teachings of Stoicism, particularly the Dichotomy of Control, became my lifeline on the trail. The Dichotomy of Control is a simple but powerful concept: some things in life are in our control, and some are not. The things we cannot control, like the weather or other people’s actions, are not worth stressing over. What we can control is our response to those things. This philosophy helped me put everything into perspective when I found myself feeling overwhelmed.

Frustration, Confusion, Or Fear On The Trail

For example, there was one stretch of the trail when I was hiking through a particularly tough section, dealing with fatigue, soreness, and an endless series of uphill climbs. As the days dragged on, my mind began to race with thoughts of doubt. I questioned my decision to take on such a challenging journey. The thought of quitting crossed my mind more than once, but I remembered the Stoic principle of focusing on what I could control. I couldn’t control the trail or the physical strain, but I could control how I responded to it. I reminded myself that the discomfort was temporary and that it was part of the process. This shift in mindset allowed me to continue, step by step, knowing that each challenge was an opportunity to practice resilience.

There were also moments of fear when the trail seemed overwhelming. The unknown, the isolation, and the unpredictability of nature all weighed heavily on me. In those moments, the Stoic teaching of amor fati, or love of fate, helped me embrace whatever came my way. I realized that the trail wasn’t just about reaching the end, but about experiencing everything along the way, both the highs and the lows. I learned to appreciate the journey in its entirety, rather than focusing on what wasn’t going according to plan.

Accepting The Dichotomy of Control

By embracing the Dichotomy of Control, the trail became more enriching despite the obstacles I couldn’t control. The discomfort and unpredictability that once seemed like burdens became opportunities to practice acceptance and adaptability. Each challenge was a chance to grow, both physically and mentally. When I couldn’t control the weather or the terrain, I focused on controlling my reaction. I became less frustrated with things I couldn’t change and more focused on how I could move forward.

This lesson from the trail has had a profound impact on my life beyond hiking. In the modern world, we’re often faced with situations that are outside of our control, from work stress to global events. It’s easy to get caught up in anxiety and frustration when things aren’t going as planned, but Stoicism teaches us that accepting what’s beyond our control can actually ease that stress. Instead of trying to control everything around us, we can focus on how we respond. In the face of uncertainty, we can choose to remain calm, to stay grounded, and to focus on the actions we can take rather than stressing over the things we can’t change.

By practicing the Dichotomy of Control, I’ve been able to navigate life’s challenges with a greater sense of peace and resilience. The fear and frustration I once felt in the face of obstacles are now opportunities for growth. The more I embraced the Stoic mindset, the less power those uncontrollable elements had over me, and the more empowered I felt in my ability to handle whatever came my way. The trail, much like life, is unpredictable, but by accepting that uncertainty, we can find a deeper sense of peace in the midst of it.

Embracing the Journey

As I made my way through the Pacific Crest Trail, it became clear that the essence of the journey wasn’t just about covering miles or reaching a destination. It was about learning how to embrace the chaos, to accept that not everything could be controlled, and to find peace in the things that were beyond my influence. The Dichotomy of Control, the idea that we should focus on what we can change and let go of the rest, guided me through every twist and turn. Whether it was a storm rolling in unexpectedly or a trail that led to a dead end, I realized that the true challenge was not in fighting against these uncontrollable elements, but in accepting them and adjusting accordingly.

The Journey Continues Off The Trail

The lessons I learned on the trail didn’t stay there. They’ve become part of my life off the trail as well. In everyday life, we are constantly faced with the unpredictable. Work, relationships, health, and the world around us, all of these things can throw us curveballs, often when we least expect it. Before embracing Stoicism, I used to react with frustration or anxiety when things didn’t go according to plan. But now, I remind myself that I can’t control everything, and that’s perfectly fine. The more I focus on what I can control, my actions, my attitude, and my response to challenges, the more empowered I feel.

The trail taught me that even when things go wrong, they are still part of the journey. Every mistake, every unexpected obstacle, every setback is an opportunity to grow. I can’t control whether I encounter a detour, but I can control how I react to it. Life is full of unexpected twists, and the sooner we accept that, the easier it becomes to navigate with a sense of calm and resilience.

Applying These Lessons In Everyday Life

Even when I’m faced with difficult or frustrating situations now, I think back to those moments on the trail when I had to adapt to the circumstances. Whether it was a storm or a sudden change in plans, I learned that the most important thing is not to fight the circumstances but to embrace them. The chaos, the unpredictability, it’s all part of the adventure, and instead of trying to force everything into a neat, controlled box, I now approach each moment with a sense of curiosity and openness. There’s a freedom in letting go of the need for everything to be perfect, and once you embrace that, you start to see the beauty in the imperfections.

One of the most powerful takeaways from my journey is that we have the power to shape our experiences, not by trying to control everything, but by adjusting our mindset. The trail didn’t go as I had planned, but in the end, it was far richer for it. It was the moments of struggle, uncertainty, and unpredictability that taught me the most about myself. They were the moments that made the journey meaningful, and I realized that life off the trail is no different.

So, I choose to embrace the chaos. I choose to laugh at the unpredictability, to find joy in the unexpected, and to feel empowered by the things I can control, the way I approach each day, the way I respond to challenges, and the way I adapt to the changes that come my way. Life is far from predictable, but that’s what makes it an adventure worth living. And in the end, it’s not about controlling every step, but about embracing the journey, no matter where it leads.