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Reflections on the One-Year Anniversary of “Flipping the Tables”
- wander4soul
- May 10
- 6 min read
One Year - 365 days of living in the Lovebug.
“Flipping the Tables” usually implies a moment of righteous anger or dramatic upheaval. It is a phrase I use to describe the moment I rejected the life I had lived as one that maybe wasn’t meant for me any longer. I chose to thru-hike the AT, a decision that involved giving up our living space, our local support system of friends and professional networks. It meant putting a business on pause and not being present in a life that still contained loved ones. While the “flip” (leaving the paralegal career and a traditional home life) felt like a major disruption, it was actually an act of clearing space for the sacred rhythm I’ve now found.
From Frenetic to Flow
This past weekend we had the honor and joy to spend time with the couple from whom we purchased The Lovebug. At the time of the purchase, they, too, were going through several major life changes. She was a casualty of the dismantling of USAID and they were selling their lovely home in Silver Springs, MD, and many cherished belongings to relocate to a cabin in Berkeley Springs, WV. She didn’t know what the future had in store for them just as we didn’t know.
We both traded certainty for soul-alignment.
We have both found it.
They are now settled in their cabin. She is teaching yoga in several community spaces, including with the senior population. This is such a treasured connection that she is also considering becoming a death doula. She also serves as a board member of a non-profit. In lieu of being a “giving” board member, she and her husband, both accomplished musicians, have been giving “house concerts” playing Spanish music, providing translation of the lyrics to provide context for the emotions provoked while listening. They are about to embark on a two-month fund raising tour across the country in their new TAB trailer. Bravo!
We shared much of our journeys of this past year and how grateful we both are for the moment of being “laid-off”, of no longer being needed or relevant to our respective professions. Grateful for the courage to keep seeking soul-alignment.
For me, it took many weeks - probably six or seven - to process through the chaos of April and May - and to process the emotions? Even longer. What was that chaos like? You can read it about in my first AT Trek blog post "From Office Chair to the Appalachian Trail".
I don’t remember exactly when during my trek that when Bill asked me in the morning “What are you doing today?” that I smiled, and said, “I get to hike today”, and delighted in the prospect of the day’s hike.
The Battle of the Clock: Trading Timelines for Trail Magic
After forty years of billable hours and court filings, my "paralegal brain" was hardwired for the clock. On the trail, I tried to wear that same armor of rigidity, fighting a constant internal battle over start times. A "late" start felt like a personal failure; it meant a late finish, often trekking into the encroaching shadows of dusk. That perceived lack of control rankled me, stirring up an old anxiety that I was somehow falling behind.
But the trail has a way of dismantling your plans to make room for something better. I eventually realized that the struggle wasn't with the physical space of the Lovebug or the miles ahead—it was with a mindset that refused to bend.
It was almost always on those "late" days—the ones where I surrendered my grip on the itinerary—that the most profound encounters happened. I would stumble upon a burst of unexpected trail magic (e.g. the cold seltzer and bag of ice for my back injury provided by a trail angel at a trailhead in CT at dusk) or a conversation with a fellow hiker that never would have occurred if I had been "on time." I was learning that being "behind schedule" was often exactly where I needed to be to witness the miraculous. I wasn't just losing a timeline; I was gaining a testimony.
The Heart of the Shift: From Surviving to "Aliver"
One year into this nomadic life, I’ve realized that I didn't just walk away from a forty-year career; I walked into a process of reclamation. This wasn't just a physical move into the Lovebug—it was a spiritual transition into what I now call "Aliver Mode." On the trail and on the road, I found myself moving through the 5 R’s of restoration:
Recognizing & Realizing: Stripping away the noise of the "shoulds" to see who was actually underneath the titles and the stress.
Restoring: Healing the parts of me that had been in "survivor mode" for too long, allowing nature to be the primary architect of my recovery.
Retrieving: Finding those lost pieces of myself—the artist, the adventurer, the woman who isn't afraid of the rain—and bringing them home.
Resuming: Not going back to who I was, but starting forward as who I was always meant to be.
The Architecture of the Forest, The Architecture of the Self
This nomadic year has taught me that rebuilding a life is much like the symbiotic relationships I teach about on my hikes. Just as lichen finds a way to thrive on bare rock, I’ve had to learn how to be resilient in the "stony" transitions of my sixties. I’m no longer building a career; I’m building a life that is trauma-informed, nature-aligned, and entirely my own.
The Bloom of Resilience
It is no coincidence that I now wear the Mountain Laurel on my finger. As I hiked north, the blooms seemed to follow me, opening up at the exact pace of my own progress. Like the Mountain Laurel, I’ve learned that:
Beauty thrives in rocky soil. Some of my most profound growth happened when the path was the steepest and the ground the hardest.
Patience is a requirement. You cannot rush the bloom, and you cannot rush the healing.
Resilience is quiet. It doesn't always look like a shout; sometimes it just looks like waking up in a teardrop trailer and choosing the trail again.
Like the mountain laurel bloom, I had to learn to be resilient in rocky environments and to embrace the fleeting beauty of a life that is finally, truly, my own.
The Sacred Rhythm of the Trail
The trek itself had many highs and lows: emotional, physical, and spiritual. There were tears of release, the laughter of shared stories with fellow hikers, and the simple, grounding joy of seeing Bill at the end of a long day. Even through the physical pain—the rock climbs, the lost toenails, the back injury—a new rhythm emerged. It was a pace that required me to silence the "success-driven" noise of my old life and surrender to a plan much larger than my own. After a day of major rock climbs or rain, the Lovebug felt like a sanctuary.
Where the Soul Catches the Body
Front Royal may be our anchor for seven months of the year, but the road has become our teacher. This nomadic year has taken us from the heavy silence of Shanksville, PA, to the salt-air memories of Beaufort, SC. In every mile, I’ve realized that home isn't a zip code or a foundation of brick and mortar; it’s the space where your soul finally catches up with your body.
365 Days of Redefining "Home"
We moved into the Lovebug on Day One of the trek. Because of that, the transition to nomadic living wasn't a jolt; it was a natural extension of the hike itself. While I was out there learning to carry only what I needed on my back, the Lovebug was waiting to teach us how to live with only what we needed on wheels. By the time the hike ended, we hadn't just moved into a trailer—we had moved into a new way of being.
A Closing Thought
A year ago, I was a casualty of a professional dismantling. Today, I am the lead guide of my own life. The table wasn't just flipped; it was rebuilt. Today, Next Bend Adventures isn't just a business—it's the culmination of every mile hiked and every 'R' of restoration I’ve lived through this year. If you are standing at your own "table" today, wondering if you should flip it—know that the unknown is not a place to be feared. It is where the joy has been waiting for you all along.
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