What Does it Mean to Waste a Life?

I recently went on a solo, 12 mile hike in Muir Woods State Park, just outside San Francisco. As I took in the vibrant forest, ocean views and breathed in wet, clean air, I felt more like myself than I have in months. It was an achingly sweet sensation, and I discovered a new depth of appreciation for my life and for my body.

I’ve written about the relationship between walking and writing; how the rhythmic movement of our bodies inspires creativity and unlocks any artificial constraints we have unwittingly enforced. As I hiked, I considered the hostel where I was staying, how it sat between a triangle of strip clubs, how there were people still out drinking when I left that morning for my hike. How I considered their all-night escapades a waste of time, and how they may have thought the same of me, waking up with the sun to walk 12 miles for no real reason other than to walk 12 miles.

As I hiked, I considered the unanswerable question of what it means to waste a life; if wasted life is wasted time, if wasted time can be constructive, and who gets define either. The people who were out drinking until 6 a.m. might have needed to cut lose, forget about life, or catch up with friends. I, on the other hand, needed a one-on-one date with a forest where the only human interaction I’d take part in for the bulk of 5 hours was snapping a picture of gay couple, happily…