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Within forty minutes, the voice inside my head was screaming, WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO? I tried to ignore it, to hum as I hiked, though humming proved too difficult to do while also panting and moaning in agony and trying to remain hunched in that remotely upright position while also propelling myself forward when I felt like a building with legs.

Cheryl Strayed
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Within forty minutes, the voice inside my head was screaming, WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO? I tried to ignore it, to hum as I hiked, though humming proved too difficult to do while also panting and moaning in agony and trying to remain hunched in that remotely upright position while also propelling myself forward when I felt like a building with legs.

Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
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As close as we'd been when we were together, we were closer in our unraveling, telling each other everything at last, words that seemed to us might never have been spoken between two human beings before, so deep we went, saying everything that was beautiful and ugly and true.

Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
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Each evening, I ached for the shelter of my tent, for the smallest sense that something was shielding me from the entire rest of the world, keeping me safe not from danger, but from vastness itself. I loved the dim, clammy dark of my tent, the cozy familiarity of the way I arranged my few belongings all around me each night.

Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
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It hadn't occurred to me that my mother would die. Until she was dying, the thought had never entered my mind. She was monolithic and insurmountable, the keeper of my life. She would grow old and still work in the garden. This image was fixed in my mind, like one of the memories from her childhood that I made her explain so intricately that I remembered it as if it were mine. She would be old and beautiful like the black-and-white photo of Georgia O'Keeffe I'd once sent her. I held fast to this image for the first couple of weeks after we left the Mayo Clinic, and then, once she was admitted to the hospice wing of the hospital in Duluth, that image unfurled, gave way to the others, more modest and true. I imagined my mother in October; I wrote the scene in my mind. And then the one of my mother in August and another in May. Each day that passed, another month peeled away.

Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
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.. And now it was official: I loved REI more than I loved the people behind Snapple lemonade.

Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
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It was really over, I thought. There was no way to go back, to make it stay. There was never that.

Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
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In my perception, the world wasn't a graph or formula or an equation. It was a story.

Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
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He kissed me hard and I kissed him back harder, like it was the end of an era that had lasted all of my life.

Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
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It felt now as if I'd never known them and I couldn't know them again. It seemed to me that whatever had existed back in the place where I'd grown up was so far away now, impossible to retrieve.

Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
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