So Much for a Shorter Day -Day 4: Mt Laguna to Boulder Fields (mile 57) 

Miles today: 14.5
Rattlesnakes: 0
Snakes: 1 

Tears: 0

Woke up around 530 and went and took a warm shower at the Laguna campground and then spent a big chunk of time in the women’s bathroom because 1) it was cold outside and my hair was wet and 2) because there was an electrical outlet and I could charge my phone and my charger, which was low. Tip: I read that you should bring a charger that can take multiple USBs and didn’t listen and ended up buying one at the gear shop in Laguna. Do it! Charging took forever and the group of hikers in there ended up taking it in shifts so we could go get other things done – Rachel, a hiker I’ve bumped into a handful of times, ended up watching my phone while I went and packed up my gear. 

At 9, I headed to Mount Laguna’a store so I could resupply. I grabbed peanut butter out of a hiker box (it weighs a ton so I get why they dropped it) and split some tortillas with another hiker. The store is fairly priced considering how remote it is. I paid $14 for a dehydrated backpacker meal (it has vegetables in it! I couldn’t resist!) but only got one and made my other dinners ramens. I also stopped by the gear shop for the charger and some blister supplies. My blisters haven’t been bothering me at all!

I had planned to get a meal at the restaurant but accidentally bought an extra breakfast at the grocery store and kind of wanted to hit the road, so Karma and I headed out of town around 11 with another hiker named Whisper. I almost left my trekking pole behind but Karma found it – she had to save it again for me later, too. Whisper got ahead of us pretty quickly, but Karma and I managed to stay together for quite a big chunk of the day. At one point Karma was behind me a ways and I saw a snake – it was skinny with black and grayish stripes down the length of its body. When it slithered away, it slithered up a tree. So now snakes can climb.

The views were stunning today and I have a feeling they won’t really translate to photos – but to try to paint a picture, Mount Laguna is filled with pine trees. We hiked through that a while, then saw some manzanita and lilac in full bloom (a south bound section hiker filled us in on what the plants were), and then we turned a corner and could see some 6 or 7000 feet down into the desert. It was amazing. It was also windy and when we edged closer to the side of the mountain I almost got blown off my feet.

Karma and me

We took a break and met two other hikers, a guy who was doing big miles whose name I forgot, and a woman from China whose trail name is Tree. Tree is awesome. She’s in finance but loves hiking and writing. She started a day after us so she’s pulling pretty big miles too. 

We passed the 50 mile mark! There wasn’t a trail sign so Karma made one.

The whole group I’ve been traveling with had planned to camp at a picnic site that was listed on both Guthooks and Halfmile as a campsite and water source, Pioneer Mall, but when we got there there was a very clear sign saying day use only. Bummer. Karma was waiting for me and making herself minestrone so I quickly made myself some ramen. The doctor (his name is Josh) and his brother Kelsey were there, as well as Jazzi and Dan. We were all pretty bummed we couldn’t camp. Tree came in a few minutes later and made herself dinner and then came over to show us – noodles, tomatoes, spices and tuna. It looked amazing. 

Karma and I pushed on, debating whether to try to get to the next listed camp site some 3.5 miles in or to find something early. For a while there weren’t many options as we were hiking right on the ridge. Karma texted Tommy (who just got the trail name Twerk) and he told us he was at the Boulder Field, so we mustered the energy to go a few more miles, even though we spotted some other hikers camped in a wash that looked really nice. They even left an invitation. 

We got to the Boulder Field and set up our tents and now here I am. It’s pretty breezy up here so I hope I get some decent sleep – I need it. My ankle was bothering me for the last five miles, some muscle is a little pissed at me for all the walking. Thruhiking is fun like this – there’s always something a little off. But we’re about 20 miles out of town and then Karma, Amelia and I have plans to take a zero in a lodge. Til the I’m gonna try to be real nice to my body, she’s working hard. 

Climbing – Day 3: Boulder Oaks to Mt Laguna

Miles: 15.6
Tears: 0

Snakes: 2

Rattlesnakes: 0

Started off bright and early at 530 this morning. Our group quickly dispersed. I hiked with Karma and Tommy to start, then Karma got ahead of us, then Tommy and I leapfrogged each other a few times before he powered on ahead of me. The air was cool and breezy and I watched some fog roll in until we were walking in it. 

It was a long day of uphill, but I found it surprisingly pleasant. The doctor seems to have been right and my feet are feeling a lot better. It also helped that I cut open the pinky toe area of my shoe with Alpo’s knife. 

I spent most of the day hiking alone which was lovely. I like knowing there are people around but being able to totally make my own decisions on breaks and pace and such is what I’m used to. Like at lunch I laid down on my tyvek tarp and pulled my umbrella over my face and took a nap and then woke up and ate a hot meal. 

It also means I have fewer stories to tell. But! One of my favorite things about today was that, as I was hiking, I kept seeing little designs made on the trail out of rocks – “U (rock)”, a peace sign, a happy face. I figured someone up the trail had left them days prior for fun, but every time I saw one I felt like it was just for me and it brightened my day. 

Cut to when I got to camp later, Karma says, did you see my messages for you? They really were left for me! Thank you Karma!

I saw two snakes, neither of which were rattlers. One slithered away quickly and the other didn’t want to move from his sunny spot, so I had to get closer to it to make it move along. 

I got to camp with only some gummy bears and jerky left, which means I planned well as far as food, but also meant I had to high tail it to the store to get food for dinner. That’s right – I hiked from 530 to 430 to make 16 miles. Tenacity over speed.

I should also mention my least favorite part of the trail today – warning, poop talk. So far on trail there doesn’t seem to be any kind of routine or even warning system for bowel movements. Every single poop has been a downright emergency. Today there were two emergencies, and I was walking a ridge line the whole day. Made for some very unpleasant walking. I will think twice before taking spicy pasta from a hiker box again. 

Plan for tomorrow isn’t finalized yet, but I think I’m gonna try for a shower and I have other chores to do, so it’ll be a late start for me. It’s supposed to be pretty mellow terrain until Julian. Hopefully my blisters are okay with that. They actually preferred the uphill today.

Blisters Galore! Day 2: Mt Laguna to Boulder Oaks

Miles: 12
Rattlesnakes: 0

Tears: 0

We’re doing an early morning hike tomorrow so I really should be trying to sleep.

Warning: Blister talk. Just spent the last hour trying to patch up my blisters. There’s a hiker on trail who is an expedition doctor in real life and brought a massive medical kit who told me that stringing a piece of thread through a blister to drain it and then leaving it (what I’d been doing per usual thru hiker advice) doesn’t quite work because the dry piece of skin just keeps rubbing away at the skin underneath and grows bigger – which is what has been happening to me. He said instead to cut away the blistered skin, neosporin, cover with a bandaid and then the stretchy stuff they put on your arm when you give blood. And that’s what he did with his massive heel blisters today. He gave me the necessary items so I’m gonna try his advice because my blisters really slowed me down today. I ended up hiking the last mile in flip flops. 

We climbed out of Hauser this morning which was hard but good. At the main top a group of us stopped and had a snack and chatted before continuing on. It took a while to get to Hauser. I came up with a theory that I’ve been working on – I’ve noticed that there is a balance between going slower and too slow. Too slow and every pain comes to the forefront of your mind and every step is a little harder. A good pace erases a lot of the minutiae of trail pain – muscles loosen, blisters hurt less, etc. This pace isn’t so much about going faster but (this is the theory) going happier – it has a bounce to it. It’s your play pace. It’s the pace you’d be going if you were having a little fun. I seem to do a decent job of finding this pace at the beginning of the day, but at the end I struggle.

We got our first trail magic today. There was an unofficial kickoff at Lake Morena and Who’s Your Daddy and several other trail angels were there with coffee, bagels, fruit. They were giving shakedowns and several hikers left with lighter packs, and I left with some pretty cool stuff from the hiker box, including a resupply on medical kit stuff (which I have used extensively thanks to blisters), some flip flops for camp shoes (which are the flip flops I hiked in) and my dinner tonight, a spicy Italian pasta. I didn’t do a shakedown because I’ve been pleasantly surprised with my pack weight – in part because the desert has been so plentiful with water. I also grabbed lunch at the Lake Morena store and a few extra treats for the hike later. I went with Jelke and learned a little more about her – she was a civil engineer back home. 

Jelke took off a little earlier than me and I hiked with Tommy, Chris, Cathleen, Alpo and Annie until my blisters slowed me down and I hiked on my own for a while. Not long after, Bruce came up behind me and I hiked with him, which took my mind off my feet and got me moving again. We talked about what motivated us to do the trail. Also, even though we’d split up by then, at camp later Bruce came to find me and asked how my feet were and then told me to talk to the expedition doctor and went with me, which was so incredibly sweet. 

We’d read about ticks online being a problem this year. Annie said she’d seen one on her toilet paper when she went to the bathroom in Hauser. Today when I was swapping into flip flops I swear I saw a bunch on the grass I was sitting in, so now I’m paranoid about ticks. 

At one point before we got to camp we were all sat under a bridge with other hikers named Jeff, Rachel and Rachel’s friend whose name I didn’t catch. We ended up naming her friend Nirvana (it was a group effort) because he and Kurt Cobain have something in common (wearing mismatched socks? My sleepy brain can’t remember.)

We also named Annie today. Annie had found a can of green beans on the trail day one and like a badass, picked it up and has been carrying it. Her, Tommy and Cathleen have had plans all day to cook them with Tommy’s dried miso, so that’s what they did. Everyone’s been telling Annie that she’ll have good karma for picking up the green beans. Yeah, well, as soon as she took a bite, a bird shit on her head. So now Annie is Karma.

After we’d been sitting a while a hiker named Amelia joined our campsite. I think she’s the youngest person I’ve met on trail yet at 18.

Also, it’s creepy, but I realized I’d already been following a ton of hikers I’ve met on trail on Instagram. I just don’t want to get the trail name Stalker.

Tomorrow we’re getting up early early to try to push for Mount Laguna. It’s 16 miles all uphill.

Day 1: Campo to Hauser Creek

Miles: 15.4

Cries: 2

Snakes: 0 (1?)
Woke up at 330am and laid in bed feeling surges of adrenaline about starting today. I cried a little thinking about how much I wish my mom were able to be there to send me off, that I would so love one of her hugs. Got up, got dressed, got breakfast. Mark and I were quiet in the car. In a way I don’t think there’s much either of us can say. I’m going. It’s going to be hard. 

Started this morning at around 615. I both didn’t want to stop hugging Mark and my dad goodbye, and I was also desperate to leave. One last hug. And off I went.

The first five or so miles flew by. I was feeling strong and motivated. I chatted with several people. Cathleen. Tommy. Alpo. From the Pacific Northwest. Robert, from Redding. Mike, who was section hiking. Rhino, who has thru-hiked the AT. Jelke from Belgium. Bruce. Amelia. More passed whose names I didn’t catch. I saw a man and a woman both wheeling their backpacks up the mountains on a unicycle-type device. They had dogs. I stopped several times to tend to my feet. By 9am it was warm. There were several streams in the typically dry section. I dunked my shirt, my bandana in the water. I pulled out my umbrella.
I hiked with Mike and he told me about some of his trips to the Sierra, the upcoming terrain. In the heat of the day I started to stop more often. I was chatty. I had to cool off. I stopped and let my body temperature lower. But eventually I stopped and rested for long and invited people to join my “shade party.” From there I hiked with Jelke, whose water filter wasn’t working so I let her borrow mine. 

I got slower and slower – the heat had lifted, but blisters were forming on my pinky toes despite trying three different methods to prevent them, and on top of that I realized I hadn’t done a good job at bringing in calories in the heat. I stopped and ate chocolate hazelnut butter and fig newton type cookies and eventually cooked myself some ramen right on the trail. I am glad to be alone in moments I’m struggling like that. I don’t want to be motivated or encouraged. I want to figure out what I need and then figure out if it’s possible to give it to myself. In that case, it was ramen. So I did.

Still, even after I was no longer bonking, the last miles dragged. At one point I’m pretty sure I heard a rattlesnake but it buzzed several feet after I’d passed it, which was strange. Several reports of snakes on the trail today, but I didn’t see one (I’m happy to keep it that way.) 

My blisters were tender and my spirits were a little low. I’d started the day impressed with my speed and ended the day one of the last people to arrive to Hauser Creek.

At Hauser everyone had already set up tents. There are probably fifteen tents down here. People were sitting in groups and laughing and I felt lonely. Like joining a new school where everyone seems to have all the friends they want. But of course that’s not real. That’s just my brain taking itself in circles. 

Not to mention, once I set up camp I realized I really didn’t want to socialize. I wanted quiet time to myself as I’d run my extroversion to empty earlier, and I had camp chores to do. I filtered water and dug a cathole (it is strange to find a place to poop when there are so many people all in one place) (it was also hard to find a place to pee all day – the space beyond the trail is thick with plants and there were people passing every few minutes.)

What we are doing out here is strange. A singular activity and a group one. Allegiances we abandon regularly. Walking because we can. Going somewhere but far, far away. If I’m honest I’m not thinking about where we’re going. I’m not thinking about how many days it will take or miles there are. I think: I’m gonna go on a 15 mile backpacking trip today. I feel like if I really imagined the scope of what I was doing I wouldn’t be able to go any further.

I’ve touched several things today that might have been poison oak. We’ll find out. 

I’m Hiking the PCT! 12 Things to Know About Me

1. I’m 25. I live in Arizona. I’ve been working as an editor but quit my job to do the PCT.

2. I did not grow up hiking. I went on a handful of hikes and camping trips as a kid. I found hiking arduous and not fun. I’ve been fishing once and managed to hook a fish through its eyeball. That ended it for me. For most of my life I didn’t see the appeal of nature.

3. I’ve been hiking and backpacking for 2 years. I’ve been on a hundred or so hikes, mostly by myself, and 12 backpacking trips total. Two of those backpacking trips were solo.


4. The longest mileage I’ve done on a backpacking trip is 16 miles.

5. I’ve never seen a rattlesnake, a bear or a mountain lion. I’ve seen two nonvenomous snakes, massive muddy bear prints and heard a bobcat. (They don’t sound like what you think they sound like.)

6. I’ve only ever briefly walked on snow in the Rockies and Chiricahuas. I’ve never used an ice axe or micro spikes. This is one of the highest snow years for the PCT on record. I will have to learn quickly.

7. I am afraid of basically everything. Hiking has, in many ways, been a practice for me of putting my fears in context.


8. For example, I am afraid of heights. I have spent most of my life avoiding panic-inducing heights because my body tends to freeze. This year I have been actively putting myself in scary, high, scrambling/climbing situations to try to learn my way past it. It’s been working pretty well.

9. I hate bridges and walking on logs.

10. I have wide feet and tried on and tested about 20 pairs of shoes (yes, including Altras) trying to find one that would work for the PCT. I ended up with a pair of Inov8s. We’ll see how that goes.

11. I’ve been married for eight years. My husband is staying home and I’m hiking the trail solo. It’s the first time both of us will be alone.


12. My biggest fear for the trail is that I’ll let myself get too afraid of the idea of something and I’ll quit. It’s also part of why I’m going out there. I want to show myself that my fears don’t have to steer the ship.

My Mother and the Pacific Crest Trail

In January of 2015, my mother died of stomach cancer. It took six months from her diagnosis. She spent most of it in a hospital.

A month before her diagnosis, but while we knew she was sick, we took a planned road trip for my birthday to Zion National Park. We drove through miles and miles of empty roads. We drank margaritas and ate Mexican food in Cedar City. We lounged in the pool in Springdale. We hiked through The Narrows.

“We should make a trip like this an annual tradition,” she said. We wouldn’t get a chance.

My mom and me at The Narrows

I’d first been to the Narrows in high school on a field trip. It was the first time I remember doing something and actually enjoying it while I was doing it. I had a habit as a teen of living in my head. The walls of the canyons, the cool wet of the river, the struggle to stay upright on slick rocks forced me to be there, in the moment. Still, I wouldn’t hike again for years.

Six days after my mother died, my aunt and I went on a summit hike. I don’t know why that seemed like the thing to do. The weather was nice, I guess. I didn’t want to sit around the house. I’d been on maybe two hikes the year before. I wasn’t a hiker.

We didn’t make it to the top. We hadn’t eaten breakfast. We’d taken on the second highest summit in the valley. We turned around.

Still, I remember thinking: There is something out here that helps. I told myself I’d try to go on one hike a month that year.

I read the book Wild when it was published. I’d been a long follower of Cheryl Strayed’s advice column Dear Sugar and got the book on it’s first printing. I devoured it. I didn’t think I’d ever do something as crazy as the PCT. I wasn’t athletic, I didn’t especially enjoy being outside, I didn’t see the value in putting yourself through so much suffering, and it seemed impractical to up and leave one’s life for several months. But I thought maybe someday I’d go on a backpacking trip. That would be adventure enough for me.

I passed the book to my mom. I often gave my mother books that I’d screened – she didn’t like it when books had sad endings. I wish I could remember what she thought of it. I know she liked it. I wondered if the book had made her think about what it was like to lose her own mother some ten years before. I remember being grateful that I loved my mom so much, that she was healthy, that I would have her for a long, long time. She wasn’t afraid of getting older. She liked to say she planned to live to be 120.

A year before the book Wild was published, my mother had emergency surgery for a burst ulcer. It was scary, dangerous, but they’d caught it. When I saw her after she came out of the hospital, she was weak, frail, thin in a way I’d never seen her, and it scared me. But I also thought: Of course you didn’t die. The universe would never take you from me. I wouldn’t let it.

More weeks passed after my mother’s death. In February I took three days and went north and stayed in a cabin my myself. I read. I made campfires. I went on a short hike to Tonto Natural Bridge, climbing over boulders along a creek. I stopped under the massive travertine walkway and watched other hikers trickle in through the morning and wrote in my journal.

I went home. I got a tattoo, a hummingbird, tied to a memory of my mother. I started painting. I read Wild again. I reread Tiny Beautiful Things. I clung to Cheryl Strayed’s writing like a bible for my grief. Backpacking. I would like to go backpacking, I thought. There was a hike I’d heard people talk about in Arizona that took you to clear blue waterfalls. Havasu Falls. Maybe I’d be a strong enough hiker by the end of the year to go there.

But then it was April, and a coworker posted on Facebook that they were going to Havasu Falls and had an extra permit.

When? I asked.

Friday, she said.

I had three days. My tattoo wasn’t finished healing. I had no backpacking gear. I’d never been on more than an eight mile day hike which had nearly destroyed me, let alone carrying weight. The trip to the falls was 10 miles in, 10 miles out.

I said yes.


The hike was the first really hard thing I’d done since losing my mom. On the way out, I convinced myself I couldn’t do it. I was going to take a tourist helicopter out. My group passed me and said they’d see me at the top. But then the helicopter was going to take longer than I’d anticipated, almost as long as the hike itself, so instead I hiked my way out. As I climbed the 1000 feet out of the canyon, I looked back at where I’d come from. I wished my mom could see it too. I stopped in every patch of shade to cry. And then I kept walking.

It was nearly a year after Havasu before I went on my next backpacking trip. I started to warm the idea that I might do the PCT someday. Someday, when I’m stronger. Someday, when I’m more confident in nature.

I went on a few more backpacking trips. I liked the way they made me struggle. I liked the way I so often had to do the thing I didn’t think I could do.

I started reading thru-hiker’s blogs. I followed them on Instagram. I saw something I didn’t expect to see, which was that they were just like me. They had all of the same fears and pains I had. The only difference was that they had decided to go.

A year and a half after I lost my mom, I decided for sure I was going to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. I’m a month away from starting at the border of Campo, CA.

Losing my mother was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to live through. A close second was the six months I spent watching her die. It doesn’t escape me that for nearly the same amount of time, I will be putting one foot in front of the other, trying to reach the Northern Terminus.

Sometimes I try to imagine whether I would be hiking this trail if my mother were alive. One answer is no. I wouldn’t have needed to. I wouldn’t have needed to see just how much I could suffer and survive if she’d lived.

Another answer is yes. She would come with me. She would make friends with every hiker and trail angel we passed. She would insist we splurge in town on good food and a comfortable bed. She would probably pack wine. She would snore. She would be slow but steady. She would make sure we called home.

Before my mother died, I’d always seen her as a completely different species to me. We got along well, but we were different. Where she was positive I was critical. Where she relaxed, I planned. Where she schemed, I played by the rules.

When she died, an image came to me without asking for it. I imagined that she had shrunk back into a fetus and implanted herself inside my literal, anatomical heart. This essence of my mother would leech out particles of vulnerability when I wanted to be closed, compassion I’d never had capacity for, love for every ounce of my fear. It was as if she’d decided: I can’t be there to help you become this person anymore. I’ll have to show you how to do it on your own.

I don’t get to know what my mother would think of me hiking from Mexico to Canada. I don’t get to know if I’ll make it to the Northern Terminus, or if my pack will be too heavy, or if I’ll wither in the sun or sink in the snow. But I hope to spend as much time as I can being the woman I believe my mother knew I could be. More brave than afraid. More free than secure. More wild and alive.

Mom holding me at the Grand Canyon

FAQ: I’m Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail

What is the Pacific Crest Trail?

The PCT is a continuous footpath from Mexico to Canada. It’s approximately 2,660 miles long and goes through California, Oregon and Washington.

Who are you going with?

Myself, and a few thousand strangers who are also day hiking, section hiking or attempting to thruhike. Rumor has it the relationships you form with other thru-hikers are the best part of the trail.

How long does it take?

The average hiker takes 5 months.You’re essentially trying to time yourself right so that you aren’t entering the Sierra too early before the snow melt, or the Cascades too late (when it starts to snow in the fall/winter). But that’s going to be an extra challenge this year, because it’s an unusually high snow year.

How far will you hike every day?

At first, probably only 15 miles a day on average or maybe even less. Eventually, more like 20 miles a day average, with some flat terrain days nearing 30 miles. That average includes “zero” days (days where I hike zero miles) and “nero” days (days where I don’t hike very many miles) which may be spent on the trail or in a hotel room or trail angel’s house in one of the trail towns.

What made you want to do that?!

Well, Wild by Cheryl Strayed, for one. Then hiking and backpacking personally. Then Girl in the Woods and Carrot Quinn and Dora la Explorer and HalfwayAnywhere and an innumerable amount of other trail journals and articles online.

How do you feed yourself? 

I’ll be hitchhiking at trail crossings and resupplying every few days (2-3 days average, up to 10 days) in towns along the way. Mostly my goal is to grocery shop for whatever I need along the way, although there will be some areas where I’ll have to send a box of food to a Post Office where stores are scarce.

What are you afraid of?

On a physical level, I’m afraid of rattlesnakes, bears, mountain lions, broken or twisted ankles, exposure, heights, raging rivers, Giardia, blisters, sun burns, hypothermia, dehydration, getting lost and Poodle Dog bush.

But mostly what I’m afraid of is that I’m going to get out there and it’s going to be hard and my fears are going to overwhelm me, and I won’t stick it out long enough to really prove to myself what I’m capable of. Or to put it simply: I’m afraid of the fear itself.

What are you doing to prepare?

So far I’ve just been hiking frequently and backpacking when I can. I haven’t focused on long mileage, though I have managed a few 30-mile backpacking trips with one 16-mile day. 10 mile day hikes aren’t rare for me. I’ve been trying to put myself in new situations in the hopes that it will teach me how to get through things I don’t want to or think I can’t do –  like hike up a terrifying mountain (a la Picket Post Mountain near Superior, AZ), night hike on an exposed ridge or hike through the rain.

What are you bringing with you?

I have my whole planned gear list here.

How are you financing the trip?

I’ve been actively saving money while also slowly upgrading my gear. By the time I hit the trail, I’ll have around $6,000 to spend while on-trail. If I were single, finances would also have included selling everything I own and breaking the lease on my house and canceling/paying off any monthly charges, but since I’m married, Mark is going to be the adult in the relationship and take care of bills while I’m gone. I can only imagine the food bill will shrink dramatically.

Where are you going to be documenting your trip?

A little bit of everywhere. Here, on this blog, on my Instagram, on YouTube, and for friends, family and fellow hikers, on Facebook.

What is your husband going to do while you’re gone?

Continue being a living, breathing independent organism, I imagine. Once I’d decided to go (rather than just talk about it as a “someday” thing) it took Mark a little while to get comfortable with the idea, but since then he’s been incredibly supportive. He’s gone with me on overnights, put the Forest Service number on speed dial while I did solo trips, generously bought me some of my most expensive gear, and listened to me rattle on about trail plans at length. I’m sure he’ll be lonely, though, so please make plans to hang out with them, even if he ignores your first 15 offers. He really does want to meet up.

What are you going to do when you finish?

I have no idea. I have a few practical plans (try to work for an outdoor gear company?) and a few more radical ones (convince Mark to live in a van and travel the country?) but it’s hard to say. I don’t really know who I’ll be when I’m done.