A Metaphorically Cloudy Start to October
This past October, I got laid off at a rest stop in Virginia.
I was driving up to Shenandoah National Park for my college roommate’s 40th birthday when my HR department texted after hours, telling me they needed—and I’m paraphrasing here—to talk to me about “some organizational changes that will impact my role.” It’s not my first rodeo, so I took the call, attempted to be professional, and tried to quickly make peace with being made redundant, so that I could enjoy the weekend’s planned festivities.
It was my second layoff in two years, which isn’t a sentence that feels good to write. Even though I know a layoff is a business decision and has almost nothing to do with performance (which should’ve been underscored by the fact that all three of my managers have written my letters of recommendation and offered to be references), it still shakes your confidence, makes you question the things you had tocked down—your stability, your skills, your sense of direction—and what so many people don’t talk about (the amount of people that have suggested I travel or find myself during this time is…kind of wild; am the only one without a trust fund?), is that it really stretches the limits of your finances. It’s a sucky experience.
Last layoff, I admittedly had a rough time. Without really delving into things, there were other extenuating circumstances, and I felt lost, panicked, and very much adrift in ways I don’t usually feel for the bulk of the summer of 2024 (I stopped blogging here because the mental space I was occupying). This time, one of the first things I told myself at that Virginia rest stop was that I’d handle things differently. Last time, I spent every waking minute trying to claw my way back into full employment. While it worked, I put myself through a lot of unnecessary stress, and this time, part of the more measured, rational approach was to take advantage of the forced downtime rather than just spend my days refreshing job boards.
It’s actually depressing when you think about how much time work occupies in our daily lives. 71% of each year’s days are spent working. We spend up to a third of our lives working. While having my calendar completely open up was disorienting, it’s also kind of…nice.
While I’m obviously going to put my head down and hustle for a new gig, I decided to lean into the fact that I now have like, Tuesdays and Wednesdays to just live a little, and decided I was going to try and do one hike a week on a weekday morning or afternoon when typically, they might be more crowded, which is how, on my second untethered Thursday, I found myself waking up at 5 a.m. to hike Mt. LeConte in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
Why I Love Summiting Mt. LeConte via the Alum Cave Trail
Mt. LeConte is one of my favorite hikes, maybe because it feels decidedly different from the Blue Ridge hikes I frequent here in WNC. Despite being just an hour and a half drive from me, the Smokies feel bigger, sharper, and with a tinge of the drama you get from hikes out west. I’ve done it a few times and continually revisit the Alum Cave Trail. It’s the shortest route to the summit (about 11 miles round-trip), but not necessarily the easiest; you’re still climbing over 2,700 feet through riverside paths, mossy switchbacks, cliffside ledges, and forested ridges.
Along the way, you pass Arch Rock at about 1.3 miles in—a natural rock arch you actually walk under—and Inspiration Point around 2 miles, which offers your first panoramic glimpse of the ridge (and typically where I try to watch the sunrise). By roughly 2.3 miles, you hit Alum Cave Bluff: not really a cave, but a massive concave overhang about 80 feet high, historically mined for alum and Epsom salts in the 1800s. Beyond the bluff, the trail steepens, the spruce-fir forest takes over, and you begin to feel the elevation (over 6,000 feet at the summit).
At the top, the rustic historic LeConte Lodge sits nearby for those who want to stay overnight (which I’d love to do, but it is notoriously hard to book).
This October, I made good time and watched the sun pour through Alum Cave itself. It was worth it—gold and coral light hitting the rock walls while the mist drifted lazily through the trees.
Even During the Week, You Can’t Beat Leaf Peepers During Peak Foliage Season
Even on a weekday, the Alum Cave Trail isn’t exactly empty. The Great Smoky Mountains National Park draws over 13 million visitors a year, and the Blue Ridge Parkway sees nearly 17 million. I’m not sure about Tennessee, but I know fall is the busiest tourism season in Asheville. October is prime leaf-peeper season, and the nearly full parking lot at 5:30 a.m. reminded me just how many people are chasing peak color,
I passed a handful of hikers on the way up, but by the time I was heading down, it was a human river of fleece and selfie sticks. Despite my goal of getting these hikes to myself, you can’t find complete solitude during peak foliage here. When I left around 1:30 p.m., the parking lot was a zoo. Still, I wasn’t mad at my Thursday sunrise. I actually can’t think when, except on vacation, I’ve been able to do these during the work week.
Waiting on a Sunny Day: Mt. LeConte Sunrise Reflections
I always end up getting a lot of thinking done on my hikes. Maybe that’s why I do them so often (most of these blog topics are born on a trail). I used to always hike listening to podcasts or music, but one time I had a weird experience: a creepy-looking hiker really startled me in the middle of nowhere, and I realized being alert is the smart move. Since then, it’s just me and my thoughts, and there’s a real rhythm to it that, for me, lets my mind wander in productive ways.
Somewhere between the summit and the descent, I found myself replaying the layoff, the logistics, the what-next spiral. I felt the pang of self-pity—there’s a decent chance I’ll turn 40 unemployed, and that’s not what I envisioned for myself.
But then I remembered: last time I got laid off, I was on crutches. I couldn’t hike at all, and in fact, while I don’t talk about this often, I was born with a rare bone disorder in my leg, and the fact that I can hike at all is a minor miracle. In that regard, I’m fortunate.
I also thought about the friends I was driving to celebrate with that weekend. You’ve probably seen headlines over the past few years about how American men struggle to maintain close friendships and are very lonely. I was going to spend time with friends I’ve known longer than I’ve known them (a different friend recently said, “Our friendships can legally drink,” which I love). Being with those friends and allowing myself to unload my fears and frustrations with them that 100% started this unemployed journey on a positive note. In that regard, I’m also fortunate.
So there I was—unemployed, underdressed (I forgot my headband and gloves for this 27-degree hike, naturally), but moving freely through one of the most beautiful places in the world. I couldn’t help but ultimately feel like, in the grand scheme of things, I’ve been dealt a pretty good hand, and things will turn around.
A Mt. LeConte sunrise on a Thursday was exactly what I needed.
AshevilleExplorer 
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