Maggie Slepian

When I look back on 2020, it’s easy to pinpoint the things that didn’t happen and the goals that weren’t reached. I think this is true for many of us. There were a lot of goals and plans soul-crushingly cancelled, careers derailed, and clients lost.

At the end of each year, writers follow a “what I accomplished” trend, filling up thread after thread with their publications, accomplishments, and drool-worthy bylines. I am thrilled for my friends who had a high-earning year, snagged a byline in their dream publication, or both. At the same time it’s hard not to compare myself.

In a year like this, there were so many extenuating circumstances that it’s not fair or productive to compare myself to other people. I didn’t even want to be working for half of this year! I was supposed to be on the PCT! 

I lost my full-time job in August and had to scramble to make ends meet, essentially building a library of freelance clients from the ground up. Instead of spending my time pitching essays to the New York Times or the Atlantic, I was frantically gathering anchor clients, writing gift guides and gear roundups, and pushing out ghost-written content marketing articles under brand names.

But while those articles might not be anything I brag about to my 158 Twitter followers, I paid my mortgage every month. I lost both renters this fall, but still squeaked by, pumping out those SEO-crammed gear posts. If I adjust expectations according to the curveballs of 2020, I call myself successful. 

My big goal for 2020 was to thru-hike the PCT. Three weeks before I was supposed to leave for California, I sat on my couch ugly-crying as I cancelled the flights, watching Covid-19 gain steam and realizing a half-year hike up the west coast was one of the stupidest things you could do during a pandemic. Not only did this leave a gaping six-month hole in my year, it also bruised my outdoor-industry ego. I was a backpacking writer who hadn’t done a thru-hike since the AT in 2015. I felt like a fraud, and cancelling the PCT just put me further behind where I saw other people.

Again, here’s the flip side. Cancelling the PCT was the right thing to do. Shortly after I cancelled my trip, the PCTA came out with a statement invalidating permits and asking 2020 hikers not to hike. Jeff and I salvaged our year and went back to the basics. Car camping in the spring, doing short overnights as the days lengthened, then extending our explorations and finally doing a 223-mile hike in November. It wasn’t the thru-hike I had planned, and it definitely wasn’t the PCT record attempt Jeff had been training for, but we were so thrilled to be able to backpack that by the time we were out there, I wasn’t feeling bad that I hadn’t hiked 2,000 miles this year. I was just so happy to be backpacking. 

I spent my housebound weeks and months starting to draw again. I scheduled weekly FaceTime calls with my artist brother, and we’d chat and draw together from across the country. Jeff, myself, and a third writer started our own Backpacking Routes website. We threw time, effort and funds into something we really believe in, and have been thrilled with the community response. I made extra money guiding horseback trips, made friends in the outdoor industry over the internet, and volunteered delivering groceries to at-risk senior citizens. I actively changed how I shop, as I read about the wealthiest people getting wealthier while small businesses shuttered across the country. These are the things to be proud of.

It can be easy to get down on yourself, or spend your time wishing that things were different. As much as I roll my eyes at *inspirational content,* I think it’s worth the reminder that you should absolutely cut yourself some slack this year. Did you do a remote 5k? Good for you! Did you start cross-stitching during lockdown? Hell yeah! Did you learn to bake bread? Reconnect with old friends via Zoom? Did you pay your bills? Did you simply survive? Be proud of yourself—you deserve it.

This wasn’t the year any of us had planned. But 2020 succeeded in reseting expectations and making us look at our accomplishments differently. I wasn’t immediately proud of what I did, but when I look at it through the lens of a literal pandemic, I am proud of what myself and the people around me accomplished.