In the middle of winter, months removed from peak hiking season and coming off a particularly demanding stretch at work, I can feel the shift. I find myself craving solitude.
The stark difference between the two sides of me feels sharper this time of year. One side is pulling inward, craving stillness, space, and disconnection. The other keeps moving forward, making plans, celebrating friendships, enjoying my work.
I’ve been thinking about that tension a lot lately. About how we each hold multiple sides of ourselves and how knowing someone isn’t the same as knowing them fully. I’ve noticed it in my relationships, and I’ve noticed it in myself: how different parts of me show up depending on the setting, the circumstance, and the kind of relationship I have with someone.
I know my coworkers through how they show up at work, but I don’t know how they show up as partners, parents, or in pursuit of the things that light them up. I don’t know how they rest, what brings them peace, or where they feel most like themselves. I know my friends through shared experiences and conversations, but not how they move through a workday, what thoughts keep them up at night, or the full depth of their family relationships. I know my family through the roles we’ve played in each other’s lives across chapters spent together, apart, and back again, but I don’t know who my parents were before us, or how my siblings show up in every corner of their own worlds.
It’s made me wonder if it’s possible to fully know someone. Or if we are always meeting just one version of them at a time, context dependent.
After writing this post, I came across a passage from Mary Oliver’s essay Wordsworth’s Mountain that captured part of this idea more simply than I could:
“Man finds he has two halves to his existence- leisure and occupation- and from these separate considerations he now looks upon the world. In leisure he remembers radiance; in labor he looks for results.”
Not long after, my yoga instructor turned friend (hi, Haley!) shared another quote with me. One that feels like the counterpoint, or maybe the aspiration:
“The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play… He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him he is always doing both.” – Attributed to L.P. Jacks
Somewhere between those two ideas is where I find myself.
I haven’t mastered the art of blending everything into one seamless experience. Instead, when I think about my own life, I picture a Venn diagram: two distinct circles with a meaningful overlap in the middle.
One side is leisure: my “Hannah-in-the-Woods” self. She’s more introverted and intuitive. She seeks solitude, stillness, and time in nature, whether it’s close to home or across the world. She’s usually sweaty, hair in a ponytail, dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, almost always carrying a backpack. She loves sunrises and sunsets, long walks, fresh air, deep breaths, and quiet. She feels most alive in presence and possibility, dreaming big and wondering about the interconnectedness of it all.
The other side is occupation: my “Hannah-in-Society” self. She’s more extroverted, analytical, and structured. She moves through the corporate world, working to solve problems, thinking in outcomes, and navigating a life filled with meetings, time spent in conference rooms, and with technology. She’s mostly polished: wearing makeup and jeans, supporting the life that allows the other side to exist.
And then there’s the overlap.
The middle is where I feel most like me. It’s where my curiosity lives: asking an abundance of questions and challenging old ways of thinking. It’s where connection, presence, and intention show up. It’s my love for good coffee, meaningful conversations, movement, meditation, and a lifestyle that supports both health and growth. It’s where I say yes to what gives me energy and let go of what doesn’t.
For a while, I thought of these as competing identities. Now, I think of them as complimentary.
The part of me that seeks quiet and nature gives me the clarity and energy to show up fully in my work and relationships. And the part of me that’s driven and engaged in the world gives me purpose, and eventually sends me back to the woods to rest, recalibrate, and reconnect. It’s a cycle with each side fueling the other.
I think the goal isn’t to eliminate the divide, but to expand the overlap. Maybe that’s where purpose lives, in the space where both sides of ourselves are energized and in harmony.
And maybe that’s also the beauty of partnership: having someone who sees you across contexts, across seasons, across versions of yourself and still meets you in the middle. Still, there’s something valuable about the layered relationships in our lives. Different people meet different parts of us. Some join us for long hikes, some for quiet dinners, some for deep conversations, some for laughter. There’s beauty in continuing to discover the many sides of another person over time. And sometimes, knowing just one side of someone is enough.
As I look ahead, my goal to grow that middle space is seemingly simple yet takes intention. To choose the things that energize both sides of me. To live more often in that overlap where I feel aligned, present, and fully myself. Trusting it will lead me closer to that place L.P. Jacks describes, where living and working, effort and joy, begin to blur into one.
Maybe that’s the real work, learning how to build a life that doesn’t feel divided. It’s almost hiking season again and time on the trail feels like a great place to start. 🙂
Until the next tale… Happy trails.
-Hannah
Tales of My Trails 