Or, more specifically titled, Neglecting Bodily Needs to Satisfy the Need for Independence: a (really directionless) exploration on the difference between making do and making yourself needlessly suffer so you can feel free, and how this impacts other facets of life — mostly my life —and how it informs perceptions of resource abundance in outdoor culture at large.
I slept on a 4” foam pad for the first five months of living in Wyoming. The pad, with its foldable design and minimal aesthetics, reinforced the quasi-transient existence I am more or less pursuing. And it was cheap.
After sleeping terribly on it for five months, I made the radical decision that my body deserved a real bed. In January, I bought one off Amazon. A queen. It was the first new bed I’ve ever bought.
Along with snow tires, nylon underwear, and a 24 oz. bottle of Meyer’s hand soap, the purchase of a new bed solidified the fact that I’m like, a real adult now.
It also sent me spiraling into a crisis.
Why is sleep the first thing to go when I want to save money, or time, or be more productive? Am I not worth $150? And what’s more — what if I think I need something that I actually just want, and then I end up in Bloomington, Indiana, paying $1,400 a month for a single apartment filled with new furniture, like a leather, L-shaped couch that costed $1,000, and which I now must rent a U-Haul if I want to move, which I won’t be able to, because I’ll have become dependent on a job that fills my wallet but drains my freedom to direct the course of my life, just to maintain a lifestyle that barely keeps at bay the tidal wave of loneliness crashing down on me in my early-to-mid 20s.
In this way, meeting a basic need, like sleep, seemed to interrupt the fulfilment of a cerebral need — the need for independence — by subtracting from money (which provide options) and adding another object I’ll need to deal with when I move next.
The post-purchase paranoia ended after I slept on the new bed. But it still left me thinking.
Why do I value independence so much? Why do I pursue it more than most other needs?
What effect does constantly trying to meet that need have on the fulfillment of other needs, like connection? And what’s the difference between resourcefulness and being stingy with yourself to meet the need for independence?
Also, like, what’s up with resourcefulness? How does it inform my relationship with outdoor culture, and how I percieve nature at large?
Part I: Using an Outdated Theory of Needs to Ground my Insecurities in Science
In 1943, American psychologist Abraham Maslow proposed his “Theory of Human Motivation” to Psychological Review. In it, he hypothesized 5 sets of basic needs that every human strives to meet.
Maslow theorized that the needs are arranged in a hierarchy — the most cerebral needs rely on the meeting of basic needs. Hence the pyramid shape.
He also hypothesized that in a healthy individual, these needs are pursued chronologically as you age.
You know, as a baby, you mostly want to just like, suck titty milk and eat pop tarts. (Do babies eat pop tarts?) Adolescents want to look sick af in front of their friends (at least I did), and establish autonomy. Independence, therefore, is an esteem need. Adults want to self-actualize — to serve the community, find a higher purpose, expand notions of the self. At least some some do.
A lot of psychologists have beef with Maslow’s theory. For one, there is no evidence that shows you have to meet the lower needs in order to achieve the higher ones. This idea might be due largely to the fact that Maslow’s research was mostly anecdotal, and relied on subjective biographies a dozen or so, mostly white, middle-class American men. Which reflects other problems too. To me, it suggests that the assumptions of the Great Chain of Being are subtly at play: human consciousness at the top of the pyramid, and “lower” needs, like lower animals, toward the bottom.
*However. Some researchers argue that people’s basic needs must be met before they pursue long-term, complex goals, like reducing carbon footprints. Here’s a fun story in the Guardian from a broke parent’s perspective trying to be environmentally conscious.
But to some psychologists, Maslow’s theory is still helpful. The graphic lets you clearly visualize needs in logical categories. Hence why I’m relying on it here, in this essay.
Meeting one needs effects the meeting of others, like creating a character in Oblivion
Maslow hypothesized that needs are always in flux. To meet one need is to move away from another. In this way, meeting needs is like creating a character in Oblivion.
When you create your character in Oblivion, each trait is influenced by another. When you expand your character’s jaw, his nose shrinks. When you shrink his forehead, his neck expands. You can put points into agility, at first, but they reduce strength. It’s a balancing act.
It’s really hard, but not impossible, to create a character that doesn’t look like a total idiot.
The point is that pursuing one need is to leave another alone. For Maslow, we’re all just running around from need to need, meeting the need for friendship, then the need to be alone, then the need water, then the need for sex, then the need for intellectual stimulation. Now I need to pee.
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BONUS QUESTION: Think of something you did once that you really regret……(that shouldn’t be too hard for you)..…Now ask yourself: What need was I trying to meet when I did it?
Part 2: Meeting Needs and Making Do
Why do I find myself trying to meet the need for independence so often?
God, I don’t know. Was I a Founding Father in a previous lifetime? A Yankee solider in 18th century Boston who got captured by those cock-sucking lobsterbacks?
Who cares. You don’t. This is a question best reserved for a slow day of therapy.
What effect does trying to meet the need for freedom have on the pursuit of other needs, like connection?
Love and belonging are on the 4th tier of Maslow’s 5-tiered pyramid. We all need to feel like we’re loved, and like we belong to a group. Some people feel this need more than others. Personally, I crave this shit like a frat boy craves cocaine.
Trying to maintain a constant state of choice, of independence, can feel like it infringes on feeling like you’re part of a group. You’re like a stray cat walking around the edge of the yard. You want the warm feeling of being held, but not the constriction that comes with it.
Maybe I should stop saying “You.”
But belonging and being free do not have to be antiquated. As writer Sebastian Junger put it, “The needs of the individual and the needs of the group can be in dynamic tension. But in a healthy group, they don’t compromise the other.”
When I worked at POBS, I felt both more free individually, and like I belonged to a group. I get the same effect hiking with good friends.
You can eat your cake, and share it too.
As methods to maintain independence, what is the difference between being resourceful and neglecting one’s own needs?
Being selective with how I spend my resources allows for the freedom to spend them where I want.
By building my furniture out of cardboard, living with roommates, getting all my clothes for Christmas or from thrift stores, and using the same ski boots I’ve had since I was 14, I can more or less do what I want where I want — to work in outdoor education, to write, to travel around. I don’t make much money right, but I also don’t need much.
*But this is only like, 15% of the truth. More than my resourcefulness, I have the options I do because of the connections I have with other people. I’m thinking about you, Mom and Dad, who worked a bajillion hours to pay for your three kids to go to college, and who are still helping me, in grad school, pay for my car.
Sometimes being resourceful morphs into being a stingy bastard, however. What’s the difference between the two?
Resourceful: I don’t need a 9 oz., $600 Arcteryx wind layer to go hike up Mt. Massive. The Columbia jacket my grandma gave me 8 years ago will do just fine.
Stingy: If I fast for two days this week, I won’t have to buy groceries until Sunday.
This sounds pretty obvious right now. In the moment, however, it’s hard to tell. I think I’m getting better at it though.
How does constantly trying to meet a certain need inform one’s identity?
Part of learning oneself is learning about what you need and how to get it. For psychologist Erik Erikson (whose parents were clearly cruel), this is a part of identity formation. Not as much or as simply as Maslow argued. But still a part.
For my part, being resourceful as a means to feel free has been slow-cooked into my identity. I want to be known as someone who makes things work, who does what they want.
It’s a precarious and cringy identity that I am largely ashamed of. How can I honestly say that “I like to make do with what I have” when I’m driving a 2022 hatchback and getting drinks downtown like four days a week in my $80 Outdoor Research pants?
It also depends so much on comparing myself to other people. As I ski more out west, I find myself feeling proud of the ski culture back home in Ohio. Where I grew up, most peole wear cotton sweatshirts and snow bibs from Walmart, or hunting bibs. We drink Busch Light in the parking lot. I feel proud to ski in boots I’ve had since I was 14, on skis with bases cut deep by tree roots and rails, in a jacket that was given to me by my grandma when I was 16. I readily judge the man skiing groomers in a $3,000 ski setup as a conspicuous display of wealth.
Then I remember that to someone who doesn’t ski, all of us at the ski resort look like wealthy douchebags.
Anyways. I’m not sure where I wanted to go with this question. Apparently I just wanted to shit on myself. So let’s move on.
Part III: Resourcefulness in Outdoor Culture
What does resourcefulness look like in outdoor culture?
The challenge of how to do a lot with little is one of many favorite things about backpacking. One of my favorite things is using something for a purpose I never would in my day-to-day life. Like making chopsticks out of sticks because I forgot my spoon. Or building a little table out of stones.
Resourcefulness is also expensive.
More and more gear is sold every year to help people allegedly get by on less. Many people first getting into hiking worry that they don’t have the gear they need to do it. To me, gear-obsession is a huge obstacle to people getting into hiking, and backpacking. Nobody’s saying the obvious; hiking is walking. You just need your feet, a bag, water and some food.
Here’s a good Reddit Thread where this is debated further.
How does independence, resourcefulness, and community show up in outdoor culture?
The Ultralight (UL) movement is an epitomic expression of freedom and minimalism in the outdoors.
Originally formed as a response to the huge, cumbersome external-frame, male backpackers, the jist is to reduce how much you carry so you can go farther, and more happily. Some people take it to the extreme and drill holes in their toothbrush. Some people spend $800 on an Arcteryx wind jacket to cut 3 oz. of from their bag.
Personally, I find comfort and fun more important than speed and weight. I was happy to read this blog post of a thru-hiker that thinks similarly.
Another part of backpacking is the notion of freedom it conjures. Rugged independence. American self-reliance.
But even on a massive thru-hike, as Alex Roddie notes in his book, “The Farthest Shore: Seeking solitude and nature on the Cape Wrath Trail in winter,” solo-hiking hugely depends on the connections you have with people. Whether it’s letting someone know where you’ll be and when, or having a friend ship you a resupply box every month, or just staying in contact with forest rangers, it’s as much about connectivity as it is with independence.
I grew up going into the woods to get away from people. In outdoor leadership, I learned that it’s possible to go into the woods to get closer with them.
Again. In a good group, you can have your cake and share it too.
Part III: Abundance and Scarcity
Is the nature of reality conservative or abundant?
As if I knew.
There is a famous saying that an oak tree lets out millions of acorns, when it only needs one to make a tree.
I like thinking of nature as inherently abundant, but now, in the modern world, situationally scarce.
Maybe it’s both. I don’t know.
To be honest, I’m running out of steam here.
Okay, so I don’t really know where I’m going with this essay anymore, and I have other stuff to write, so I’m just going to end it here: on a note of celebration for abundance and community
The last trip I led at POBS was a 14 day canoe/backpacking expedition. After 14 days of dealing with interpersonal conflict among a group of ten 15-year olds, we left the Delaware Water Gap, all of us thin on sleep, low on food, and drained from constantly trying and failing not to run out of fuel. Whenever I’m on a trip, I manically ration food for the next days, make sure we have enough. Resources are scarce.
When we got back, the parents of the students had arranged a huge buffet of home-cooked food. It was glorious. There was unlimited fried chicken.
To go from feeling like resources are so scarce, to feeling like, “fuck it — there’s more than enough for everyone to have as much as they want,” may not be a sustainable way to look at everything.
But it can be with some things, sometimes.
