What happens when a burnt-out techie professional ditches the comforts of modern life and hikes 2,650 miles across the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada? A head-on collision of midlife crisis and wilderness reality, where he’s never felt more alive.

Somewhere between blisters, bear poop, and resupply, it clicks. Those cryptic ideas of Zen and Taoism he skimmed almost two decades ago—about ‘simplicity’ and ‘attachment,’ the kind most of us flag as hippie nonsense, weren’t entirely wrong. Who knew that stripping life down to ‘walk, eat, sleep, don’t die’ could reboot something in your brain, making the noise of modern life fade like a patchy cell signal several miles past the last trailhead. The result? A raw, ridiculous, and surprisingly insightful mash-up of life lessons only a trail could teach—served with enough sarcasm to make a monk snort-laugh.

Warning: This book contains unsolicited life advice—sprinkled with sarcasm, absurdity, several dusty Zen Buddhist detours, and some philosophical a-ha moments earned after too many miles on the trail.

In other words, this isn’t your typical trail memoir or thru-hiking guidebook. It’s more like a middle finger to hustle culture. Packed with existential meltdowns, unwashed hiker-trash camaraderie, and deeper insights that only make sense after walking 2,650 miles, this book is for anyone who’s ever:

- Googled “how to quit adulthood” at 2 AM

- Figured out the simple math: miles walked ÷ Snickers bars = sanity

- Wondered if ‘inner peace’ probably smells like dust, sweat, and the hope that the next trail town has a laundromat

Here’s what you’re not getting:

- Another “How I Conquered The Wilderness & Became A Badass Guru” tale.

- Tips on cutting your toothbrush handle to save 0.05 ounces.

- Yet another step-by-step trail guide to thru-hiking.

Instead, expect to get some deeper insights, absurdity dipped in, and moments of clarity that’ll smack you in the face when you least expect them.