[LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 2] Fighting agrarian anxiety attacks on Jeju's paths

A butterfly visits a flower, seen by one of Jeju's Olle Trails. Courtesy of Rachel Stine

By Rachel Stine

It was May 2021. Six months had passed since I moved to Jeju.

Cut off from my friends in Seoul, the gravitas of the COVID-19 pandemic sank in. After the Jan. 6 U.S. Capitol riots and the murder of George Floyd, it felt like the world was collapsing.

Then my uncle died. Five days later, my 104-year-old grandmother ― the matriarch of the Stine family ― also died.

This maelstrom of stress culminated in a relapse of the nameless anxiety disorder that had decimated my life in university. While the condition landed me in New York City emergency rooms twice, it evaded formal diagnosis for years. I was assured that I'd "make a great case study" because my symptoms were so irregular.

Unfortunately, my brain internalized this as: "You're such an anxious puddle we don't even have words to describe it. Here's some medication, kiddo … good luck! Fighting!"

But I certainly didn't feel like "fighting."

Having anxiety was like falling to the bottom of a deep well. Eventually, medication, therapy and the advice of North Korean refugee friends wound together to form an escape rope.

The climb up was painful, but productive. Moving to South Korea in 2013 greatly reduced my symptoms. By 2016, I was off medication, and convinced I would never fall into that slippery-walled well again.

A butterfly, seen by one of Jeju's Olle Trails / Courtesy of Rachel Stine

May 2021 proved me wrong.

In my 30s, I've come to believe that Nameless Beast is a subset of obsessive-compulsive disorder known colloquially as pure O. For the sake of clarity, I'll be using the term OCD, but please know that I'm not attempting to self-diagnose. Sometimes reality just has linguistic gaps.

Fortunately, I am no stranger to this situation. During my occasional flare-ups, I've learned three coping strategies that work.

The first is to trawl YouTube for guidance. My go-to video was "H3H3 On Treating Depression," and although I was not depressed, I have listened to this video so many times I've memorized the script.

The second strategy is to do one productive thing a day. For me, this typically meant writing for an hour, since writing is my life-anchor.

The third ― and most critical ― step is to go outside. That's how my then-boyfriend and I decided to hike Olle Trail 1. So in a way, one might say OCD gave my Olle odyssey its start.

When we arrived at the trailhead, the Olle Foundation attendant leaped out of his seat. (This was in the middle of COVID-19, and I assume he was bored sitting around all day with no visitors.) He gave us free guidebooks, a plant dictionary and souvenir pins. We bought Olle Trail passports and stamped them outside.

And with that, a year-long journey began.

While the OCD noise wasn't completely gone during that hike, the volume was turned down. I focused on photographing the butterflies, which were so big I initially mistook them for birds.

We climbed volcanic cones, known as "oreum," and saw Ilchulbong Peak for the first time. When we spotted stray cats, we laughed about how we would have a cat in our family home.

A larger, fuzzier kind of butterfly, seen by one of Jeju's Olle Trails / Courtesy of Rachel Stine

As we passed a tackle shop parking lot, one of the cats refused to leave my boyfriend alone. She was rubbing against his legs, purring and rolling on her back.

The Korean tackle shop owner took notice. She invited us into her store and brewed us coffee in paper cups that said "beautiful life." She introduced us to her white Jindo dog and asked when we were getting married.

I have to admit, I was surprised by the gesture. People in Seoul were rarely this friendly.

As we neared the end of Trail 1, we watched the sun go down by Ilchulbong Peak. The landscape looked like a lo-fi thumbnail on YouTube, and my compulsions quieted to background noise. For a moment, I felt better.

On the bus home, we stared at Jeju's seaside nightscapes, all neon and waves. We discussed plans for the future. What if we bought a house in this neighborhood? What school would our kids attend?

It was a hopeful discussion, but my mind kept returning to the tackle shop lady. She seemed to have this sense of "jeong" that I hadn't felt in years. That Korean cultural warmth, which seemed to have evaporated in Seoul, was something I'd rediscover on the Olle Trails.

And soon, I would need "jeong." Because the relationship that sheltered me during my OCD relapse?

The one with the man who cats adored?

The man who, during Pride Month, set his phone wallpaper to the bisexuality flag to celebrate his LGBT+ girlfriend?

That relationship was about to end.

To be continued…

LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 1 How hiking Jeju's 437km of trails changed my life
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 2 Fighting agrarian anxiety attacks on Jeju's paths
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 3 Carrying a grandma through Yaksu Station
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 4 Going full white lady in the woods
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 5 Getting ice cream and umbrellas from strangers
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 6 Discovering deer carcasses at the tea museum
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 7 Healing perfectionism on Pyoseon Beach
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 8 Confronting OCD in Woljeong-ri
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 9 Reading a poem about death in the woods
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 10 Confronting the subconscious saboteur
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 11 Worrying about comments section chaos
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 12 Saying goodbye in Gueok-ri
LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 13 Walking back, fast or slow

Rachel Stine has volunteered in the North Korean human rights sphere for over a decade. Her writing has appeared in The Huffington Post, The Korea Times and other major news outlets. You can view nature photography from her journeys around the world at flickr.com/photos/rachelstinewrites.