My happy-go-lucky, adventurous spirit is a facade.
Not even seven years ago, I was this ball of anxiety and fear. There was so much I wanted to do, but also so much holding me back from really even trying to go for them. Going to the great outdoors, for example, frightened the heck out of me because I wasn’t even allowed to go out to play with other kids when I was little. My parents weren’t into outdoorsy stuff and the vast British Columbia wilderness was really more than I knew how to handle.
But I wanted to go out. There came a point in time when the drive became just a little bit stronger than the fear. Around that time, we got our first car, and we decided to take a first camping trip up to Lillooet, BC. I’m not going to talk about that trip–that went off without a hitch.
I’m talking about our 2nd camping trip, where we decided to explore these series of plateau lakes near Merritt, BC.
So what happened was this: it was late, about 6-7 pm. We were trying to find the turn-off leading to the lake, but nobody really warns you that a map looks nothing like the road, and forestry roads are often unmarked. After hours of nothing, we became excited when we saw what I was pretty sure was the first of the many lakes we were supposed to see.
“Turn!” I told my husband. So he did. The road looked sketchy, but I was sure that the lake was the lake I was pointing at. Down we went a loose, steep, dirt road, and the car came to a stop. I realized there was no road leading out of there.
“Oh,” I said. “I guess we should head back out, find another road.” We want back into the car. It was a manual transmission. It struggled to get up, and then slowly started rolling backwards…
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Everyone started yelling at everyone, and the dogs started barking. We all got out of the car and looked at our options. We tried putting stuff under the wheels to get the rubber to bite into something. It got us about a foot further than last time, but that was it.
We stopped when we realized all our efforts were putting large, teeth-sized marks into the tires.
We decided to set up camp right there. The lake was pretty enough and we were hungry. We made dinner–ribs with coleslaw and potato salad–which lifted our spirits up. Then we put up our tents. There was no good spot to set them up, so we had to lay down at a bit of an angle. There, lying in the dark, I realized that I was frightened out of my wits. What made me think I was going to learn about the outdoors at all? What the hell was I thinking? Dirt made me itchy, and what if a bear just came up and bit my foot? Then I thought–so what now? How are we going to get out of here tomorrow? Two wonderful days planned, now ruined. Some planner I was.
It’s tough to remember now, but at this point in my life, I still responded to failures with a deep, lasting shame. Every time things didn’t turn out, I would blame and then hate myself. “Lessons learned” was not a phrase I was familiar with.
I spent a whole, sleepless night tossing and turning. Eventually, I had to go to the bathroom, so I got up and left the tent.
I wish I could describe the exact feeling that hit me right at that moment. It’s a bit like drowning, I guess, and then suddenly being yanked up, and you get a breath of air. You’re still in the water, but now suddenly, you can breathe. Because you know what I saw? Stars. More stars than I have ever seen in my life, set against this deep purplish-haze. I could see the entire Milk Way unfolding before my eyes, with every dust and swirl imaginable. It was like walking unexpectedly into an IMAX movie after hours of darkness.
It was the contrast, I think, that did it. The contrast of our seemingly hopeless situation and this promise, from the Universe, that my problems are nothing. There is beauty all around me, beauty that will remain here long after me and my problems are dead, and I just have to accept things as they unfold. Let it go, I thought I heard God, or whoever it is out there, whisper to me. Everything will be all right.
Now, I’m not going to tell you what I was doing while having this life-changing revelation, because it would totally ruin the vision. Let’s just say I called everyone afterwards to get them to look out, too, and that eventually I ducked back into the tent because I was still a little scared of bears. But I managed to sleep soundly for the rest of the night, curled up between my husband, daughter, and dogs.
The next day, my husband and our best friend found help from a local rancher and his two Border Collies, even after almost insulting him twice. He towed our car with his truck. We had one of the best breakfasts I have ever had in my life and then we made our way to our intended destination. The road, by the way, was the one RIGHT NEXT to the one we fell in.
I’ve learned to manage my fears a whole lot better since then, but I will never forget that night.
