Journey On...

Adventure gear

When I was moving back to Ashburn to start my new life, the very first box I packed was the one I filled titled "Do Not Open - Memories." In it I put all of the things that I was trying to forget - all of my notebooks, my sketches, your poems, the framed photos of us on our many adventures (San Diego, Savannah, Greenville, Orlando, Dolly Sods), and even the jewelry (my necklace, the bracelet from St. Thomas, the leather shackle bracelet you made me, and the green petrified wood beads I loved so much). I also archived all of the pictures in my phone and removed all of the apps that we would use to communicate.

I put it all away with intentions of not having to suffer through the constant memories of us. I knew that moving back up here would be difficult. And I knew I had those challenges to face - avoiding the places we would go together. Avoiding having to look for you here.

I had been doing really good, for the most part. No, that's a lie. I still look for you. Everywhere. It seems like everyone drives a Black Acura. And I wore the sweater you gave me the other day - my favorite sweater. Matter of fact, I'm wearing my Lone Bellow shirt right now. But each time I put them on is a choice. I choose to put them on and be strong. To not let them tear me up. And because they are my choice - I am prepared.

It's the surprises that hurt - the things that sneak up on me.

I was sitting at my new desk, working on a marketing plan, and eating blueberries. I grabbed a handful and threw them in my mouth so that I could be hands free for a moment. And suddenly, the taste overwhelmed me. Dolly Sods. July. Blueberry patches. The sweetness of them in my mouth took me back to that hot summer day. Flashes of swimming in the water, being too scared to jump off the waterfall (I regret not jumping), starting fires, that time you hated the trail because it was so uphill for too long, catching crawdads and eating them. The memories hurt, but they felt good at the same time.

And that's when I told myself that those 18 months were filled with enough love and memories to fulfill me for the rest of my life. I can do this. I can let you go and still keep our memories.

But I have to live my life. I have to continue to do the things that bring me joy.

So I decided to go back there. To do something I'd never done before - do it alone.

She couldn't have been any
happier.

I wasn't completely alone. I brought Dixie. She's actually a really good hiking partner. She doesn't get too far ahead and she comes when I call her. She allows me to leash her if I see people ahead of us. She also doesn't mind her saddle bags at all. I think she appreciates that she is helping.

Hiding from the JetBoil.

But she sucks at camping.

She's afraid of the JetBoil - it sent her hiding under a bush. She gets in the water and then she shivers because she's cold. She wants to be in the hammock, but she can't sit still or get comfortable. She's a mess.

As for me, the trail was harder than in the past. Yeah, believe it or not. They closed the road to the wilderness area. But I'd already driven 2.5 hours so you know me, I wasn't going to give up now. I parked and walked in.

Ugh! It IS spring!

It was 3 miles to the normal parking area. Three miles up hill. Literally. And I had decided not to go in at the normal place (as to avoid the 526), so I kept walking to the place we came out at the last time. Two more miles before I even stepped foot on the trail. It wasn't what I had planned, but so far, it was a really good day. The sun was behind the clouds but the temperature was warm. I was happy to be where I was.

39.021, -79.353 - A place for
crawdads and yoga.

It was just after noon when I got to the spot where we camped and caught crawdads. That's when it happened.

I became very emotional and literally cried out loud. I let it all out.

39.019, -79.352 - A place
for naps and renewal.

And then I wiped my face and setup camp. Not at our spot. Since it was empty, I setup camp right on the creek, next to the waterfall. It was a perfect site made for one hammock. This was my new place. My first hiking experience by myself.

See the flame? I did it...

I still suck at making fire. I blame it on the wet wood. I actually did get a good kindling burning, but the wood just didn't take. It was frustrating. And without the fire, it was boring. I boiled water and made food. I took a nap in my hammock. I wrote a little. And that's when the big surprise happened.

The night before, when I was packing, I grabbed a small, unused notebook from my bedside table. As I sat next to the creek and opened this notebook, ready to spill all of the words I was thinking, I found hidden love notes from you. Reminders. I cannot escape you.

Forever being reminded.

So by 4 pm, I decided I had done enough and I packed up the site. Eight miles back to the car. Two and a half hours back to the house. And I was in the hot bath soaking my feet by 10 pm. Exhausted and fulfilled.

I'm not 100% sure what I gained from my experience, other than a few blisters and a sore body. I think it was a necessary test in my stamina. Not physical but emotional. When we were together, we did all of the things that make me happy - hike, camp, travel, play games, cook/host dinner parties. I still want to be happy. I still want to do all of those things.

So now, I have to find a way to do them without you.

One small step in the direction of healing. One more day of learning how to move forward - one foot in front of the other - towards a life that brings me peace and joy.

This is my journey. And as we've already established... I've made it this far, I'm not going to give up now.