Reset in the Red Sand

It’s a funny feeling to think of an experience and get a sense of calm. I think of the early morning sunrises by the hoodoos. Of the crisp feeling in the slot canyons. Of the nightly belly laughs. Of the still afternoons sitting in silence as we painted. Some trips just have a way of sticking with you and filling up your joy cup. It was the trip I didn’t know I needed.

I know that 2020 has been a weird year for everyone, but I count myself lucky. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been pretty crazy, but I’ve felt supported, I’ve been able to go places and still stay distanced, I’ve been spending my time with a partner I care most deeply about. Even still, I didn’t realize how much I’d been missing time spent with my female friends. Especially someone like Nicole. She’s the kind of person who I felt as though I clicked with immediately, much like Daisy who was the one who connected Nicole and I on a previous backpacking trip (another one of those trips that stick with you).

I haven’t driven by myself in a minute (especially to a new place) so that in and of itself was important. It was a reminder that I’m capable. That I’ll be okay. And that finding new places to park and sleep isn’t actually that scary (especially since I travel with two large dogs). I listened to new podcasts, sang holiday songs incredibly loudly, thought about photos I want to take and drawings I want to draw. Being in your own silence is incredibly therapeutic at times. Then after a second long day of driving (the drive wasn’t that far, I just don’t drive very fast) I arrived at White House Campground to see a smiling Nicole. We took the doggos for a nice walk and re-connected in what felt like seconds. I knew it would feel that way, we haven’t seen each other in over a year, but that doesn’t matter. She’s one of those people I’ve always just felt comfortable with.

Over the next three days we filled our time exploring slot canyons, walking around out random washes and talking about all kinds of things, watching the dogs play, dancing in the RV, making party pancakes, catching gorgeous sunrises and aweing over sunsets, taking photos, making videos, and painting whenever we dang felt like it. It was everything I needed. No real “plan” but we just enjoyed our days as they unfolded. I think it’s easy to get into weekend warrior mode where you try and pack as many activities as you possibly can into a trip - but this wasn’t like that. We still went on hikes, explored, enjoyed the area - but in our own time, at our own pace.

The last morning of our trip I got the news that my Pepere passed away. In his later years we didn’t have much of a relationship and I had known that his health was declining. But the news hit me harder than I thought it would. I wished I had reached out more. Wished I had taken the time to write more cards to keep in touch even from a distance. But I hadn’t. And that’s the way that it’s written now. It’s easy to beat yourself up over the could haves.

I had two days of driving to reflect. To feel sad. To let the range of emotions roll through. Ultimately, it made me realize how important this trip was - to make the time to see the people you love, to see new places, to try to live as fully as possible. I know we can’t see everyone we love right now safely. But I feel lucky that I can see some of the people I love. Death is never easy, and I’m in no hurry to get there, but it certainly makes me appreciate being alive and being alive with the people I love.