I've been the recipient of a lot of well-intentioned advice over the last week. Advice which assumes that I'd ever go on another backpacking trip, ever, preferably recently enough to remember these valuable words of wisdom. Or perhaps I should be taking notes for posterity, for when I decide to do this again, on the eve of my 40th birthday, since this seems to be a once-a-decade kind of thing. Point being, thanks for the advice but I'm not really sure I'll be taking it.
For one thing, it's going to take about ten years for me to forget about the pain and the scars to go away. I'm still stiff and sore and have painful bruises above my ankle bones. I have more scabs on my body, thanks to raw spots and mosquito bites, than I have since I stopped trying to learn the double jump-rope thing at recess. And the sight of my hiking boots fills me with trepidation.
But I will probably do it again. Because I'm stubborn that way.
Along with the advice, I've gotten a whole lot of "why" questions. Why that route, why overnight, why no tent, why solo. Why the hell not? My best answer to most of these is "because it seemed like a good idea at the time." Big Basin was close enough to not have to drive, but still in the forest. Plus, having all this nature in my "backyard" made me feel bad for never exploring it. Overnight, because I've never spent the night outside by myself. Why not tent - tents are heavy and the weather is nice. Why solo? Because I can take care of myself.
That last point seems to be a major bone of contention to my family. Apparently, when my grandma called and asked how my trip went, she was surprised that I had gone alone. When I talked to her before the trip, she for some reason assumed that "alone" meant "with my husband," a definition of "alone" I am not familiar with even after two years of marriage. At a recent family-gathering I did not attend "Julianne's latest wacky stunt" was discussed and my father was asked "Why didn't Gerald just forbid her from going?" Luckily, my father and my husband were both amused at the idea of anyone forbidding me from doing anything I have set my mind to, and my father's response was along the lines of "Because he knows her well enough to know that that's the one sure way to make sure she does it even if she thinks it's a bad plan."
I'm glad the men in my life are amused. I wish I could be, too. Instead, I'm so royally pissed that I don't ever want to see any of my family members again. How stupid do they think I am? Do they not realize that I'm actually an adult? Do they think I would do something foolish and thoughtless? Were they worried about me getting lost and hurt and frightened in the big scary forest? That I can sort of handle - I'm quite used to my family and friends (and self) underestimating my abilities.
But to think that I would allow anyone to tell me what to do… that's mind-boggling. As if I need the guidance of my male protector to keep me safe. As if I can't make decisions for myself. I can't believe these same people who saw me grow up think I'm so inept that I can't handle 24 hours in a highly populated state park by myself. True, my travelogue is full of whining, but that's not the point.
I think I've lost the point.
No, the point is: I did something that was hard for me, alone, and I'm damn proud of that. I'm still not sure why I did it or what I gained from it exactly, but I did it, and that's the important part. And fuck anyone who thinks I shouldn't have done it because of my age, weight, lack of experience, or because I don't have a penis.
Stubborn? Yes, undeniably. Persistent, tenacious, and willful as well. No one will ever mistake me for a sweet, biddable little girl again. Thank god.