I just returned home from a week of camping in the desert. The San Rafael Swell in Utah.
The first three days I was there ALONE. Just me. And my bike. And my journal. And my watercolor paints. And my yoga mat. And 7 gallons of water. And just the perfect amount of coffee and beers and firewood. And just a wee bit less than the perfect amount of sunscreen.
I downloaded and processed. I listened to silence. I wrote letters that have taken me 20 years to pen. I pedaled my bicycle with a face swallowing grin. I stretched so much that perhaps my joints are loose. I hiked in canyons that challenged me both mentally and physically. I ate what I wanted and when, and it was all scrumptious. I thought and thought. I came up with some new ideas. I tossed out some old ones. I legitimized some that shatter when I open the door to my home.
And then my dear friend of 25 years met me there. And the schedule did not change (although I didn’t write any more letters). Hot drinks in the morning. Long yoga sessions in the sunshine. Hikes in the canyons. Late afternoon snacks. More yoga before our scrumptious dinners. Split treats at the campfire.
And we checked in. We assessed. We related. We validated. We appreciated. We encouraged. We grew. We laughed. We recharged.
Every year, both daddio and I take solo vacations. It is one of the greatest things we do for each other.
I have happily changed every diaper since I’ve returned. And I haven’t minded the constant washing and putting away of dishes and clothing. I’ve been starting fires in the wood stove as if it’s my favorite chore. I endured another snow day inside with the wee peeps, and I even laughed when I couldn’t scrape all the ice off my windshield before my class at the gym this morning. I skipped the food waste up to the compost pile tonight. And I tucked those small humans in their wee little beds with a tremendously grateful heart.
I feel as lucky as I am.