Introducing… Steve.

Hi again! Getting sick of me yet? I haven’t written this much in a while- but a lot has been happening. I always tell my family when they ask about a new post “If I want to write about it, I have to live it first.” Well I’ve been doing a lot of living, and I’m about to tell you guys the whole story. 

So I promised when I first started this adventure that one of the things I’d be doing was going on a bunch of bad dates. And I’ve been slacking on that promise- whether it was because I was waiting for Jerry to pop up and confess his undying love, or if it was because I’m lazy, I’m not sure- it could really be either. But whatever the reason for my lack of a dating life, that all changed when I got to Aspen, Colorado. Yes I know- I am far from bougie enough to be allowed in Aspen.  But there are quite a few 14,000-ft mountains in the area, and I had a friend who was flying into town to go on a short backpacking trip, so I made plans to go with her, and drove down to Aspen a few days early to hike some “14-ers”. I drove through the town on the first night, realized how beautiful and classy it was, and high-tailed it out of there as quickly as possible to Buena Vista, about 45 minutes away. I had decided that I would camp there on some BLM land until my friend got to Aspen, meet her, and immediately go hiking, avoiding the actual town altogether. But of course that was far too simple of a plan. 

While sitting in the van one night, very bored and slightly buzzed, I realized that I hadn’t been on a bad date in a while, and for whatever reason, I had the sudden urge for a man to bore me with stories about his accounting job over an Applebee’s dinner. So I downloaded a dating app, and began scrolling. I first looked in my immediate area, but Buena Vista is a small town, and most of the men were missing either a few teeth or a hairline. So, begrudgingly, I extended my search to Aspen. I never thought that anything would come of it other than a little entertainment and possibly a funny story about a guy who talked only about living in his mother’s basement and his high score in whatever video game grown men play these days, paid for only his half of the dinner and accidentally took my eye out while spastically diving in for a kiss. Which, honestly, I was completely fine with- who doesn’t love a bad date every now and again. And an eye patch would give me that mysterious, modern-day-pirate look I’ve been going for. But what I got was something entirely different.. someone who, dare I say, even deserves an actual fake name. So we’ll call him… Steve. 

There I was, scrolling along, thinking to myself “this was a stupid idea,” when I got to Steve’s picture. My first reaction was “hmm.. this guy might not live in his parents’ basement.” And that was good enough for me. We chatted for a minute, and made plans to hang out the next night.  

I knew I liked him as soon as he said he loved my van. It’s similar to how I assume people feel when you say they have a cute baby- it makes them much more pre-disposed to liking you if you say “your kid is adorable,” or in my case “cool van.” But I really did not expect just how well we would get along. It turns out that a pilot from Montana and a Sailor from Maine actually have quite a bit in common. Between these facts and his slightly dorky personality, we clicked almost instantly. And from that night forward, we were basically inseparable for three straight weeks. I met all of his friends, we went to parties, went out on dates, and even took a couple road trips to Denver and Vail. I came down with a cold for a few days, and Steve would stop by the van with food and coffee, just to check on me. We danced in the kitchen to old country western songs, spent entire 3-hour car rides talking without a single pause, and held hands for no other reason than “just because.” And almost overnight, my quick drive through Aspen turned into my bordering on a permanent resident. I essentially lived at the bus station, moving my van around the parking lot every day to make sure that no one thought I was parking for more than the allotted 24 hours. Basically, I became… a normal person. With a slight homeless twist.

But you must know by now, normalcy doesn’t suit me. I tried- I really did. And with good reason- here was this incredibly kind, funny, awesome guy who had basically fallen out of thin air right into my lap. It was a very tough opportunity to pass up. But there was one catch. You see, Steve was moving to North Carolina for work at the end of September. Perfect, right? When he leaves to move east, I’ll head west….too perfect. Steve threw another wrench into my plans when he invited me to come with him on his cross-country road trip. No, I’m not kidding- a guy whose company I shockingly enjoyed invited me to drive across the country with him on a week-long road trip. Why would I even have to hesitate….? But come on, you guys know me better than that. 

At first I jumped at the opportunity. He was going to stop in all kinds of beautiful places along the way, and it would be a fun chance to spend one last week together before we went our separate ways. But as the last week of our time in Aspen went on, I began to get a weird, uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. First I ran through all of the rational possibilities for this feeling- I just wasn’t that into him, I didn’t like long car rides, if I left Sheila alone for too long she might start to act out- but nothing clicked. So what was wrong with me? Why did the thought of taking a once-in-a-lifetime road trip with a guy I really liked make me feel like revisiting my lunch?  

And this is where I’m about to get a little serious- bear with me- because one day, as I was contemplating my decision, it hit me. Your girl has some serious commitment issues. Not the normal kind, where someone might be a little hesitant to commit to picking a car, or selecting a paint color for their kitchen walls. No, that would be much easier to handle. What I am afraid of is committing to any type of normalcy. In my mind, a boyfriend, or even agreeing to do girlfriend-like things with another person, essentially marks the end of my independence, and catapults me into a horrifyingly boring life that I will no doubt be trapped in until I suddenly declare that I can’t take it any longer, pack up and take off- without said boyfriend. And frankly, until I can afford a good therapist, I’m not willing to put myself, or a nice guy like Steve, through this ultimately upsetting experience. Irrational? Probably. But I refuse to live a life of normalcy until I’ve exhausted every abnormal option. And if I want to be abnormal, to step off the beaten path, if the idea of a nice, stable, pleasant life gives me hives, then I should be able to step off the path and walk on the grass. But here in front of me was an incredibly nice, not at all grass-like guy. And while I loved the few weeks that we spent together, and while a slight dip of my toe into the pool of normalcy was a nice change from my current every-day lifestyle, nice normal guys come with nice normal lives, I am just not a nice, normal girl. 

In fact, the realization was even more dramatic than this- there I  was, sitting at a fancy outdoor social event in downtown Aspen, blue flowered dress on, legs crossed awkwardly, sipping on some peach spritzer thing, looking around frantically for anyone that looked even slightly homeless so that I might have someone to relate to, and talking almost exclusively to Steve’s guy friends about campers and trucks and football. And as I sat there, trying my best not to imitate a scene out of Gone with the Wind,  I suddenly realized that I was completely and terrifyingly outside of my comfort zone. Contemplating the meaning of life while I sipped my flowery drink, trying to resist the urge to raise my pinky, I realized that not only am I far from equipped for a normal life, but that the thought of having one is the exact reason why I left home to begin with. My life had been nice, and normal, and I needed more.  

So of course the only natural thing to do was to run for the hills… kidding. Sort of. But in all seriousness, it hit me in that moment that I knew myself now better than I ever had at any time in my life, and that, like all of the decisions I have been making over the last few months since I started this adventure, any of my choices from this point forward were going to be made for myself, and myself alone. Up until recently, I had made a lot of decisions in my life for the sake of other people. And through those experiences I have come to realize that focusing on yourself is probably just about the least selfish thing you can do. I honestly believe that it is impossible to make anyone else in your life happy unless you are really, truly happy yourself. And now is my time to focus on my own happiness. So with that realization, came the realization that as much as I enjoyed being with Steve, it was time to go our separate ways. 

Throughout my life, I’ve met so many people who I believe have come into it for a reason. And yes, I am aware that this is the biggest cliche in the world, but I believe it with all my heart. And I have no doubt that Steve is one of those people. Sometimes you meet someone, and you can tell instantly that they have a good heart. There isn’t one specific tell, one type of smile, or laugh, or one particular thing they say, and yet somehow their goodness is palpable. And I think at this particular time, I needed to be reminded that people like this exist. And Steve was the perfect person to remind me of the genuine kindness that exists in places you might least expect to find it. And I am thankful for every minute of our time together. I am even thankful for his inviting me on the road trip, because it helped me realize why I just can’t go. Will our paths cross again? I don’t know. I certainly hope that they do- but right now, we each have to follow our own. So thank you Steve- thank you for your kindness, for opening up your life to me, for treating me the way I had almost forgotten that I deserve to be treated, and thank you for reminding me that while someday I hope I can deserve a guy like you, right now I’m just a little too much of a gypsy. 

So until next time, Sheila and I are off to find our own happiness- and to keep screwing up in the process. But the next time you hear from us, we’ll be writing from Utah! 

“The most important thing is to enjoy your life- to be happy. It’s all that matters.” Audrey Hepburn

P.S. I have a couple quick life updates for you guys- some of you may care, some may not, but either way here they are. 

(1) I’ve written an article for a van life magazine called RoVa. It will be coming out in their October/November issue, and I’ll be posting on my Instagram when it does. Do with that information what you will.

(2) I’m taking a poll. Considering most of my readers are my family, I could probably call every one of you and just ask what you think, but this is more fun. I am going to be hiking the Appalachian Trail in the spring, starting in late February/early March. And I know it’s early, but I want to keep this blog going while I’m doing that. I also don’t want to take away from my experience. However, since most of the weird things that happen to me happen while I’m backpacking anyway, I thought that I would keep a daily journal, and copy it word-for-word once a week onto this blog. That way you guys can follow my hike, and can also read my weird-ass, unfiltered thoughts. Obviously this is months away, but I would love a little feed-back on whether this is actually something anyone other than my mom would read. Let me know. Or don’t. 

If you do want to let me know, or want to say anything else that you don’t want to post in the comments section, I also have an email for the blog: 

screwingupandtakingnames@gmail.com