Just outside of Zion National Park’s East gate, at Utah’s southern edge, the small Zion RV Campground and Trading Post sits along a two-lane road beckoning travelers and hopeful campers as they exit and enter this epic natural wonder. In June of this year our family, bright eyed and bushy tailed, had come upon this little gem in our search for campsites during our month long road trip. The accommodations were far and few between, as most of America set out on their annual summer pilgrimages across the West.

Earlier that day we had found the visitor center in Zion’s canyon and bought maps and books about the local area. At 104 degrees outside, the water logged ”Narrows” hike, a five plus mile trudge upstream between continually narrowing canyon walls, looked inviting. But, on driving to our campsite that evening, the reality was that this miles long stretch of trail, which was actually the bed of the Virgin River, came with various warnings of death by flash flood, drowning, or exposure. In fact, the map we bought of the Narrows was waterproof – an ominous sign.

After finding the least primitive of the primitive camping spots and testing out our new REI tent, we ventured across the road to the not at all primitive camp store to prepare for dinner, and mentally prepare for hiking Zion the next day. While stocking up on essentials like bug spray and marshmallows I overheard a woman talking excitedly about where to hike, specifically I heard her talking about flash floods and my ears perked up a bit, she was discussing the Narrows!  In the small cafe attached to the trading post this middle aged, gray haired, out doorsy type had set up camp with her computer at a wooden table, and was actively talking to a buff hiker about her days adventures. I nosed in on their conversation as her voice jumped excitedly at the thought of someone else venturing in to this watery hike she had just accomplished, or survived, I wasn’t sure which.  I decided to butt in.

 My family will tell you this isn’t a first for me. My thirst for knowledge, and general social butterflyness allows me to enter into information seeking conversations with abandon, and much to my relief, the hiker and the lovely and strong gray-haired woman both welcomed me in to this Narrows know-all talk.  She assured us both that there was plenty of hike (for the buff hiker) and plenty of kids (for me) on The Narrows, and because the water level was low that week, we would be fine – individually – to do this hike to whatever distance we felt comfortable.  “It is necessary to wear tie-on shoes,” she pointed out, and to know that eventually there would be some waist-deep swimming, if we went far enough.  But there was plenty of easy ground to be covered before that, and I honed in on this tid-bit and jumped off the train mentally at a stop called “Hiking The Narrows with kids.”

 Three years ago last month our family of four moved to the islands of Hawaii. A dream, a romantic trip to another life that probably could have rendered countless tales from the tropics.  And yet, after three years this writer, and general life enthusiast barely squeaked a word out. Oppressed by humidity and culture shock (as much by my own lack of culture as with that of others in my own back yard), I crumbled and fell silent.  Like the Cancerian that I am, I quietly snuck into my crab shell, pinchers out and survived O’ahu. We experienced a lot, each of us growing and changing for the better, but we hid from a lot too – well, I did.  Is our story of Hawaii more complex that that? Yes. Did we fall in love it at least some of it? Absolutely, lots actually – how awful if the answer were no, but the truth is it was complicated and messy and often lonely and painful and it didn’t inspire writing just then. How is this connected to Zion you ask? What is this camp store with hippy hiker types doing in a story that has now bridged to Hawaii? Bear with me.

 The gray ponytailed woman with her lap-top at the trading post, let’s get back to her.

We saw her post-hike the next day, all of us so tired from five hours slogging up snow-melt cold water between canyon walls so close on each side that in some spots you could reach across. Red, orange, gray and green layers of silt and sediment had built this plateau some hundreds of millions of years ago and in just a brief few million the Virgin River had carved through it like hot fudge through an ice cream sunday. We had nothing left in us that night, and despite being disappointed in our lack of cooking adventure we skipped the campfire and ordered a wood-fired pizza, sitting down in the warm security of the trading post. Our guide was back at her table with her mac laptop, also ordering pizza and tapping into the wi-fi.

“Did you do it?” She asked, sitting down with a smile.

“We did!” We replied, half excited, have defeated from soreness.

“And…?”

“It was so totally amazing, thank you for guiding us with all your know how!”, I replied, truly grateful she had basically talked us into it the day before.

“I’m Janeen” she pressed, shaking our hands and smiling as she moved back to her table.

 Janeen asked about our plans, and we asked back. She had been on a road trip for three weeks, just her and her cat (seriously, the cat hung out by her tent while she hiked – so weird). She was in a life transition with work and maybe moving back to Milwaukee to be with family. She needed time to think, and so she had set out by herself to go camping. Virginia to the West Coast by herself, in a little white hatch back.

 By Herself.

 For all the thought and fears I put into our planned month long road-trip, a trip that we “planned” to wing, never making reservations ahead, but packing things like flashlights and sleeping bags, tents and sleeping pads bought at Cotsco, I had never really thought about truly giving it all up to chance. Janeen had. She was camping, alone, wherever she wanted, and had been at the East gate to Zion for 7 days, yesterday spent catching up on Orange is the New Black on her computer.

 I started to ask myself over the next few days “could I go camping by myself?”  There was awareness within me that the answer I had was very different from the answer I would have had ten years ago.  Fear would have shut that idea down in it’s tracks and insecurity would have said “Why would you want to?”  Could I now? Of course I could. Would I? Would I want to? That was still in question, but only barely.  The thought of camping by myself even in the semi-wilderness, say at a campground, felt thrilling all of a sudden and not just because I had been in close quarters with our little family the last several weeks. It was clear to me that I had to challenge myself to do this in the coming year, and the more I chewed on that, the more I realized that this wasn’t one challenge, but many that have been perhaps sitting in the back of my mind.  A list of comfort zone stretchers that needed to be addressed, as soon as possible. Janeen started a little fire in me that week at Zion National Park.

 Two weeks post Janeen, still finding our way around the country, we stopped to see a friend in Colorado Springs.  As I told her what I had been pondering, my need to camp alone (yes, I believe there were crazy eyes), and then about my thoughts on comfort zones and my further revelations about routine and how I always fall into one, how we all fall into one, I said “I need to do a blog on my 13 Adventures.  I’ll have 13 Adventures this year as a way of keeping myself stretched.”  This friend, a life coach by trade and someone who actually teaches courses on stretching your comfort zones, was of course thrilled. And that was it.  I haven’t stopped imagining how and why I will write this. How I will share my journey. A blog, obviously, is the most practical for any of us and here I am, about three years after hitting a massive, humid, creative, brick wall. I’m going to write. That’s kind of an adventure in itself..