|S.R. Karfelt/The Glitter Globe
Fact is the first time Juan took me for a little hike I spent most of it planning never to see him again as long as I lived. His idea of a little hike involved crossing defunct railroad trestles over a raging river, climbing a mini-waterfall with bare hands, taking refuge in a cave complete with rattlesnakes, and culminated in bumping into the National Guard on maneuvers. I don’t think I’ve ever hated a man on a date so much in my entire life.
But after I didn’t die, I realized that surviving it all felt great. I’d been dragged outside my comfort zone and dang if I didn’t like it there.
Oh, that end-of-my-rope feeling didn’t completely go away. Honestly there have been many times it’s resurfaced. Like when I had my gloves duct-taped to my sleeves, with mosquitoes swarming my head-net as I slipped and slid over a field of boulders on an inane quest to fish, when frankly I detest fishing on a perfectly insect-free sunny day.
Yet I married Tarzan, mostly because I love-hate him. Love always has top billing, but I’m sorry to say hate makes an occasional appearance. I don’t know how anyone can be married for a couple decades without feeling that. If they don’t feel it, their spouse must not have the most utterly wretched hobbies on the planet or they haven't been married very long.
Hiking across a mountaintop double-time hoping to avoid a fast-approaching Mama Bear and her babies, or trying not to barf in a rocking boat on stormy water, or getting lost on an invisible trail in the middle of nowhere, I’ve promised myself NO MORE. This is the LAST TIME I’m doing this. I’m SO NOT KIDDING this time. But guess what? Yep. I do it again.
Why? Is it that even the most painful experiences are great story fodder for a writer? Is it love? Am I healing some broken part of myself every time I push past discomfort and fear? I really don’t know. It might be all of the above, or it might simply be that I LIKE my inner cavewoman. Tarzan sure does. He has absolutely no clue the revenge my writer-brain is cooking up while we’re trudging through mud dragging a canoe.
He would not turn his back if he did.
You think he’d sense it.
But no worries, there will be no need to submit this blog as evidence in a trial. Because not only do I forgive with a hot cup of tea and a fire, but I’ll always need his help to get out of wherever the heck he’s dragged me to. Unless I get a solar-powered satellite-accessible hand-held GPS with wilderness coverage. In that case, you might want to print this.
Now it's your turn to be completely candid and answer one or two of the following questions.
- What is the wildest adventure you’ve endured for love?
- Could you love a caveman? (Or woman.)
- Whatever question you feel like answering that has absolutely nothing to do with this blog, because I love when you color outside the lines. It's my hobby too.