To Liberty Creek and Back

One of the most liberating moments of my life took place on a creek in the middle of nowhere.

It had been a long 14 days, and every muscle in my body was aching from the strain of 25-mile hikes with a loaded-down pack, unforgiving mountain ascents and several near misses with unmentionables like glow-in-the-dark scorpians and testy rattlers. I was hitting the dreaded wall, a crossroads you come to during any survival course when you have to decide whether you are going to give in or take on the challenge of finishing strong. For me, there was never an option for failure, and despite my growing desperation over a black-blue ankle stuffed unceremoniously in my ragged boot and the shits I had acquired from a bout of altitude sickness, I was there to stay.

Our solo portion came just in time, and I was dropped in the wooded mountains in the middle of nowhere Colorado with nothing but a sleeping bag and my journal. For most, the idea of three days alone in the woods was the most feared portion of our course. For me, it was the most anticipated. I saw this as an opportunity to connect with nature and learn something about myself. What I discovered was a unique opportunity to taste what it truly felt like to be free.

I made camp in a small clearing against an embankment and counted the seconds until the sun fell below the moutains and disappeared, dipping my world into sudden blackness. It was strange to be so exposed, as a sleeping bag provides little sense of security against what may lurk in the wild, yet it was exhilarating to relinquish all control and allow myself to be enveloped by virtual nothingness. Though I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, I could hear animals crunching and pawing around me, and I sensed them entering my campsite, curious to sniff out their new neighbor. I don't know how long I curled in my bag waiting to be accosted by a hungry bear or cold snake seeking some nighttime warmth before I drifted off into a coma-like sleep, a sedated feeling only sleep deprivation can bestow on your body.

I woke up some time around noon the next day, a little disjointed by my total loss of time and space, but relatively refreshed after the first uninterrupted sleep in two weeks. I climbed over the embankment to find I had conveniently camped near a picturesque creek tumbling over flat dinner-table rocks. I could tell it was a frequent watering hole for the local deer and bear as their bones littered the bank on the opposite side. No surprise really as it was secluded and offered warm sun from dawn till dusk, a welcome respite from the brisk mountain air.

I had worn the same clothes the entire trip, and though I was immune to my own musk at this point, I knew I needed a thorough scrubbing. I stripped down and washed my clothes in the creek, leaving them on a hot rock to dry. Then I submerged myself in the water, letting the soft ripples fold me in, and using a smooth stone, I scrubbed my entire body clean of the dirt and grime and blood that had defined my past two weeks in the wild. I waded out to a rock in the middle of the creek and laid there naked relaxing in the sun.

I spent my entire solo by the the creek. Even the animals stopped worrying about me, and we all kind of fell into a comfortable routine together. And, when the days fell to hours and hours to minutes, I realized it was time to rejoin the team and finish the remainder of the course. Strangely, I felt as if I was leaving my home, and I had a fleeting urge to disregard the rallying time and stay right where I was. Indefinitely.

Weeks later, I boarded the plane home stoked about surviving the course but nursing a nagging feeling that I was leaving behind something special deep in those mountains.

There is something liberating about being out in the wild, alone and free to be who you are and do what you want. You feel at peace and strong and so full of life you could conquer the world. There is no drama, no expectations. There is just you. That nagging feeling was me trying to grasp exactly what I had felt on the course. And, the truth is, what I felt was a definite sense of personal liberty.

You see, women's lib is not all about getting ahead or striking new ground in the face of feminist opposition. Liberation is a personal journey, one I think never quite ends no matter how old you get or how long you've tread the same hobbled road or whether you've branched off to explore other trails along the way. The modern feminist is a woman who redefines society's expectations by focusing on who she is and what she has to offer and not who society thinks she should be. I am a feminist because I am always striving to be the best version of me, to be strong and independent and proud of who I am.

When I got married, had kids and decided to stay at home, my father joked I was sacrificing my life as a liberated woman and becoming a suburban soccer mom...a tag he ignorantly gives any stay-at-home mom living in suburbia. He had always envisioned me a world-traveling, backpack-carrying, tent-sleeping vagabond writer, unfettered and free to seek adventure at every turn, and in many ways, I think he was secretly disappointed I didn't breathe life into that fantasy.

I conformed, as he so eloquently and bluntly puts it...nearly every time I see him.

I was born with my dad's sense of adventure. My dad (who as a high schooler ran away from home in search of some pretty awesome waves, taking only his surfboard and most likely, the rattiest pair of shorts he owned) has always thrived on trying something new and getting out of his comfort zone; he has always searched for anything that would allow him the sinful but delicious taste of complete uninhibited freedom. I've only heard pieces of his little teenage adventure, but I can only imagine what went down on that long road trip and what it did for his spirit...a lot, I would imagine, as a career in the military was unable to break his sense of adventure or his penchant for breaking all the rules.

I can't lie. I also dreamed of being the wild, mapless world traveler my dad talks of. In fact, I had every intention of fulfilling that fantasy until I met Rick...and, well, here we are. A decision I have not regretted...not once.

Still, what I do regret are the two moments in my life when I could have nurtured my liberty, yet I chose to be safe. (Aaaahhh! My sense of adventure cringes just thinking about it.)

That was years ago, mind you, and now I see no reason not to embrace every opportunity to cultivate my inner feminist...to try new things, to challenge myself, to get out of the ordinary and do something extraordinary. It is in these moments that I make my way back to that little creek and redefine who I am...on my own terms.