Camping car

August 4, 2018
Camping car

My sister is now one of the select club. She’s the proud owner of a VR. Visiting her at a glorious camping site by the lake, I couldn’t help but judge all the people sitting around their luxurious summer residence on retractable long chairs, mid-thirties out-of-shape parents running after young kids, fat guys drinking cans of beer one after the other. It all seems so…normal.

I resist normal. I refuse to be normal. I cannot accept that all there is to life is this: waiting fifty weeks sitting behind a computer in a beige cubicle to spend two tiny unmeaningful ones sitting on a lame grass beach under a gray sky. 

You know sitting is the new killing. There must be something else. There must be another way around. 

I want to live life to the fullest. I have a burning desire for more, always more. My Scorpio, anxious, neurotic self won’t allow one day to be wasted, let alone all this free time. Our human experience is a precious gift, better make the most out of it. 

I can’t just sit around the fire and chill. I am not a Life Natural, as Sarah Wilson calls them in her marvelous book “first, we make the beast beautiful”. I am not a cool gal. 

Anxiety is this tricky, twisted thing. Because I actually don’t want to let go of angst. It’s the fuel to oh so many things in my life. It’s the origin of my drive to always go higher, to try something new, to create stuff out of thin air, with a couple of pens and a few pieces of paper. 

I’d rather have an interesting, intense, vivid life experience than a calm and steady one. 

However, I have to be careful to not let the fire anxiety sparks consume me. Under the light of its flames, I get to see my shadow. 

Because the truth is I’m insecure. I always want to do a bit more than everyone else to make sure that I’ll be fine.

What would happen if I didn’t? What would happen if I only walked one hour per day instead of three? Choose between a workout and a yoga class instead of doing both? Eating cheese and gluten at breakfast, lunch and dinner? 

If I was to allow it, I guess I’d just be normal. I guess I’d just be me. If I would just sit my ass on the beach and chill the efff out. 

I refuse to be normal because normal might not be enough. I might not be enough.

Therefore I’m practicing. Those campers that I judge got it and I don’t. Or maybe it’s just that I have to work harder then them to understand something they never had to. 

No matter how big the mountain you climb, no matter how many miles you run, at the end of the day we all come back together to sit around the fire. It’s not about how it looks on the outside, but how it feels on the inside. If you can feel that unconditional acceptance from your peers, even after three kids, even with those thighs full of cellulite and those lovely love handles, then who cares? If at the end of your journey you get the love, then you’ve got all you need. 

What you were looking for at the highest peak or at the far end of the lake is right by your side. I deserve someone who loves me like those people love each other. But first and foremost, I deserve to love me like that. 

No pressure, sitting around the fire. Deserving my marshmallows like everyone else just for showing up.

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