I didn’t mean to be a gunner

The lowest. The hottest. The driest. I went on a hiking trip in Death Valley three months ago. More than a few people raised an eyebrow when I mentioned where I was headed. Isn’t it funny how we’re each drawn to places for our own reasons? My love for the desert took me there. And Death Valley did not disappoint. But, I had only been there for a day when I realized how much Tim would have disliked the trip. Yes, he would have been thoroughly into the geology and the beauty, but the lack of shade and a gourmet meal would have sent him running to Vegas.

Death Valley is a harsh environment. It is not a place I wanted to explore alone, so I joined an REI Adventures hiking group. I hike solo 98% of the time, so exploring with a group is a different type of experience for me. Our first stop, on the three-hour drive to the national park, was Ashwood Nature Preserve. Before we exited the van our guide, Ashley, told us there were restrooms to the right and a short boardwalk to the left. My brain is wired to start walking, and so I did. I realized about 10 minutes later, after not seeing or hearing anyone behind me, that perhaps I was supposed to wait for the group. I back tracked to rejoin them apologizing to Ashley. In my head I could hear Tim say, “stop being a gunner!” And I had to laugh.

Tim would always point out gunners. Which is pretty funny since he was known as “the answer key” in med school. Sounds like a gunner to me. It made me want to look up the definition in the urban dictionary. “A person who is competitive, overly ambitious and substantially exceeds minimum requirements.”

Okay, part of that sounds like me. I am competitive and I always strive to exceed minimum requirements. But I swear, I didn’t mean to be a gunner. It’s just that I’ve gotten used to being solo. I don’t have a close group of friends around me very often, nor do I have a partner at my side every day. And even if I did, I would still make choices for how I spend my time. We all do and have our own reasons why we need what we need and how we cash in the most precious currency in the world, time. Fortunately, I like myself. And as an introvert, solo time tends to work well for me.

I more recently when on another guided hiking trip. This time to Point Reyes National Seashore, again with REI. I specifically chose to do this during the date that marked three years since Tim transitioned to his new world. The prior two years I wanted friends and family near me, those that knew and loved Tim. This year, I was ready for strangers. On our first day the guides asked each of us, why are you here? I was honest. And I added that this loss does not define me, but it is part of my journey. Nature heals me and this is where I choose to be today. I feel as if I got really lucky with this small group of incredible women and our two guides. Each of us with our own stories, connecting in nature, and either pushing ourselves to a new edge or healing our own wounds. Perhaps both.

I don’t hike alone to prove anything to anyone. Not even to myself. At least I don’t think so. It is just what feels most often right to me. There is freedom in that open space. It’s almost like a feeling of being able to expand. No restrictions except those placed on me by mother nature and my own mental and physical capacity. To a large extent I know this need started when I was discovering my path on how to grieve. Grief needs space to unwind its layers.

Of course, I’ll hike with you when you come to visit me. In fact, it WILL be on our agenda. And when I choose to join a group adventure, I am all in. And just like with anything in life, I guess the better we know ourselves, the more often we will make choices that are right for us. No matter what it is. Regardless of who I am walking with, literally and proverbially, or if I am just solo. And regardless of what trail I happen to be on, either gunning it or meandering, it feels like “with every step I arrive at my destination. “ (Thich Nhat Hanh)