A Display of Independence
I have some pretty obvious faults. Perhaps the fault that’s the most annoying is that I’m always in a hurry. I do things too quickly. Look at my profile photo. My friend took the picture with my new $400 camera. I like the photograph but get a good look at how I trimmed those bangs coming over my forehead. I could have spent five minutes and done a nice, neat job. Instead I took five seconds and end up with a disaster. When I get excited I talk so fast that anyone who is bothering to listen to me often has to raise a halting hand and then tell me to slow down. I eat too fast. It used to drive my mother crazy. She’d say, “Katie, one of these days you might actually take the time to chew your food.” That day has yet to come.
On the other hand, one of my positive traits is that I’m independent. Truth is, I’m almost proud of it. Next week I was supposed to travel up to Death Valley National Park with a friend. We are both hikers and we were going to spend three days gazing out from the scenic vistas, and hiking the desert trails. I was there in the middle of winter a few years ago and so I know that Death Valley is eerily beautiful this time of the year. Very photogenic. I was definitely excited about going. But yesterday my friend called and told me something had come up and she couldn’t make the trip. She apologized and said that at least she found out about her situation far enough in advance that we could cancel our reservations. I told her that I’d make the necessary cancellations.
I went to the internet and to the Death Valley website where I had made the reservations a month earlier. I was searching around the webpage trying to figure out how to make the cancellations when I suddenly clicked off the website and was left staring at my computer’s desktop photo. I wasn’t going to cancel a thing. I was going to go alone.
It’s not unusual for me to do stuff all by myself. One evening a few weeks ago, I ate by myself at a IHOP after being overcome by a craving for an omelet. Ever since I was a kid I’ve occasionally gone alone to movies. Nowadays I hike alone quite often. I don’t think I’ve ever gone someplace by myself for three straight days, but why shouldn’t I? I’m a big girl.
So next week I’ll be in Death Valley National Park. I’ll put my dorky-looking hat on my head, a pair of clunky hiking boots on my feet, strap my camera to my belt, and venture into a place that has wandering coyotes, blooming cacti, scampering roadrunners, and sneaking lizards. Hey, come to think of it, I won’t really be alone after all.
On the other hand, one of my positive traits is that I’m independent. Truth is, I’m almost proud of it. Next week I was supposed to travel up to Death Valley National Park with a friend. We are both hikers and we were going to spend three days gazing out from the scenic vistas, and hiking the desert trails. I was there in the middle of winter a few years ago and so I know that Death Valley is eerily beautiful this time of the year. Very photogenic. I was definitely excited about going. But yesterday my friend called and told me something had come up and she couldn’t make the trip. She apologized and said that at least she found out about her situation far enough in advance that we could cancel our reservations. I told her that I’d make the necessary cancellations.
I went to the internet and to the Death Valley website where I had made the reservations a month earlier. I was searching around the webpage trying to figure out how to make the cancellations when I suddenly clicked off the website and was left staring at my computer’s desktop photo. I wasn’t going to cancel a thing. I was going to go alone.
It’s not unusual for me to do stuff all by myself. One evening a few weeks ago, I ate by myself at a IHOP after being overcome by a craving for an omelet. Ever since I was a kid I’ve occasionally gone alone to movies. Nowadays I hike alone quite often. I don’t think I’ve ever gone someplace by myself for three straight days, but why shouldn’t I? I’m a big girl.
So next week I’ll be in Death Valley National Park. I’ll put my dorky-looking hat on my head, a pair of clunky hiking boots on my feet, strap my camera to my belt, and venture into a place that has wandering coyotes, blooming cacti, scampering roadrunners, and sneaking lizards. Hey, come to think of it, I won’t really be alone after all.
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