When I was a kid, I liked small spaces and being alone.
If I am ever framed for murder, the Daily Mail will certainly refer to this blog post - "as a child, suspected killer claimed to like 'small spaces and being alone.'"
But I really did. Sometimes I would pretend I was locked in the downstairs powder room. After I came to terms with my fated solitude, I would take the opportunity to think about my interesting life, examine the decorative soaps, and decide which snacks I would like in my imaginary mini-fridge to sustain me during captivity.
Camping is a similar pastime. A vast landscape, a small tent, and lots of time. Also, snacks.
And weirdly, the hugeness of the West has the same kind of effect a powder room can. It's the limitlessness, the same infinite possibility I felt as a kid when left completely alone to my imagination. The landscape just seems to go on forever, and every turn in the road surprises you more.
Our surroundings are Hollywood Mars, the North Pole, and the Promised Land all mushed together. And there is so much space - open, undeveloped land as far as the eye can see. A literal tumbleweed rolled past us. There was a sign that read "Eagles on the Highway."
Arches and Zion blew us away. Today I will gaze into the red-rock depths of the Grand Canyon and imagine, try to imagine, what I would put in my mini-fridge if I found myself trapped at the bottom.
After the Grand Canyon will be Yosemite and then on to San Francisco! Also, shout out to my mama who got her Master's degree yesterday.
You go, mama.
Until next time,
The Mary Traveler