I’m feeling the need to check the alignment of the planets, feel my husband’s forehead for a fever, maybe feel mine for a fever, and to look around me to see if I’m in the right house.  Something has been said out loud that can’t possibly be true.  In fact, it is so innately against all other things that have ever been said that I am wondering if I have heard it correctly.   And it’s been said about me.

“Christy, maybe you’re more of an outdoor girl than you think you are.”

WHAT?  These profound and unexpected words from my husband, Adam, after a long chat about spinning classes, yoga lounges, and gym memberships.  We had this conversation on the day when a group of my friends ran a half-marathon - - yay, friends!!  I’m not a runner.  In an archived blog, you will see that I have tried, but at least right now, it’s not my exercise of choice.  

“But you love to hike,” he said.  [Note:  he did not just say “walk,” which I also love, but in the last year, my friends and I and I have been adding some hiking trails into the mix.  I appreciated the distinction.]

“I do,” I said.  “Especially in winter.”  It’s so beautiful, those trails.  The snow on the trees, the ice on the leaves, the blue sky, or even the gray sky.  I can hike and talk to my friend Peg, walk the hills, see the beauty, and suddenly, nearly two hours have passed and we’ve lifted our spirits, raised our heart rates, and cleared our heads.  

“And you signed up for ski lessons.”

This is also true, and although it was an idea brought up by Peg and Lisa, two friends who ski a little more than I do (not hard to do, since I have not skied sine 1994, and even then, it was only twice) I was excited about it.  There was a quick moment where another friend tried to scare me with the idea of puffy, fat pants, but I’m not afraid.   

And there’s the snowshoe proposition.  Peg puts on her showshoes and walks some days when we don’t hike.  I can’t wait to try this.  Flat expanses of snow that we can track up and move across while Lance (Peg’s dog that usually tries to kill me with his twisty leash tricks) runs free through the field.  That sounds awesome.

“So,” continued Adam, “why are you trying to find classes and gyms and schedules?  Why can’t you do what you love?”

Why CAN’T I just do what I love?  As girls/teens/women do we always feel pressured to do do what our friends/peer group/lunch table  is doing?  Do we feel left out of the running group, the yoga class, the gym crowd, even if it isn’t our “thing” to begin with?  

When I was cleaning the basement over the weekend, I found boxes of essays from college classes, old notebooks, and a pile of old journals, at least ten, from as many different time periods of my life.  Each one began on page one with a plan.  Exercise, diet, goals.  Some journals celebrated the smallest achievements.  Some were filled with negative self-talk.  My wish is to throw them all away.  But I probably won’t.  The truth is that I still write down goals for every new plan, each new experience.  I should do more writing (yes, I write that down), eat less, hike more, find a work-out video, ski, snowshoe.  I have binders and spirals and beautiful leather books filled with nothing but failed plans. There are similar notes on my iPhone and beside my bed.  And the only expectations I have ever failed to meet were my own.  

Tucked into these twenty-year-old journals were pictures.  And, oh, when I compare the picture of that lovely girl to those not-so-lovely writings, how I wish I could tell her to stop wasting time.   Twenty years from now, I don’t want to have wasted any more time.

So, back to the unexpected statement.  I’m an outdoor girl?  When Adam first uttered the words, I laughed at him.  I’ve been called many things over the years, but an “outdoor girl” is not one of them.  Not once, not ever.   “You know,” I said, “I need to write more, too.   If I could commit to hiking three times a week and writing at least. . .”

“You’re planning again,” he said.  “Just do.”   Just do.  There are no classes to get to, there are no fees, no big plans, nothing but me, my thoughts, my prayers, my music, God’s big green (or snowy) Earth.   That sounds simply. . . simple.

And what popped into my head next (hello, God?) was this.  “Do what I love, beauty will follow.”  Not physical beauty, but His beauty all around me.  Nature’s beauty.  The beauty of not worrying, not planning.  The beauty of letting some things go, finally.  The beauty of just being who I am.  Maybe. . . an outdoor girl.