book before, so sitting here, surrounded by the printed pages of my first three chapters, I stare at them in disbelief. Are they any good? A deeper question pulses—am I even qualified? Me. This fragile, not-yet-put-together person who is still stumbling through life more times than is easy to admit.
There’s only one way to find out. And even though my heart feels extra raw this morning, I sense that the very process of exploring the doubts, questions, and what I hope will be victories, is one step in the dusting-myself-off process from all that the last twelve hours held. And quite frankly, beyond. After waking this morning feeling icky and confused regarding Seth, I wrote out a favorite scripture and taped it inside my laptop. When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For You have been a shelter for me, a strong tower from the enemy.
Now, I’m not exactly saying that Seth is the enemy. But it’s the fears that are my enemy. It’s doubt and the deception that if I don’t jump at another chance with him, I’ll miss an opportunity. I could always be alone. I’m telling myself today that missing this chance is worth it. I re-read the verse from Psalms again and it’s fitting on so many levels. And a truth—a promise—that is so, so needed today.
As I neatly stack the pages, it helps as I feel conflicted about trying this new writing journey. What if I don’t let worries stop me today on a number of levels? Maybe I can press forward even if I don’t feel confident and even if I don’t feel like a talented enough writer. I can press forward regardless and at least be brave enough to try. As for these pages, it’s not like they’re going to be published right this second. No, that would be a long and intense process, but for right now, I can think of only one thing: These chapters need another set of eyes.
The insights of someone I trust and respect. But who? I have several out-of-state writer friends, but I still don’t feel ready to put voice to this attempting-to-write-a-book (insert huge question mark!) business. I’m reminded of the way my mom used to help me with little writing projects. How I would love to get to share this process with her, but I still need to explain—very clearly this time—that I no longer write for the magazine. She’ll understand eventually, but I can’t spring both topics on her this morning. Instead, maybe I can show them to someone who might relate directly to the pages I’ve spent the last few days typing. Britt comes to mind.
She and I have plans to go on a hike with the singles group today. We only committed because it’s low-key and outdoors which will give us plenty of room to roam if things get awkward. It honestly doesn’t sound too painful, and I’m eager to see some of my favorite faces again like Dolores’. So that’s what I’ll do. Pack these up, stash them in my backpack, and slip them to Britt at some point. Hopefully she won’t roll her eyes at the Single Sadie Chronicles, but it’s Britt, so I doubt it. Maybe I’ll even run them by Dolores someday. She did inadvertently inspire this whole crazy shindig. So many facets coming together to spark one new beginning.
I am so grateful.
And threaded through it all is the deep desire to get to share this process with my mom. I want to do this soon. For now, it’s time to hit the road . . .
As for the hike, I wouldn’t classify myself as ultra-outdoorsy, but I’m stronger lately and have calluses on my hands, so am feeling more rugged than usual as I lace up purple and gray hiking boots. After topping off a water bottle and grabbing snacks from the pantry, I stash it all in my backpack and head out for the Jeep. I told Britt I’d pick her up since she was nervous that her tiny car wouldn’t make it to the trailhead where we’re scheduled to meet the rest of the group.
On a whim, I decide to leave my cell behind. It’s not like there’s going to be great service anyway on the trail. Plus, I’ll be with people the entire time and just can’t handle another call from Seth. Actually . . .
Returning to my phone on the counter, I pull up his contact info, and though it (secretly) pains me, block his number. It’s weird to do it so matter-of-factly. Like crossing an item off a list or lowering the flag on a mailbox. But I can’t risk another voice mail. I can’t risk any more of him. He’s a guy who never really put me first, and who doesn’t seem to be putting this other woman first either.
He’s clearly bored or wouldn’t be contacting me. His message last night—rehashing some of our best bonding points—only cut to the quick after all he said and did. I fell asleep with a confused and disappointed heart. Feelings like that don’t need to be revisited. Last night his message explained that he missed me and wanted to know if we could talk. He expressed regret of how everything had fallen apart—his words, not mine—and that if I was willing, he hoped he could see me. I’ll admit his voice and eagerness tugged at my heartstrings, but truth is winning out. There’s not much in his words for me to put faith in. Not after the reason for our break-up. Not to mention the woman from the camping aisle. There’s no need for me to waste the brainpower trying to unravel that riddle. Seth’s life is not my business, and right now, my number is no longer his.
I didn’t think any boundaries were needed with him. He had clearly moved on. But I guess he’s playing at something, and I’m just not in the mood to play back. Phone now properly defended, I leave it on the counter for good measure. It feels good not to be tied to the device as an emotion. A trigger. A provider of my needs. All I need today is to be under the glorious sunshine with good people.
It’s a quick jaunt to pick up Britt, and then just a thirty-minute drive across the valley. I get a thrill of satisfaction in how much gas my Jeep still has. I haven’t had to fuel up all month! We rise into the mountain foothills where a wooden sign staked in the ground announces the trail head. With dust swirling around my Jeep, I angle it in beside other parked cars. In the distance, we spot the people from our church group. This is the place. The scent of pine fills the sun-warmed air as we free our stuff from the back hatch.
Britt has fair skin, and her plump arms get right to work, frantically spraying sunscreen over her entire self. This girl is so adorable. And judging by the fact that there’s a new guy about her age and height—not to mention already casting Britt a sideways glance—I might not be the only one who thinks so. I step back so he can get a clear view of the cute, sweet woman who is Britt. I steal a look at the newcomer so that Britt and I will have plenty to discuss while we walk. His hair is brown, and while his stocky build isn’t athletic, he looks like he could have played football back in the day.
Britt’s spritzing both her ankles with sunscreen so frantically, I’m pretty sure she hasn’t noticed yet.
“Need some?” She snaps upright and hands me the sunscreen.
“I’m good.” I take it from her hands. I want to ask if she knows who the new guy is, but also don’t want to draw attention to him. The last thing that Britt needs is for me to get her hopes up—even though this is the third time now that he’s looked at her. A brightness hits my heart.
Finally, Britt seems to notice him noticing her. Her eyes go wide and she freezes. An adorable, sunscreened statue.
She’s so shocked I have to hold in a giggle.
She glances back then clamps a hand over her mouth. “I’ve never seen him here before.” Her voice is muffled.
“Me neither. He looks like he could be nice.” I elbow her again. “And it looks like he’s going on this hike with us.”
She blushes-slash-blanches.
I give her a reassuring thumbs-up, totally understanding the feeling. This roller coaster ride of feeling intrigue, yet trying to avoid disappointment, is the real deal. Anyone who is married and got to miss being single into their thirties and beyond probably can’t fully understand, but if they could see the way that Britt is trying not to nervously pace while simultaneously adjusting her hiking backpack and her hair all at the same time, they’d get it.
“Please don’t leave my side,” she whispers. “I get so nervous having to talk to new people.”
“I promise we’ll stick together. Let’s have fun. Remember, we’re all just part of this group. We’re here to make friends, try new things, and gain experiences. You have nothing to fear. It’s going to be okay.”
She nods, looking calmer.
Our group leader calls to us to gather around. It’s a mismatch of male and female, ages that span across the decades, and different degrees of familiarity. Good ol’ singles group. The leader explains that the hike is only three-and-a-half miles, but in the heat, she wants to ensure that we’re all stocked with plenty of water. We all agree to set out on the easiest trail option, and as promised, I stick close to my friend. Our leader counts everyone off and there’s thirteen of us. Dolores is in the mix, wearing the same hot pink top she was bike riding in that day I spotted her. Catching up will be fun.
As we walk, I slide Britt a sideways glance. She’s watching a pair of butterflies dance down the trail, while absently fiddling with a granola bar.
“How are you doing?” My boots scuttle across a section of rock as I come around her other side on the trail.
“Good.” She sounds stressed. “This is super fun.”
I chuckle. “It is not and you’re a bad liar.”
To my relief, she genuinely smiles. Thatta girl. “Let’s just have a good time. Don’t be anxious.”
Her shoulders slump. “I know. I can’t help it. I just feel so weird lately. Like I have no room for hope and the moment a tiny bit of hope rises to the surface, like I should feel guilty or afraid.”
I know exactly what she means. “I hope they make that a sermon topic one Sunday morning. Though there wouldn’t be very many people in the audience.”
“No, I think there’d be more than you realize.”
“Good point.” I bend to free a burr from my sock.
The conversation seems to be settling her nerves, so I keep it up, asking how her week went. Reaching the first incline, the whole group is naturally slowing, which makes it easier for her to answer. It’s also giving others the chance to visit. Hoping Britt and I aren’t sending an unsocial message, I shimmy Britt and myself toward a few acquaintances, all the while keeping a keen eye out for the new guy. He was walking by himself for a while but is now side-by-side with Dolores and some of the older crowd. That’s when it hits me that I might recognize this newcomer. Did he start coming to church a few weeks ago? If I’m not mistaken, he volunteers in the sound department. When I murmur that to Britt she lights up with the same recognition.
“Oh, I think you’re right.”
The trail rises and conversation gets more difficult. By the time our group reaches the sunlit summit, we are all out of breath. I gulp from my water bottle and Britt’s face is pink despite the layers of sunscreen she sprayed on. We find a shady spot to sit and others follow. The thing about the singles group is that every week is different. Sometimes it’s fun, sometimes it’s strained. Sometimes it’s terrifying or downright painful, like what Britt experienced a few weeks ago.
Today is altogether different. There’s a calm and camaraderie about the day. We’re all sort of in this adventure-mode together and in a way, all outside of our comfort zones. I mean, this isn’t exactly a coffee shop. To our left, a steep drop caves into a canyon where the Gunnison River churns far below. To the right, tall, towering pine trees rise toward the crisp sky. The air is ripe with the scent of evergreen and bracken. Squirrels scamper across the trail, one chasing the other up a tree.
When our group leader announces that this is where we’ll break for lunch, everyone drops their backpacks and we settle in. I dig through my bag for a sandwich, and Britt shakes a store-bought smoothie before uncapping it.
“All right, everyone. How about an ice-breaker game?” Our leader waves her hands, drawing everyone’s attention.
Britt looks at me in dread.
“Come on. We can do this,” I whisper. How else is she going to get the chance to talk to the new guy if she’s too scared to talk to him? “If it’s horrible, we’ll drown our sorrows in ice cream when we get back to civilization. I’ll buy.”
We circle around, most of us finding rocks or fallen logs to sit on. We keep our lunches close and eat as, one by one, everyone takes a turn answering the prompt: what is your favorite outdoor activity?
When it gets to me, the first thing that comes to mind pops out. “I like to bring my hammock different places and enjoy the scenery. I guess that’s about the laziest outdoor activity ever.”
People laugh.
It’s Britt’s turn next, and she surprises me by her answer. “I actually like hiking. I don’t do it very much but this was a fun chance to get out. And it reminds me how much I used to love it.”
I glance back to her gear and it dawns on me that she does have a pretty snazzy hiking backpack. And her boots are made for solid terrain and look well-worn. How did I not know this about her?
A few more people go and then it’s the new guy’s turn. He was actually just smiling at Britt while she spoke but I don’t think Britt noticed.
His voice is pleasant as he introduces himself as Daniel. “My favorite thing to do outdoors is fishing. Fly fishing mostly.”
Huh. That’s nice. Britt is practically melting.
If these two don’t speak at some point today, I’m going to have a thing or two to say about it.
“You’ll have to try Olaf’s Fly Tie-ery,” Britt blurts out so quickly that I almost roll back off the log.
I catch myself with the help of Dolores on the other side.
She did it! Also . . . Olaf’s Fly Tie-ery. Is that actually the name of a business?
Daniel lights up. “Oh yeah. Olaf’s a super cool guy. It’s one of the first fly shops I went to after moving here. He even tied a custom October Cadis for me in the back room.”
Britt is glowing now. “That’s my uncle. I used to help him tie flies when I was in college.”
“I’ll bet I have some pinned to my vest then.” He grins.
Okay. . . how adorable are these two? Daniel is smiling at her like she just announced the best news in the world.
Half the group seems to be noticing, and I hope Britt is feeling more and more at ease. Come what may, she’s mingling and gaining some fresh confidence. This gal has so much to offer. I hope a man out there will someday recognize it. As for right now, this new fellow seems to have taken notice, and it’s grand. A twinge of fear sneaks in, along with the reminder that it could mean more pain on the horizon for her. It’s the risk we take as single people, and in all fairness, the risk we take as humans—the longing to open ourselves up to others, balanced with the danger that heartache may be at the end of the road.
Sure, there’s the option of closing ourselves off to every potential opportunity, but there’s also the other road. I find it inspiring to see Britt allowing herself to interact today. She seems to be enjoying it. All of it. The day, the view, and the company. I’m proud of her and grateful for this friend. I haven’t even known her that long, but maybe this is the blessing that will unfold for me from the singles group—the chance to make new friendships that might have otherwise been missed. Our church is so big that I don’t know if I would have crossed paths with Britt and any of the others without having started coming here.
The rest of the group shares their favorite activities, and by the time we’re hiking again, I have the chance to whisper to Britt, “So, singles group again next week?”
She nods. While there’s a fresh pep in her step, hesitation still shadows her face. As though afraid that any spark of possibility or even these moments of delight will crash and burn. “I think I’d like to.”
I squeeze her arm. I’m a friend for this journey, come what may. “I say so, too.”