Just Sherring

Just One Time


By no means would I consider myself an outdoorsy person.  I’m a homebody—kinda, but definitely an introvert. I was bingewatching TV shows before it was called that. I like to find cozy areas to read, for hours, if possible, and preferably in my apartment. When I venture forth from my humble abode, I like to go to other enclosed areas. Concerts, bookstores, Target.  In the summertime, to escape my non-air-conditioned, top-floor Brownstone apartment, I go to the movies. If circumstances permit, I casually mosey on into another theater to make it a double feature. Once, I did a triple, but I think that was in the fall or wintertime.

I’m the type of gal who can go on an island vacation and actually not set foot on the beach.  I’m content lounging by the pool of the resort—if I must. Otherwise, I’d much rather go off on an excursion, like ziplining as I did during my second trip to the Dominican Republic. I visited the Mayan ruins, Chichén Itzá, during a solo vacation to Cancun. Though both activities were outside, the adrenaline rush and the wonder and beauty I witnessed made up for it.

Clear exceptions to outdoor activities notwithstanding, going camping is on my Life To Do List. I don’t know why this girl who loves her comfort of a semi-firm, pillow-top Queen-sized mattress, moisturizers and exfoliants would like to sleep on the ground in a sleeping bag, but I do. Growing up in the 80s and 90s, I loved watching sitcoms or reading stories about people going camping in the great outdoors and skiing down mountains. Both seemed like adventures, such cool things to do. Earlier, this year, I trekked to Park City and busted my ass on the side of mountain, but it won’t be a lie if I say I’ve skied.

Convo #1

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?”

“I’m going camping.”

Convo #2

“What’d you do last weekend?”

“I went camping.”

In both scenarios, I imagine the inquirer having a whole new level of respect for me because I’d gone camping. I had survived out there in the wilderness,  dodging bears and roughing it like early frontiersmen. To be clear, I’m talking about real camping, not glamping.

Also, to be clear, I don’t want to make a habit out of camping. I know I’m not going to fall in love with it and want to relive the experience several times. It will not become an annual tradition, requiring trips to REI, so I can own rather than rent, the necessary equipment.

But just one time, I’d like to go camping.


  1. Pingback: Don’t Call It a Bucket List | Just Sherring

  2. Pingback: End of an Era | Just Sherring

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: