The Tough Road Home-Part 3 of Deb Danielle’s Worst Vacation Ever

I am as much “at one” with nature as I ever hope to be. More, actually. Tomorrow we’ll be back near the Outward Bound cabin/office and I’m sure when I call to explain everything you’ll agree I should come home. You wanted me to do this because the boys both did it but they stayed in CABINS and besides, they both probably loved being smelly and dirty—they’re boys. They probably had contests to see who could sniff their own armpits the longest.

Funny enough, the group has helped me a lot in the decision to leave and we have bonded. I will actually be sad to go. The ex-con has even offered to trade headbands and given me some stones he carries around in his pocket. I can’t help but notice my headband is much nicer than his but I will make the trade, nevertheless.

Day Seven
Dear Mom,

Oh God. You flipped out. I have talked and wept and begged to no avail and have finally agreed to return to the program tomorrow morning and finish it. I never said anything to you about being eighteen because it doesn’t matter—I am far from free to make the decision and I was a fool to think I was.

I’m staying over at the cabin in my vile sleeping bag. Tomorrow I will slink back to camp and rejoin the group. Pathetic. There is a shower here and all the (clean!) belongings I left behind at the start of the trip. I won’t be allowed any of it now, since I’m going back. I am miserable, spineless and filthy, like some kind of Shakespearean exile in the forest, but with no romantic ending in sight, just body odor, bug bites and bags of soiled toilet paper.

Day Eight
Dear Danielle,

I was so proud that you agreed to finish the trip when you’re having such a hard time. Of course I called the Outward Bound office this morning to get to the bottom of what’s going on there. Imagine my surprise when they said you were gone. Imagine how I felt when I discovered that you got on a plane this morning and flew back to Toronto. I have not heard from you and neither has anyone in the family. I am furious beyond belief and so scared but trying not to panic.

Where are you?!

Dear Mom,

I couldn’t go back.

There were things I liked about Outward Bound, things I achieved—building a fire, pitching a tent, cooking, hiking, finding the trail when no one else could. My back and legs got strong and I saw beautiful places and thought about the meaning of life. But I wasn’t prepared for the weird intimacy with strangers or the way they seemed to be setting us up to reveal our weaknesses and face our fears and so on. I thought it was just a camping trip.

Yet there was something I needed to learn, Mom. You see, you think I’m an underachiever and that I need survival skills. You think I CHOSE not to get perfect grades. But I didn’t get the A+ average because I didn’t know how, Mom. I didn’t have the study skills because all through high school I was working on something else: my survival skills, and don’t mean the wilderness kind. Also, I was working on making you happy—something that has been my driving goal since I was nine years old.

But I’ve learned that sometimes making you happy is going to make me unhappy—in this case, miserable—and I don’t think I can live my life like that. To do Outward Bound, to face down the physical and emotional challenges, you have to want to do it. It doesn’t work if you’re doing it for someone else and it really doesn’t work if you’re doing it under duress.