Reconnecting the Cord

So my end-of-year goal was to cut off my satellite TV coverage, as so many other intelligent, cost-conscious people have done, relying instead on an antenna for local channels (basically all I watch, except for the monstrously-addictive Investigation Discovery), a subscription-free DVR, a DVD player, and my local library's DVD collection to fill in any viewing gaps. The idea was to reduce my TV watching and cut off a $50 monthly bill in one fell swoop (depositing the savings in my travel account, of course).

I started the process earlier this year (Cutting the Cord) by reducing the number of channels in my package (weaning myself off rather than going cold turkey). To my surprise, I found that I didn't miss the channels that I'd dreaded losing. (It was only the thought of not having them that gave me pause.) Also, I never ran out of thing to watch, regardless of how many or few channels I had. By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I was ready to take the next step.

Before

After nearly a year of research (my typical preparation period before any major change or purchase), I bought the equipment I needed on Cyber Monday: an indoor TV antenna, DVR, DVD player, and the crown jewel...a new flat screen HDTV to (finally) replace my 20-year-old tube TV (it wasn't broken - though the picture and sound quality were less than desirable - so I didn't fix it). I rid my DVR of all essential contents, asked a technically-proficient coworker friend for backup assistance (if needed) and set to work last week rigging it all up. (I was absolutely determined to do it myself despite lacking any technical know-how.)

My bedroom carpet was rapidly covered in a pile of boxes, cords, plastic bags, twist ties, remotes, and assorted electrical parts as I began assembling my equipment, starting first with the TV and antenna, which were the bases for everything else. I plugged in the TV, connected the antenna, crossed my fingers,  began scanning for channels...and found nothing. I moved the antenna all over the room, as directed, sticking it in the window, next to the window, below the window, flat on a hard surface, all to no avail. I felt like Clark Griswold in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation when he summoned his family outside to watch as he failed to turn on his display of 25,000 imported Italian twinkle lights (though thankfully without the audience or tantrum): a whole lot of anticipation with no payoff.

After three hours of frustration, I gave up and went to bed, where I laid awake considering my options. I could stick with what I had (the quickest and easiest choice, though I'd need help connecting my new TV with the satellite receiver), shop around for other satellite and cable providers, install Wi-Fi (forgoing any planned savings) and order Netflix, Hulu, and/or Amazon Prime), or give up TV altogether (my least favorite alternative).

In the end, I opted to stick with my satellite provider, schedule a service call, and further decrease my programming down to 40 channels, the lowest-priced package offered, saving myself a grand total of $15 per month, but I'm not unhappy I did. Of course, it wasn't my Plan A, and I'm not saving as much as I'd hoped, but the upside is that it forced me to upgrade to a 21st century TV (an early Christmas miracle), which I wouldn't have done if it hadn't been necessary for the antenna. So, in a serendipitous way, it's a rare early Christmas gift to myself.

After

 Merry Christmas to me...and to you.

The Old

So, as previously mentioned (probably a hundred times) in this blog, this year's theme, since I received a psychic reading in May, has become "out with the old, in with the new." Surprisingly, the psychic was right! (How about that?!) Not surprisingly, in the aftermath of that reading, a whole lotta old has come my way, forcing me to face and wade through my past.

An ex-boyfriend who should stay firmly shuttered in the past came out of the woodwork during the summer, ending nearly three years of peaceful silence, turning up like clockwork with increasingly annoying messages (i.e. "You should give me another chance" to hurt and humiliate you, etc.) on Father's Day, Fourth of July, First of August, once a month, whether I needed him or not (hint: I didn't!). 

I was polite at first (my usual standby mode, despite rumors to the contrary) but when someone doesn't accept a polite no, the inevitable next step is a firmer no, subsequently followed by a firm contact block. Sadly, sometimes polite doesn't work, it rather encourages bad behavior. I'm learning that sometimes you have to cut people off in order to leave things where they belong - namely in the past. 

Also last summer, an unexpected invitation...to my high-school reunion...arrived. I skipped the ten-year for obvious reasons: I wasn't a famous writer (or famous anything, for that matter) and didn't have a hot date (or any date, for that matter). Oh, and the other no-brainer reasons, like my school years being a living nightmare of angst, awkwardness, and unrequited crushes, reprieved only by a smattering of amazing people I was blessed to call friends. 

And while I was tempted to visit with them, I was also afraid. There were too many unknown variables, such as former classmates that I had no interest in ever seeing again. Having some of them randomly pop up, like threatening jacks-in-boxes, on social media was scary enough. I was happy to follow my psychic's advice to leave the past behind and move on. So I observed my reunion from the comfort and safety of home by watching others suffer through theirs (with ensuing comic mayhem and a few casualties here and there) in the film Grosse Pointe Blank.

The reunion came and went without my added presence. A few months later I was pleasantly surprised by a message from one of my former closest friends, the one who'd sent me the high-school reunion invitation. Aside from being Facebook friends and sending my regrets in response to her invitation, I'd fallen out of touch with her during the college years over ten years ago, after which she'd moved out of state, married, and had a pair of adorable boys. 

It was so great catching up with her that I almost (but not quite) regretted missing the reunion. Maybe it would have been better than I'd feared. About a month later, a second invitation followed, this one for a party at her house (she recently moved back to her hometown area) with a handful of former classmates, a sort of mini-reunion, but a "safe" one with people I (formerly) knew and liked.

 

I racked my mind for a valid excuse to miss it...and came up empty. To my surprise, I wanted to go! (Again, how about that?!) When the Saturday in question arrived, after weeks of careful preparation,  I was ready. I dressed nicely (though I stopped short of rewearing my prom dress...which I still have, by the way...), had my hair professionally styled, filled a slow cooker with pasta, bought a cheesecake sampler at the grocery store en route, chugged half a gallon of coffee, packed up gift bags for everyone, took several deep breaths, swallowed my considerable fear, and discovered my amazing friends were still amazing despite marriage, motherhood, and a decade's passage. My fears of not fitting in, not having anything to talk about, and not being liked (and fear of not liking them) were happily unfounded. 

In short, I had pretty much the best time ever. Even if ten more years pass without another reunion, I've still reaped the reward of conquering fear, feeling like Superwoman for doing so, and spending a glorious afternoon with some of the best people I've ever met. 

I learned that usually the past should stay there, but sometimes it's worth revisiting. Maybe sometimes I need to revisit my past, very briefly, in order to let it go, to unpack any remaining baggage, so to speak. And sometimes what's old (former relationships) can even, in rare occurrences, become new (resurrected friendships).

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I'm Not Bitchy. I'm Anxious.

"In short? It's exhausting being me. Pretending to be normal is draining and requires amazing amounts of energy and Xanax." ~ Jenny Lawson

My resting bitch face (RBF) (I'm Not Mad. That's Just My RBF.) must be softening because a student informed me the other day at the college where I work that I "always seem so happy!" I was sure I must have misheard her, so I stopped and asked, "I do?!" She responded affirmatively, I went on my way, and the social exchange truthfully brightened my day.

Why? Because it means I'm doing something right if my inner peace and compassion are reflected in my demeanor. That hasn't always been true. (In fact, my annual resolution is always to smile more frequently.) You see, when you're afflicted with social anxiety, as I am, you're inevitably misunderstood and misjudged. You're dismissed as "unfriendly," "snobby," "serious," "shy," "uninvolved," "uninterested," "intense," "intimidating," and "humorless," when you're often anything but. 

When you avoid social situations (in an attempt to avoid accompanying panic attacks), people tend to take it personally (and being a small-talk-averse introvert doesn't help matters). They inevitably think you don't like them (individually) when you're honestly afraid of them (collectively). (And while I wish people in general were more accepting and less judgmental of others who behave differently than them, I realize that I need to do my part.)

As a result of my social anxiety, my fear of saying and doing the wrong thing (at the wrong time) paralyzes me. I freeze, unable to say anything at all (making my fear a self-fulfilling prophecy). If a friend invites me to go out, my first instinct is to find an excuse not to, not because I don't want to but because the fear, which ranges from mild to moderate to occasionally five-alarm severe, controls me. So, sometimes when walking down the hall at work my chest and throat tighten and my heart pounds, even if I know and like the person walking by me. It's totally irrational (I realize) but normal for me.

But "normal" is such a tricky word. Thing is, I wish I'd known years ago, even as a preteen when going to school and the grocery store (and often staying in the car rather than entering the big, scary, potentially schoolmate-laden store) inspired feelings of terror within me, that I wasn't the only one who only felt safe at home, with my family (people I knew), hiding out from the world between the pages of an ever-present book (ranging from Sweet Valley High to celebrity biographies). 

I felt the same way reading Jenny Lawson's Let's Pretend This Never Happened as I did reading Susan Cain's Quiet: Where was this book 20 years ago when I felt freakish and alone and wondered what the hell was wrong with me? Why did leaving the house and, God forbid, talking to non-family members make me feel faint and panicky? 

Now I know. I wish I did then.

Anyway, if the first step in solving a problem is recognizing and defining the issue, then I'm on my way. As I've written many times before, I've begun challenging myself to overcome my myriad fears, a neverending venture when you have as many phobias as I do. (I'm like Amazon.com: you name it, I've got it...) 

I'm no longer content with avoiding everyday social situations that require some type of conversation. And obviously some things can't be avoided, like work, grocery shopping (if there's a way to avoid this, please let me know!), library patronage, doctor's appointments, leaving my apartment, etc. Little things like driving to a local coffee chain located at a traffic-heavy end of town for an iced coffee had me so fearful of a fender-bender that I'd previously driven to a more rural, out-of-the-way one to avoid it. Things that make no logical sense are perfectly logical when you have an anxiety disorder.

But I'm making progress. Not only did I make that trip to the coffee shop, get an iced coffee, and escape with my life (narrowly, perhaps, but victoriously), but I'm meeting up with some friends from high school this weekend (a kind of safer mini-reunion to make up for the one that I couldn't handle this past summer). True, these are some of the best friends I've ever had, so I shouldn't feel anxious, but I haven't seen them in several years. What if they don't like the person I've become (or vice versa)? 

There's plenty to worry about if I think about it (or anything else) long enough. But that's okay. 

I'm doing it anyway.

Summer Summarization

Just one last post on my summer explorations and then I'll move on. I promise! (Though I've admittedly never been good at moving on.) Anyway...

Royalton Ravine

 

Just in case, the photo doesn't adequately convey the danger, this park is noted in the reviews I Googled before visiting for its phenomenal wooded hiking trails, including this main one with what I termed a tipsy, wooden-planked trampoline bridge. I bounced along it (twice!) without incident (take that, fear!) and skidded down rope-assisted slopes into maze-like woods you could easily get lost in (which I kinda did) if you don't follow the orange-dotted trees. If you can get past the bridge (by walking on it since there's no way around it), you're in for a serious hike, but a rewarding one. I emerged a few hours later, muddy, sweaty, exhausted, and thrilled by my adventure.

Reinstein Woods Nature Preserve

This park is a true refuge, in every sense of the word, for both humans and critters. It's loaded with beautiful trails, all of which are well-marked and maintained, and abundant natural beauties like the pond of pink water lilies pictured above. I spent about two extremely peaceful hours here, during which I saw an assortment of birds, chipmunks, and frogs in their natural habitat. Admission was free, but I gratefully stuffed a pair of twenties I'd previously found on a local park's trail (and didn't feel right about keeping) in a donation box in thankfulness for the gift of this local paradise.

Chestnut Ridge Park

Labor Day weekend is the traditional close of summer. Naturally, I wanted to cap off the most adventurous summer of my life by doing something noteworthy...like hiking this park's famous Eternal Flame trail. Typically, being as directionally-challenged as I am, if there's any chance of taking a wrong turn and getting lost, I will. So, it goes without saying that it took me forever (or, in this case, a couple hours and several miles) to find this trail, both by car and on foot. And when I did find the trail, I eagerly leaped out of my car without stowing the trail map I'd printed from the park's website into my backpack, which turned out to be a time-costly mistake. 

If I'd had the map, I would have known that the path to the Eternal Flame runs in a horseshoe pattern. Since I didn't have the map, I walked straight downhill into shallow pools of water, slipping on rocks, and wandering aimlessly for hours before I gradually realized that a number of trees were marked with flames leading to the Eternal Flame trail (I'm not always this dense, I swear). But instead of turning onto the half-mile trail, I'd walked for several miles in the opposite direction, as my exhaustion and panic rose (in equal measure). 

So when I finally found the mystical gas-powered flame within a waterfall, it was like my own personal holy grail, so I stayed for several minutes, out of both reverential meditation and necessity as I waited for other hikers to clear the way so I could grab some photos and a brief video of the flame. It was well worth the long, detour-laden trek to get there.

Stiglmeier Park

My late-September hike here was an unexpected bonus. I had the benefit of summer weather (70+ degrees and sunny) combined with the beauty of fall splendor (crunchy red and orange leaves under my feet) along the park's well-maintained and boardwalked hiking trails. The park is extremely well-marked and well-kept, so it's nearly impossible to get lost (which garners a huge thumbs-up from me) geographically but easy to get lost (in the figurative sense) from the rest of the world. I spent a very peaceful afternoon here, walking and reading, thankful to hide away from regular everyday life for a brief end-of-summer spell.

 

Beauty in My Backyard

After exploring the Southwest and visiting Florida during the first half of the summer, I set out to discover the beauty that resides closer to home, in most cases only an hour's drive (or less) away. Nearly every Saturday (my little part of the world was blessed with several consecutive warm, sunny weekends), I chose a new (to me) Googled hiking place to spend part of the day. 

I wasn't disappointed by any of them.

Akron Falls Park

I skipped my high-school reunion (can you blame me?) in favor of an afternoon hike here. The falls were easily accessible via a short (less than a mile) upward climb. The crazy thing was I saw people (young, reckless, foolish people) actually jumping from atop the rocks into the water despite posted warnings against doing so. I guess they just couldn't help themselves. The park itself had something for everyone, brave or not. I saw several parties and picnics in the pavilions, as well as campers and hikers throughout the park's many acres.

Beaver Meadow

Okay, so I didn't see any beavers here, but the good news was I didn't see any people while hiking either (minus three people in the visitor center). I chose the right Saturday to visit because it was like my own private paradise, undisturbed by human noise (if you're introverted like me, you know how glorious that is), alone with nature and its inhabitants. I spent several hours here, walking along the pond, hiking the trails, and reading in the arboretum This place offers so much for so little (free admission, though a donation is suggested).

Griffis Sculpture Park

Griffis was the most unique place I visited in N.Y. this summer, hands down. This is where cultured hikers roam, if they're willing to travel to what seems like the end of the world, in the approximate vicinity of the middle of nowhere. Anyway, the long drive was exhausting but worthwhile because this is basically an art gallery of sculptures (many nudes) set amid a field of hiking trails. This is a family-friendly place (despite the nudes), judging by the large number of children I saw scampering around the climbable tower and insect sculptures. This park can't be truly summed up with just one photo (there's so much variety, from busts (ha ha) to mushrooms) but I'm trying to keep this brief, so check it out for yourself!

 

 

State Parks Summer Tour (Part 2)

I continued exploring my local parks throughout August. On the first of the month, after consulting the neighboring Darien Lake Performing Arts Center's calendar and finding it empty (fewer campers, I figured), I opted for Darien Lakes State Park, which is more notable for its small adjacent-lake beach than for any spectacular sights and hiking trails. But its charms are there nonetheless. 

Darien Lakes State Park

Even with a map of the small park and its campgrounds, it wasn't easy to locate the hiking trails. In fact, the one I found was a mud pit unsuited for anyone not wearing knee-high waders. So I walked mostly in a loop from the beach to the main trail around the lake and around the golf course, which was a scenic but confusing maze. When I was worn out from walking, I found welcome refuge in the shade with a biography of Harper Lee (author of To Kill a Mockingbird) and this view of the lake.  

 

My next park far exceeded my expectations. I drove into East Aurora, stopping at Vidler's famous general store, of course, along the way (how could you not?) to browse its considerable wares for a hot minute before continuing on empty handed because Christmas shopping in August is just not something I'm capable of doing. 

Knox Farm State Park

My ultimate destination was Knox Farm State Park, which is most well-known locally for its enclosed designated dog-walking area (and indeed I saw more canines that day than I'd ever seen before in one place at one time, romping and frolicking within their special spot). 

For me, this park is a hidden jewel in Erie County (not far from Buffalo), one with abundant treasures (a library in the woods, a greenhouse, a large pond, a landscaped garden, something for everyone - even dogs) that I discovered as I walked the beautiful trails, though at first appearance, when driving into the parking lot, it appears to be just a simple country farm.  

Knox Farm is the anti-state park, with no admission fee charged, no campers, no gift shops or stores, just undisturbed nature and old buildings in all their unspoiled virtue. I spent a virtually perfect Thursday afternoon on its grounds, reveling in its serenity and splendor. This park, more than any other local one I visited this summer, is one I have every intention of returning to again and again.

The Other F-Word

 “If you play with fire you get burnt. It’s not any secret, is it?...

If I’m walking around and I’m very modestly dressed and I’m keeping to myself and someone attacks me, then I’d say that’s his fault...

If you’re wearing something that says ‘Come and fu*k me,’ you’d better be good on your feet… 

I don’t think I’m saying anything controversial, am I?” ~ Chrissie Hynde

Blame it on the lack of coffee if you wish, but I would have been agitated regardless when I read Yahoo!'s news article containing Chrissie Hynde's shocking defense of rape, including her own: (Chrissie Hynde Under Fire...).

You see, I'd just arrived at work on Monday morning, made myself a small pot of coffee, and checked email and news while I waited for my coffee to brew. When I went to pour my coffee 15 minutes later, I found that the housekeeper had been a bit too efficient and apparently dumped out (or drank) my freshly-brewed coffee. Certainly not a crime, but a bit frustrating since I was depending on that caffeine jolt to increase my productivity. 

So I remade the coffee and returned to my office, feeling dangerously feisty. Then I saw this article, promptly flipped out, and indulged in an uncharacteristic rant on Facebook (I usually save those rare outbursts for my journal...and occasionally this blog) with a link to the article. I guess I needed to know if it was just me, or if the general public (in this case, my Facebook "friends") shared my outrage. I was somewhat mollified to know I wasn't totally alone. (For the record, my post garnered five "likes" and two comments, all from women.)

I'm admittedly often oblivious to political issues, but feminism is a hot-button issue for me. In fact, I just spoke with someone over the weekend about the issues associated with modern-day feminism, the largest being that feminism has become a dirty word, so maligned and misunderstood that many strong, intelligent, independent, well-educated women who seemingly benefit from and embody the feminist ideals that crusading women like Gloria Steinem fought for in the 1960s and 70s refuse to identify themselves as feminists. It's no longer hip (if it ever was) to be a feminist.

I guess it's no wonder since feminism has become warped. Feminists are characterized by some men and women as hirsute, bitchy, man-bashing, masculine women who want to be men. Others believe the opposite: that true feminists are women who use their intelligence and sexuality (aka feminine wiles) to get ahead in the world, get money, and get everything they want and think they need to become powerful without understanding that what they're really doing is giving their "power" away to men. (Can someone please explain this to actresses, models, strippers and porn actresses?) 

Both extremes are equally damaging, in my opinion. Both perpetuate the belief that women need to be aggressive (in other words, like stereotypical men), hypersexual, and unfeminine to be equal to (or ahead of) men.

Feminism is not - and was never meant to be - any of that. It's about equality, having the same rights and opportunities as men in relationships, workplaces, and at home. It's about allowing women to fulfill their full potential without being tied to gender roles or  traditional expectations. It's about the freedom to do whatever she wants to do, whether that's staying home with kids or working, while being paid the same wage as any man in her office, and look and behave the way she chooses without judgment. (Here's a witty, concise primer from Jezebel if you're still confused: What No One Else Will Tell You About Feminism)

There have undoubtedly been some baby steps forward since the Women's Liberation Movement of the 70s. But when I see rampant patriarchal brainwashing that shrugs off violence against women and actually justifies rape and abuse, I'm forced to conclude that our forward momentum has halted with screeching brakes. I mean, I understand that Chrissie Hynde is a 63-year-old baby boomer, that perhaps her generation was taught differently about gender roles. I was initially upset with her personally, being a fan of her music (this is the same woman who co-wrote and recorded "Brass in Pocket," is it not?) and considering her an awesome feminist icon, but as I contemplatively sipped my coffee (the second pot) this morning, I realized this goes beyond her personal experience and justification of it. This is a much wider, more serious and sickening issue.

Women, even 21st-century women, are still largely judged by appearance and bound by stereotypes. We're expected to be eternally beautiful, sweet, thin, submissive, nurturing, prim, passive, domesticated, undemanding, unopinionated, and noncompetitive. A woman who dares to break that stifling mold is judged, criticized, ridiculed, rejected. Society demands that we be attractive, but apparently not too attractive, lest we entice men who, according to Hynde's quotes are unable to control themselves when encountering an attractive woman in high heels and a skirt.  

My concern is what young men and women are being taught by their parents, grandparents, friends, teachers, and celebrity role models today. And, I, for one, am not OK with young men being taught that some women deserve to be raped and abused and women being taught that they, not men, are to blame for men's violence. It's not right. And I feel truly sick for any woman, including Chrissie Hynde, who blames herself rather than the guilty party for her own victimization.

How could anyone, minus the most depraved among us, possibly be OK with that?

State Parks Summer Tour (Part 1)

I returned home at the end of May from my life-changing, world-expanding Southwestern tour believing that my wanderlust was tamed...until next summer, at least. Once I readjusted to Eastern Standard Time and caught up at work, however, I was more than ready to fly off again, this time to visit family at my annual vacation spot near Orlando. When I got home from Florida, I could no longer deny the facts: I was bored with my everyday life, drowning in ennui, desperate for new adventures and changes in scenery. 

So, what to do when you've consumed your personal leave time at work and spent too much money in too little time? Explore your own backyard. After all, I live in Western New York, which is home to arguably some of the most beautiful attractions in the U.S., including Niagara Falls (the American side), the Adirondacks, the Finger Lakes, and one of this summer's must-see spots, Letchworth State Park.

Letchworth State Park

Since I'd just seen the Grand Canyon of the West a month earlier, I figured this summer wouldn't be complete without also seeing the Grand Canyon of the East, which is much closer to home and no less impressive. Letchworth, located in Castile, is understandably the biggest touring draw for Wyoming County. Right in the midst of farm country (more cows than people!) is this little slice of heaven, containing three waterfalls (Upper, Middle, and Lower) and a long paved pathway that offers several miles of hiking with unbelievable views. 

I arrived early enough in the morning that it was still quiet and undisturbed, as if I had the entire park and its treasures to myself. By the time I unpacked my bagged lunch at a shaded picnic table a few hours later, the park was packed with families, police cars were swarming the premises, and a wedding was underway near the Glen Iris Inn, but I cherished my peaceful hike from the Middle to Upper Falls.

Stony Brook State Park

My first thought, when I think of Stony Brook State Park, unfortunately, is how MapQuest directed me to turn off the main drag, led me to the end of a dirt road, somewhere in or near Dansville, and left me there, forcing me, in utter panic, to Google Map my way back to Route 36, Route 390, and the correct exit. (Thank God for smartphones!)

That's unfortunate because Stony Brook was worth the confusion and frustration, especially for its stone walkways curving around multiple waterfalls and wading pools. There were only three hiking trails, including the stone-stepped one, so I felt like I was able to see all that the park had to offer - which was quite a lot - in one afternoon.

Life Overhaul

 "Out with the old and in with the new..."

In May, en route to an escorted tour of the Grand Canyon, I briefly visited the mystical town of Sedona and, on a whim, a psychic (Arizona Adventures: Sedona Edition). She gently encouraged me to reevaluate my life and avoid personal stagnation, saying I needed a change of scenery and would benefit from solo traveling adventures.

In the months since that psychic reading, I've adopted her advice, "Out with the old and in with the new," as my new life motto. That stroll from the sidewalk into the crystal shop was literally life-changing. Change is often dreaded and feared by most people, myself included, but I realized I was ready for it. What I've learned is that change will happen whether I embrace it or resist it. It's as inevitable - and sometimes twice as scary - as death. But it's often beneficial; it's only my fear of it that makes it seem ominous. 

 

In the first seven months of this year, I've whole-heartedly embraced change. I've done so many things, some small, some monumental, that I wouldn't have done years ago. I've renovated and redecorated my apartment for the first time since moving in six years ago. I boarded an airplane and flew somewhere other than Florida, visiting Arizona (and begun seriously considering someday moving there), Utah, and Nevada, and came home not only alive but better, worldlier. I bought a new bed and mattress, the first of my adult life (both long overdue), and oversaw a renovation and redecoration of my office at work. I've politely but firmly cut off contact with a few people (namely exes) who tied me to the past and prevented me from moving forward into the future. I've hiked in beautiful local parks that I never knew existed until I sought them out this summer. And last Sunday, after years of painful contemplation, I quit the church I'd attended (but chose not to join) for the past six years. 

As I wrote in January 2014, Good for the Soul, Christianity and church had become sources of conflict for me. I began questioning what I'd once blindly believed. Emotional and spiritual growth are complementary forces. As I became more compassionate, accepting, and open-minded, so did my beliefs.The result: I felt like a round, liberal peg trying to squeeze myself into a restrictive, conservative, square, Baptist hole. I felt like an actress playing a role every Sunday. But it wasn't a cut-and-dried decision. While I enjoyed socializing with the congregation members, I didn't enjoy hearing anti-gay and anti-Muslim sermons from the pulpit. 

At first, I was okay with the status quo of not joining but still attending the church. It seemed preferable to leaving. Besides, I feared the potentially-contentious conversation I knew I needed to have with the pastor and his wife before leaving. (Of course it would have been easier to slip out the back door, ignore the inevitable text messages questioning my absence, and never return, but my integrity wouldn't let me.) 

But two Sundays before I left, the truth (as I knew it) hit me like a sledgehammer, precisely when the pastor was praying against legalized gay marriage, and I knew I could no longer ignore it. I'm not opposed to gay marriage; in fact, I support equality for all genders, races, cultures, sexual orientations, and ethnic groups. So there I was, not praying against gay marriage, feeling like a total hypocrite for being in that building and listening to a prayer that I couldn't amen. 

I started pondering my entire life up to that point, religious and otherwise, right there at church. I asked myself if I was living the way I wanted to live, doing what I wanted to do, or just going through the motions out of guilt, habit, and obligation. (Nothing fosters guilt like religion. As Tori Amos, a preacher's daughter who knows a thing or two about Christianity, sang in "Crucify," "Got enough guilt to start my own religion...") Did I attend church because I wanted to or because it was what I'd done nearly every Sunday of my adult life? I've stuck with old patterns that no longer served me or improved my life because fear of change kept me bound to them. I feared the consequences that change might bring.

But you know what I've found? There isn't one single change I've made this year that hasn't made my life better. In fact, when reflecting on the effects of each change, I've asked myself why I waited so long. I've yet to find a satisfying answer.

End of the Line: Las Vegas

The final day of my trip was undoubtedly the wildest. It began in peaceful, sleepy Zion National Park and ended in the bright-lights-big-city that never sleeps (or is that NYC?), Las Vegas. Just one whirlwind adventure day, with a show, buffet, taxi ride (my first ever), and 800-foot thrill jump, that exhausted me more than the previous eight days combined. (A Vegas tour director and motorcoach would have been welcome.)

My escorted tour ended with a buffet breakfast at Zion, followed by the final stop, Las Vegas's McCarran Airport. Like most of my tourmates, I opted to see more of Vegas than just the quick drive down the strip that the tour allotted, having advance booked a one-night stay at Harrah's, right in the center of the strip, and purchased a pricey ticket to see Le Reve, which many online reviewers had deemed the must-see Vegas show. 

After checking in for the next day's early-morning flight, I grabbed lunch, purchased a round-trip shuttle ticket at an outdoor booth, and was off to Harrah's, where I stored my suitcase, and, on the wise counsel of my tour director, purchased a full-day ticket for the Deuce, Vegas's on-the-strip public transit bus.

My first stop: the Stratosphere Tower, where three thrill rides (the appropriately named Insanity, Big Shot, and X-Scream) and, potentially, the SkyJump awaited...on top of the tower. I figured I'd use the first three rides to test my courage, so I bought a ticket for those and decided to wait until after (after I survived, puked, freaked out, had cardiac arrest, etc.) before committing myself to the $120 SkyJump. 

Skytower view

Though terrifying (have I mentioned I'm acrophobic?!), especially the Big Shot, which almost literally sent my heart into my throat with its massive sky-to-ground plummet, once my legs stopped wobbling, I started seriously considering the SkyJump, in which I would hurl myself 800 feet off the tower's edge. After all, I wanted the full Vegas experience, and who knew (probably not even the Sedona psychic..) if I'd ever find myself at the Stratosphere in Vegas ever again. So I bought a ticket, signed my life away (really), and got suited up, while continuously reminding myself that I'd skydived and lived to tell of it (including here) (Taking the Plunge).

Unfortunately, unlike my skydiving experience, when I was the first one up, I had to wait until two other people from my group made their jumps, so I stood there watching them, overanalyzing the risk involved, and totally psyching myself out. There are times in life when even the most cautious, analytical introvert has to act without thinking. This would be one of those times. 

As a result, by the time I was strapped in and standing on the platform, looking down 800 long feet to the ground, I lost any nerve I'd had. As the jump coach counted me down, I freaked. "I can't do it," I told her. After repeating this scene - counted down but refusing to jump - she turned me around (much better that way!) and gave a much-needed push. As expected, I screamed all the way down and was so very thankful to once again (gently) touch Vegas pavement after landing (feet first) on the targeted spot. I was so glad I'd done it, despite my terror, but equally glad it was over, with a bragging-rights certificate of completion for my efforts.

Perhaps I can blame SkyJump-induced disorientation, or perhaps just my general lack of direction, for what happened next, but I left the Stratosphere from a different exit than I'd entered, so my bus stop wasn't where I expected to find it. After wandering around for several minutes, I eventually found a bus stop and climbed on the next arriving bus. A few stops later, though, I began growing increasingly uneasy as the bus traveled farther from the strip (and my hotel), going west rather than south. I asked the driver if I was on the wrong bus, but his lack of English-speaking skills frustrated both of us, leaving me unable to understand his directions for finding the correct bus stop. 

So I got off the bus and walked down the street, eventually, on the verge of a panic attack, not to mention a car-pedestrian accident from multiple four-lane street crossings, stopping outside a tavern. I pulled out my life-saving borrowed copy of Fodor's Las Vegas (thanking God for it) and called a taxi company listed in the back. A long $30 taxi ride (though I would have paid nearly anything at that point) took me back to Harrah's and into my room for the first time, where I quickly changed my sweaty clothes, redid my hair and makeup, and strolled down the strip toward the Wynn for dinner and my show. Although I'd researched Vegas's best buffets for months, I opted for the Wynn, though also considered excellent, out of convenience since I'd be there for Le Reve. 

The Wynn

By the time I arrived, I realized there wasn't nearly enough time to eat (to say the lines were long would be an understatement) before the show, so I wandered around the resort for awhile, quickly threw away a few dollars in the slot machines (also one of my must-do Vegas activities, though I'd hoped for some payout), and seated myself for what was a truly magnificent spectacle of watery dancing, high dives, acrobatics, and special effects. In short, amazing!

Le Reve's watery stage

After the show, I waited in the buffet's interminable line to be seated for dinner. The funny part was, once I was seated and made my round of each food station (at least once), I couldn't find my table when I returned, which should give you an idea of how huge the dining room is (typical Vegas excess), in addition to my aforementioned poor sense of direction. Eventually, with the assistance of the hostess and a server, I found my table and enjoyed several plates of pasta, sushi rolls (which I discovered I liked), vegetables, and desserts. 

I waddled back to my hotel, seeing the Vegas strip's nightlife in all its gaudy glory, and caught a performance of the Mirage's volcano fire show along the way. Though I was exhausted, I debated going to bed versus staying up, knowing that I needed to catch a 3:30 a.m. shuttle for my 6 a.m. flight home. In the end, I napped for an hour before getting up, finishing my packing, checking out, catching my shuttle, and gratefully leaving for my regular, everyday, non-Vegas life. (I wasn't ready to go home when I'd left Zion National Park. After one day in Vegas, I couldn't wait!)

I've heard other people who are spiritually sensitive, empathic, perhaps, say that they can feel the energy of a place and its inhabitants while traveling. Perhaps there's some truth to that. When in New York City last year (No Place Like Home), I felt anxious. In Sedona, I felt good vibrations. At the Grand Canyon, I felt lethargic. In Utah, I felt relaxed and peaceful. And in Vegas, I was afraid, and not only during the thrill-ride portion of my visit. I didn't feel safe at any point during my stay. 

Perhaps that speaks more to my big-city aversion than Vegas's crime rate, but despite the brevity of my visit, I have no desire to return, though I enjoyed most of my experiences (minus the bus snafu). Let's put things in perspective, though: In less than 24 hours, I played a slot machine, rode in a taxi, jumped off a tower, saw a show, dined at a buffet, and walked the strip. How could I possibly top that?!

Best of the Rest: Arizona and Utah

So I left the Grand Canyon with my tour group and embarked on a long, scenic ride to Lake Powell through the beautiful Painted Desert, stopping in scenic Monument Valley, just over the Arizona border into Utah, which is best known as the location where several TV and film westerns were shot, as well as scenes from Back to the Future Part III and National Lampoon's Vacation. 

The Painted Desert

Not surprisingly, the town plays up its John Wayne connection (She Wore a Yellow Ribbon was filmed here, among other Wayne classics) for tourist trade, with a small building billed as John Wayne's Cabin, as well as every imaginable gift-shop item, from mugs to calendars to ties.The highlight of the visit was a Jeep tour given by a Navajo guide of the one-of-a-kind monoliths for which this area is famous. Unfortunately the cold temperatures continued, although the rain held off long enough for our tour to begin and end, and the wind picked up, which left me freezing, windblown, and breathless (and not in a good way). The red sand that coats everything there was embedded in my pores and covered my clothes and shoes by the end of the tour, leaving me longing for a long, hot shower during the long drive to Lake Powell.

Monument Valley

We finally arrived in Page, AZ, around 5:45 p.m., giving me my first opportunity to explore Lake Powell Resort. Although I had an exquisite view of the lake, the weather was less than cooperative. Sixty-degree temperatures and rain prevented me from enjoying anything more than the 90-minute cruise through narrow Antelope Canyon. Beyond that, the other highlight of this part of the tour was, believe it or not, a stop at (gasp) Walmart. I've never in my life been so happy to see a Walmart, and I've never seen anyone else so grateful for a Walmart shopping spree, but after several days of paying gift-shop and restaurant prices, not to mention having to wear shorts, tank tops, and capris in wet 60-degree weather (I'm not the only one who didn't pack for it), you can only imagine the number of bags of food, (warmer) clothing, and supplies that emerged from the store. For me, personally, I made a beeline to ladies' clothing, where I purchased a pair of leggings (besides one pair of jeans, I had no other pants), followed by a visit to cosmetics, where I stocked up on Burt's Bees lip balm (the dry air, much like a western NY winter, chapped my lips and skin terribly).

Cloudy Lake Powell

The low point of the trip was getting stuck at the campgrounds, approximately two miles from my hotel room, where I'd gone to do my laundry. I had no problem getting a shuttle ride out there. But when I called for a ride back, I could get only voicemail or an unanswered phone line. Finally, after three calls to the hotel's front desk and a near panic attack, a shuttle came to my rescue, whisking my disgruntled self safely and dryly (it was, of course, raining) back to my room.

Shuttle issues plagued me again at Bryce Canyon National Park, site of the awe-inspiring hoodoos. I caught a shuttle to the visitor center, quickly stamped my passport book, and walked back outside to wait for the next shuttle back. Did I mention that this was Memorial Day weekend and the park was packed? Well, it bears noting because the holiday crowd slowed down the shuttle system. Finally, after waiting 30 minutes (alongside some tourists who had been waiting even longer), with the time until my tour's departure dwindling away, I hustled my way through the crowd and wedged myself onto a packed shuttle (perhaps the last of its kind) bound for my waiting motorcoach. Somehow I made it, with minutes to spare.

Bryce Canyon National Park

And then we were off to what is tied with Sedona for my favorite part of the trip: Zion National Park. Ironically, I thought at the start of this trip that anything after the Grand Canyon would seem like a letdown. That wasn't at all the case. Zion was about as different from GCNP as it could be. Even though I was there on Memorial Day, the park didn't feel crowded or zoolike, unlike the Grand Canyon. It felt peaceful, serene, just as its name implies. And, at last, the weather warmed up and cleared up in time to enjoy Zion's amazing assortment of hiking trails (at least one for every hiker, ranging from easy to strenuous). In fact, I picked up a little sunburn on the backs of my legs while on a long hike in the afternoon sun. 

Hiking in Zion National Park

Zion was, simply put, bliss, the perfect end to my group tour and the ideal reprieve before the final leg of my journey: Las Vegas!