Pitching Tents in My Imagination

No, I’ve never been camping. Not even the backyard kind with mosquito bites and marshmallows. Yet, my imagination has pitched more tents than any scout troop combined. “Camping is the art of getting closer to nature while getting farther from the comfort of your mattress,” said someone who probably forgot their pillow.

I imagine waking up in a tent with the sun nudging my eyelids, birds tweeting (the original Twitter), and the smell of damp socks and freedom. Nature has no WiFi, but I’ve heard the connection is stronger. “You don’t need therapy if you’ve got trees,” a wise pine tree probably whispered once.

Camping must be like parenting: you pack everything, forget the important thing, survive chaos, and still call it magical. I’d be the camper who brings hair serum, forgets the flashlight, and tells ghost stories that accidentally turn into motivational speeches. I’d toast marshmallows and dreams on the same stick.

“Roughing it” is such a romantic phrase… until it rains, and suddenly you’re hugging mud and reevaluating life choices. But maybe that’s the charm. “Sometimes you need to get lost in the woods to find your wild.”

I’ve never been camping, yet I feel I belong there—where phones sleep and stars talk, where silence is louder and moments stretch.

Thought to ponder:
Sometimes the best adventures are the ones still waiting in your soul. Don’t let your dreams die rolled up like an unused sleeping bag.