Trail Love

Thank YOU.

I have had a few conversations this past week about love.  (Oh, yes, this is going to be about love.)  About all of our preferred ways to be shown love.  I'm sure there are hundreds of models and theories on this, but a friend referred to one in which there are four general methods people like to receive love.  (I won't even attempt to tell you who said these things because I am certain that I am butchering it -- better to save both author and myself the embarrassment.)  (And these are according to my friend and me, because he couldn't remember the fourth way, so we might have made something up.)  Here it is.  People like:  1) Gifts, 2) Quality Time, 3) Favors, or 4) Affection.  

Try it.  Think about yourself.  How do you like to be shown love?  I don't know about you, but as soon as I heard this, one of them made me light up and another one or two made me cringe.  I think most people who know me know that I love quality time.  I'm an introvert.  One-on-one quality time is like a drug for me.  I'm glowing as I write just thinking about it.  The cringers?  Those would be gifts.  And favors.  Again, anyone who has tried to give me things has probably seen it.  (I'm sorry!)  I am a terrible receiver.  Which I know, and I realize when I am given gifts and favors -- and this makes me an even worse receiver.  

So, in addition to being an introvert, I'm an analyzer.  As you can imagine, this guttural aversion to being a Gift/Favor-Lover made me wonder . . . why?  And I think I've figured it out.  It is, of course, . . . my parents' fault.  Well, at least partly.  (Isn't it always?)  I am, both by nature and by nurture, fairly independent.  Okay, maybe wildly independent.  I am one of six kids.  As a child, a certain independence was required for survival.  You can be sick and stay home from school, but you're on your own, kiddo.  Perfect.  I'll make myself scrambled eggs in the microwave and lounge around with my Snoopy dog.  I can remember that my elementary school report cards always had the "Works Independently" box marked with a S+.  I must have known what that meant, because I still feel proud of it.  As an adult, (fear of the dark aside) I like living alone.  I don't mind going to the movies, coffee shop, or brew pub alone.  I still don't like to be taken care of when I'm sick.  I don't do well with surprises.  I don't know what want for Christmas.  I drive those gift-giving and favor folks crazy.  And now they are getting their sweet, sweet revenge.

See, the independence, coupled with my ingrained sense of duty and Catholic guilt (ahem, Mom and Papa), makes it difficult for me to accept gifts.  And favors.  I am not graceful about either because I feel like I need to give a gift or a favor back.  It really isn't that I don't like gifts and favors.  I actually love small, thoughtful gifts and thoughtful favors.  I just don't know what to do with them.  I flounder, stammer, give a quick hug, and want run for my life.  It's awful.  And I had been meaning to work on it.  Now, I am being forced.

People talk about "trail angels" and "trail magic" on the Pacific Crest Trail.  All of the people who help you along the trail -- giving you rides, taking you into their homes, feeding you, washing your nasty sausage-smelling clothes. . .  The people who do this are "trail angels."  When something unexpectedly wonderful happens like an icy cold Coke in the middle of the desert on the worst day ever, it's "trail magic."  

What people don't talk about is that all of this magic actually begins waaaaay before you hit the trail.  No less than six people have definitively offered to "trail angel" me along the way.  Most, at places that they live close to on the trail.  But one couple, whose daughter was an intern with me a few years ago, emailed me to say they'd like to buy and bring my food to me anywhere on the trail.  I thought they meant Oregon, since that's where we all live.  Oh, no.  They have a Prius.  And they're retired.  They really mean anywhere.  Just say where and when.  My mate volunteered to by my shipper back when he was just the punk ranger who gave me a hard time.  My friend from four colleges and sixteen years ago also volunteered to send my packages.  So did my surrogate Silverton "parents."  And my past mate.  It's 5 months and 25 boxes of packaging and post-officing we're talking about.  During the vacation and holiday-filled summer.  There is neither fun or nor glory in the task.  Last week, I received a huge box full of to-go-sized peanut butters, jellies, and mayos.  Courtesy of Gwen -- owner of Gwen's Restaurant where, at 16, I learned to get over my inherent shyness and use my big girl voice.  My officemate of only three weeks just gave me a new headlamp and couple of bags of my favorite jerky.  A fellow ranger just stocked me up on Snickers -- one of my 10 essentials.  A high school friend is running my blog while I'm on trail.  My mom has been a dehydrating machine.  Say nothing of the emotional support and cheering on I've gotten from everyone from my chiropractor and my women's doctor, to the ladies at the bank and grocery store cashiers who just have to ask why I'm purchasing 1,200 Ziplocs.  

The outpouring is phenomenal.  And, for someone like me, who cringes at gifts and favors because she is so terrible at receiving them, extremely humbling.  I knew from what others had said that people would help me along the way.  I didn't know that I'd be near tears repeatedly as gifts, favors, and encouragement streamed in months and weeks before I even set a foot on the trail.  All of this show of love and at a time where I am so busy with preparation, that I can't give my kind of love (quality time) in return.  Instead, I am forced to say a most sincere thank you, gratefully accept the gift/favor/well-wishes, give a bear hug that, hopefully, expresses some of my appreciation, and resist the urge to run and hide.  

So I would like to take a moment to share my warm and humble thanks for all of the love and support.  I couldn't be doing the Trail without all of you.  ...  Any more of this and you gift-givers and favor friends might just break through my independent little shell.  Thanks.