Dear American Spirit

21 Jul

Dear American Spirit,

I think I’m missing some sort of essential American spirit of adventure.

If I’d lived during pioneering days, I would have stayed in Boston.

I mean, I think we can all agree that the people on the Oregon trail should have taken more axles and more food with them, perhaps built a little trailer-addendum that could travel behind the wagons, and they definitely should not try to ford the river right there.

But seriously, I see people doing boot camp workouts in the park and I’m horrified and want to turn around from my nice, low-key walk and go curl up in a chair and read a book about people reading books, because I’m filled with the fear that if I’m anywhere near such activity, someone will try to make me participate.

It’s not that I’m scared of dirt. Or that I frequently injure myself (I used to get SICK, a lot, ok, you guys reading this who knew me during college, but not hurt). (And I am scared of varmint, including squirrels, raccoons, opossums, and troublesome children (which is one of the definitions of varmint, look it up)).

It’s that I see a mountain, and I don’t think, “Because it’s there.” I think, “Wow, that looks tall! What’s that poem about looking at mountains? What’s for lunch? I want some potato chips. Do you think Pacey and Joey will finally make out tonight?”

Apparently the last time I saw a mountain up close was in 2001.

Yep. Definitely would have stayed in Boston. Would have manifested my destiny right there in my living room.

Tea, anyone?



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