Striking out Solo

When Katie and I were relaxing one overcast afternoon, during our stay at Ngaio Bay, ideas of separation – between Katie and me -- were percolating because after four months without seeing oneanother Katie’s boyfriend Brian would be arriving and the two would reunite.

We were each sitting on our respective beds, in our cozy timber-wood beach cabin, with an atlas, note-filled papers, books, and a few pens strewn about. Both of us were stressed about our financial situation – neither of our jobs, asparagus picking and fashion sales, had been as lucrative as we’d hoped -- and it looked like our South Island road trip wouldn’t be possible. Plus our friends weren’t going to be able to travel with us, which we’d been counting on to prevent an awkward trio of Katie, Brian and me.

Katie and Brian hadn’t seen each other since August and it would be better for all of us if I wasn’t around while they became reacquainted.

So there we were, annoyed by the reality of our money limitations, disappointed we wouldn't be seeing all the sites we'd picked out, and I was feeling put-out by a boy I knew very well, but had only seen once -- I'd attended a pub-concert with Katie and Brian almost three years ago.

Now, with my head against the wall, where a head rest could have been, I chewed my options. Out of spite I considered making Katie feel guilty for pushing me out (I was in a very bad mood), but I bit my tongue and decided venturing out on my own would provide me needed space and opportunity to have a solitary adventure.

I’ve never traveled alone, and the idea of pushing beyond my comfort zone sounded appealing, and intimidating.

Being alone had become foreign to me because Katie and I had not spent a day apart since June. Most of the time we were forced to share a tent or a bed, we worked together, ate together, and shared chores, fears and dreams. We had fallen into roles and developed dances around duties. Katie built the fires, I made tea. She never new the time or what day it was, I wore the watch and managed the calendar. She held the map, I chatted with whoever picked us up hitching.

Occasionally we stepped on each other's toes, aggravated one another, and intentionally hurt each other’s feelings when we were in bad moods, but our relationship was like an old marriage—comfortable, familiar, and at times merely tolerable.

As I was considering what I would do, I realized how free it felt to not have any one else to consider in my plans. The overwhelming liberty I felt, was beginning to taste sour with fear. Who would get the map, the wwoof book, the tent? The idea of parting left a tear. My emotions felt frayed. And my mind was racing around with what-ifs.

The idea of separation was mine. Katie never insisted we part, but I preferred the idea of striking it out on my own opposed to being a third wheel. Plus I’m sad to say, a part of me enjoyed playing the martyr for my friend’s happiness. In the emotional soup that was boiling within me there was also resentment toward the idea she could be happier without me, and toward Brian for breaking up our team. Above all I was excited about my upcoming quest and I saw this as a chance to stretch my independence. I believed I could survive on my own, but I needed to prove it to myself.

So with shaky plans we parted.

We spent one more week together in Golden Bay (We were wwoofing with Grant and Claire), and I continued to marinate in the emotions our new, separate, plans had drawn up. We hitchhiked back to our “home” in Nelson with the Rainey family and Katie left me to head toward Christchurch where she was meeting Brian.

I spent that night alone for the first time in six months.

Tomorrow I strike it out on the road solo.