Turned 30 on Wednesday. Slept late, ran 4 miles, shared coffee and donuts.

Drove south, a little, to the woods. Wandered around, laid on a rock for 30 minutes before scaring some deer and sharing my life mess with the wilderness.

Spent 15 minutes on a swing set.

Got accosted by a goose and then chased that goose through a field, flapping my arms and yelling. Because 30.

Came home. Didn’t want to.

Flowers, IPAs and opening presents.

Cake and lady friends, beers and champagne.

To bed, late. Not happy, but not unhappy either.

So cheers. New beginnings and all that jazz.

This is story of how I got lost and found in the desert, at Joshua Tree National Park.

Megan had a wedding in Palm Springs, which is why we detoured to southern California on our way to Oregon and so I took the car and drove to Joshua Tree to get lost. It’s silly, really. This was Sunday and we’d been in the car all day, every day since Wednesday, and so instead of spending the day looking amazing poolside, I got back in the car, drove to Joshua Tree and spent the day there, meeting lizards and chasing birds.

The desert holds a special sort of magic for me, an East Coast girl who grew up in the mountains of Virginia and the caves of Ohio. Joshua Tree is it’s own world, different from everything and anything I’ve ever experienced.

I lost cell signal seconds after entering the park and was plunged into a sort of aloneness that doesn’t feel familiar anymore. I couldn’t text, couldn’t call, couldn’t instagram my adventures and I found myself, alone in that park, startlingly okay with being disconnected from everything and everyone. I didn’t have an agenda that day, it was just me and the desert and as much time as I needed to see it and feel it and live it.

When a heart is broken it takes a lot to fix it, when the rug is pulled out from under you, when everything and everyday feels hard, it takes a lot. But being alone in the desert – really, really alone – healed something, some part of me that wasn’t sure I knew how to be alone.

Because here’s the thing – I didn’t know, until I went to Joshua Tree, that I could have adventures on my own. I didn’t know that I could walk away from the world for a little bit and get lost, alone. I didn’t know that I could be okay without him, until I found myself alone in the desert, but there I was, standing on top of a rock pile I’d climbed, the desert and the trees and the earth spread before me and even though there was this overwhelming sort of sadness that comes with heartbreak, there was also an incredible moment of peace. I wished him there a handful of times, because he’s my best friend and we’ve always adventured best together, but for so much of that day being alone in the desert felt exactly like the right thing to be.

I spent six hours there, at Joshua Tree, driving through the entire park, shocked at the changing landscapes, amazed by the little lizards I found at the base of one of the trees, impressed by this one incredible blue bird who greeted me on a trailhead. I chased the crows and the sun and arrived, at sunset at the southern edge of the park, pulled over on the shoulder, not wanting the day be over because the peace I found there rivals nothing. I heard a coyote yip, got bit by bugs that swarm as the night begins to break and I felt, solidly and epically at peace, with all of it, with the pain and hurt and the anger and the inability to understand how something so perfect could ever be broken.

One thing about the desert is so much of the beauty is covered in sharp edges, spikes and thorns. You see a beautiful tree, bent by the wind and approach it to find it covered, solidly, in spiky armor. There’s a protective layer on so much of the desert.

I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay, sprawled on the hood of the car, to watch the stars come out. I wanted to go wild in that park, walk into the wilderness and not come out until my heart is healed. I’m still a little impressed that I managed to pull myself away from it, that the feral parts of me didn’t take over and force me into the rocks. I think the only thing that stopped me from going into the wild was my lack of provisions. And a slight fear of rattlesnakes.

I’m also over at the Hooray Collective today, with a post about the truth.

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I don’t know where to start, in the telling of this story, the one about how I drove, with Megan, from Richmond, Va. to Portland, Or., with a side trip in Palm Springs along the way. It’s so much, this trip. It means so much. It was so much.

There are the individual adventures, like our experiences along Route 66, at the Grand Canyon and among the giant redwoods, or the solo side trips I took to Joshua Tree National Park and the Oregon coast, stories that I have to break apart from the pack, from the basic telling of this story because they meant and mean so much.

And then there’s the rest of it, the part with the feelings and the logistics of traveling across this great big country, the new states I’ve visited, slept in and driven through, the lessons learned and the towns and cities, forests and seas that I’ve fallen for.

I was gone for 11 days, traveled something like 3,700 miles though 12 states, visited three National Parks and had what just might have been the best adventure of my life.

Day-by-day, it looked like this:

Day 1 || Richmond, Va. >> WV >> Frankfort, Ky. || 512 miles

Highlights: Last minute route changes, snow the moment we passed under the West Virginia welcome sign, burritos for dinner and the shadiest hotel of our trip.

Day 2 || Frankfort, Ky. >> IN, IL, MO >> Oklahoma City, Okla.  || 804 miles

Highlights: Snow fields in Indiana, seeing the arch as we drove past St. Louis and freaking out about how huge it is, accidentally getting off the interstate – twice, sit-down dinner and an avoided pet fee of $75.

Day 3 || Oklahoma City, Okla. >> TX, NM >> Holbrook, Ariz. || 776 miles

Highlights: The Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, Whataburger for lunch, rapidly changing landscapes, the desert of New Mexico, a 360 degree sunset, the Wigwam Motel, Mexican for dinner with beers and altitude, chatting across tables with strangers, singing the Eagles’ “Take it Easy” in restaurants, the car and the wigwam, and finally settling into our wigwam for the night.

Day 4 || Holbrook, Ariz. >> Grand Canyon National Park >> Palm Springs, Calif. || 790 miles

Highlights: Waking up in a wigwam, taking pictures of old Route 66 establishments, breakfast with books about how to deal with idiots, standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, road trip purchases, the Grand Canyon, elk, fat squirrels, crossing into California and officially being on the West Coast, $8 beers in Palm Springs, the smell of Abercrombie and the comfiest, coziest beds.

Day 5 || Palm Springs, Calif. >> Joshua Tree National Park >> Palm Springs, Calif. || 143 miles

Highlights: Running in Palm Springs, mountains, venturing into Joshua Tree National Park for a solo adventure while Megan attended a wedding, making lizard, raven and bird friends, climbing rocks, hiking trails and feeling like I was on a different planet.

Day 6 || Palm Springs, Calif. >> Sacramento >> Anderson, Calif. || 641 miles

Highlights: In-N-Out Burger, happier cows, meeting up with San for nachos (!!) and seeing trees I hadn’t known I’d missed.

Day 7 || Anderson, Calif. >> Redwoods National and State Parks >> Portland, Or. || 549 miles

Highlights: Fresh air, big trees, mountains, hotel breakfast, Chance (the dog) celebrating grass, the Redwoods, the forest, the rivers, the streams, the air, the coast, a winding little road through the forest, a new book, a new park checked off the list and the final push on to Portland.

And there are the days I spent based in Portland, wandering the city and driving out to the coast to touch old trees and marvel at the Pacific Ocean and the jagged coast that’s so different from the one I grew up close to.

But this? This is only the beginning of this story.

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Also, thank you, internet, for being awesome and for having my back, always. I love you, internet.