Camping Adventures & The Art of Living
“I’ve never been camping with a queen size mattress before,” I say.
“An innerspring, queen size mattress,” says Andrew. “Me neither.”
We laugh.
We’re in a state forest park, looking through the fly screen at thousands of stars above our heads. We’re actually not very far from home, less than one hour’s drive, and have pitched the tent alongside the van for a new style of camping experience.
For the past, close to ten years, I’ve forgone tents in favour of campervans, but this week I’ve been considering a few things.
Perhaps it has something to do with being my 34th birthday, and having decluttered most of our home, I’ve naturally been looking around at what truly matters to me. How I want to live. Mindful of where we spend our money and how to get the most bang for our buck.
An article I read recently keeps popping into mind. It was about studies showing that experiences, not material goods, are what make people happiest over the longer term.
It’s something I’ve thought and lived by very closely in the past, but somehow, I think perhaps having an online business and being exposed to the incredible levels of financial success possible through my peers, I was beginning to subtly get lost thinking life will be better when we reach a certain new level of income, rather than remembering to consciously check in with myself about what would make each day rewarding, fun and satisfying, right now.
And it was beginning to show.
For a couple of weeks, I felt short tempered. Irritable. Edgy. And a touch bored.
Now, I happen to think a touch of boredom is a very good thing for the creative spirit. It’s often the discomfort I’ve found I need to motivate me to do something different. It’s what Robert Fritz in The Path of Least Resistance would could ‘tension’.
A touch of boredom can remind us we have the capability to choose our own adventures and it’s not up to the world to do it for us. I tend to think if we took our cues from society on how to live, it would be all about buying more stuff and striving to keep up with the Joneses.
So anyway, when we went shopping for my birthday gift I said to Andrew I didn’t want things, I wanted experiences. Initially, I’d thought a heated towel rack would be fun, but with my new awareness around getting the most bang for our buck, it didn’t seem like such a rewarding idea after all.
We wandered into BCF (Boating Camping & Fishing) and that’s when I found a little book packed with camping spots in Queensland. Not only that, it had photos of dozens of spots where you can camp with your dog. I felt a small flutter in my chest. A familiar old sense of possibility and desire.
“That’s what I’d love for my birthday, Honey,” I said, pointing at the book.
The art of living is a skill worth cultivating. Regardless of our bank balance.
Money can vanish pretty much overnight, as we saw in the global financial crisis, not to mention through a divorce, illness, economic downturns (think of the Greeks right now) and other elements completely outside our control. But being able to tune into your heart and hear the soft whisperings of what your soul desires, regardless of your bank balance, is a delicate, often quiet and intentional pursuit.
I’ve seen plenty of people have money, then lose it, and a few people who didn’t have money, make tonnes of it. And of the two, I’m all for having money, it certainly makes life easier, but I’m not keen on having extra money at the cost of losing touch with those pursuits we find intrinsically joyful, satisfying and rewarding.
Right now I’m sitting in my bikini in the shade on a fold-up chair on top of an embankment, overlooking a clear stream that’s lined with lomandra grass, silky oaks and gum trees. Andrew is napping with Lacey Jane beside him and we literally have the campground to ourselves.
Over the years I’ve realised I love camping for two main reasons.
#1. There are far fewer distractions in a campsite, so the hours seem to stretch longer and you feel a luxuriousness of time; and
#2. I love the creative stimulus of being somewhere new. Seeing new sights, hearing new birds, and exploring new territory lights us both up.
While we’ve been here we’ve had three goanna sightings, found umpteen cicada shells clinging with their translucent, hollow legs to the logs, trees and even our tent, had tiny fish giving us ‘kisses’ (or probably more like sucking dead skin cells off our legs) in the clear stream, watched satellites glide past the constellation of stars known as The Saucepan here in the southern hemisphere, and read Magda Szubanski’s new book aloud to each other in bed.
And the cost? For one night’s camping permit for two people, it was a grand total of $11.90.
We dragged the mattress out of the van and maneuvered it into the tent. Initially, we’d planned on using the tent as extra living space, not for sleeping.
Which is how we ended up laughing at our over-the-top, deluxe style camping experience.
Ever since I was a little girl, my heart has craved adventures.
Going to new places. Trying new things. Making do with what you’ve got. Inventing and pretending to be MacGyver. And I’ve come to respect, value and nurture this part of myself, as it’s part of what fuels my creativity and painting practice, as well as my overall sense of wellbeing.
Camping always seems to bring a touch of adventure.
Upon arrival at our secluded little campground, we took a wander down to the small creek below to see where we might take a dip. The water was shallow where the creek had dried out, highlighting just how much we need rain in these parts. Finding the spot where we’d seen locals swimming, we sat in the shallow water and looked up and down the river’s edge at the overgrown shrubbery and towering gum trees.
I was marvelling at how quintessentially Australian it was to be sitting in a tea-tree stained creek, remembering my childhood of swimming in the Gunbower Creek in Victoria when Andrew said,
“What’s that head over there? Is that a turtle or a snake?”
Hearing the word turtle, I immediately began searching for a cute little round shell resting on a log.
We stood up.
“Yep, it’s a snake,” he said.
Then my eyes caught sight of the movement in the water, not more than four meters away. A narrow head, slowly making its way to the edge. I watched, in slight disbelief, waiting for it to come out of the water and reveal any type of body other than a long, skinny one. But alas, it slithered onto the bank.
“What kind was it, do you think? It wasn’t green.” I said.
“It was probably a brown,” said Andrew.
Brown snakes are very venomous, unlike green tree snakes, of which we have a resident at home who I’ve grown quite fond of.
“When I was in Kowanyama, my mate and I saw a snake and…” Andrew began.
“Hold on honey. I’m still getting used to the fact we were just swimming with a brown snake. Sorry. Hmm. Do you want to move upstream?” He chuckled and nodded.
“Ok, yes, you were saying? About Kowanyama?”
We changed spots and I kept my eyes peeled.
The location wasn’t pristine. It wasn’t a scene from a postcard. It was a little bit unnerving. But it was different. It was new. It was an adventure. And I do love a touch of adventure.
In my life I’ve been fascinated by how our ability to remain present while travelling (and where ever we are for that matter) is what determines the quality of our experience and our life; not the circumstances we find ourselves in or our preconceived notion of what constitutes pleasure and leisure according to travel brochures, lifestyle channels and glossy magazines.
I’ve stayed in some five-star resorts and had so many worries about the past or the future, that I didn’t enjoy myself. I’ve gotten myself so worked up, I missed the joy of being there. And I’ve sat in a dried up creek bed with a snake swimming upstream and had a wonderful, relaxing time.
I’ve had money and at times spent it on things that didn’t bring me a lot of joy (a teeth whitening kit, clothes that didn’t suit me, a PC laptop), and I’ve had limited cash and consciously chosen to spend it on things that light up my life (camping gear, painting supplies, workshops and courses, a box of raspberries, a book of campgrounds in Queensland).
I’ve watched people close to me get lost amongst their quest for power and prestige, driven to strive ahead believing other people will admire, respect and look up to them more once they reach their next milestone in the future; at the cost of their own authentic desires and simple pleasures in this moment.
Money, creativity and prestige are a funny mix.
I admire people who have great wealth and don’t loose touch with their desires.
Who continue to make their art, whatever that may be, and tune into their heart’s whisperings. Who, even when they begin to receive accolades from the world, achieve a new level of success, and life gets busy, still manage to maintain a close connection with their heart’s soft and gentle whisperings.
The following day we took a drive to get a cup of coffee from a funny little corner shop we passed on the way in. Stuck pretty much in the middle of nowhere, it was a convenience store from last century. The interior took me right back to growing up in the country as a kid; a centre aisle stacked with odds and ends including two boxes of cereal, one bottle of dishwashing liquid, assorted batteries, torches and canned goods. On the way to our ‘coffee shop’ we noticed a turn off near our campground to a look-out up the hill.
So once we’d had our cuppa, we took Lacey Jane and went exploring.
What we found was totally magnificent.
The lookout was on the edge a cliff face, showing off the sandstone escarpment where rock-climbers could immerse themselves in nature’s playground.
A sense of the Sacred filled the place and the unseen history of the land’s indigenous custodians seeped through the sandstone rocks. The lookout revealed a very steep escarpment down below, spiking a magnetic level of curiosity in Andrew, as he loves rocks. We donned our hiking boots and went to see what we could find.
Lacey Jane pulled hard on her lead down the steep path, and the 32-degree heat felt fitting for visiting such an outback-Australia-feeling site. We gazed at the wonder of it all. Not speaking much. Taking photos of tree bark, rock formations, leaves, patterns and textures nature effortlessly produces.
Our souls were refreshed.
Later that night, we worked on the laptops and caught up on admin. So we were reminded once again that life shows up in this current moment and the more we are present for it, the more we make conscious decisions based on the desires of our hearts (rather than be pushed along by our programmed settings on autopilot), the more wonder life holds.
And all this, just one hour from our home.
We think we’ll be doing a lot more camping this year. Taking the dog, laptop, cameras and painting supplies (and the tent and inner spring mattress!) and making the most of here and now.
With love,
Nicola xx