the forest is asking you to grow.

“Let’s walk around and see how this lake looks,” Adam is already turning, observing for signs of insect activity, eager to fish.

I grab my backpack and start to turn after him, giving my left pocket a pat to ensure my phone is still there.

Only, it’s not.

A sinking feeling fills my belly, the drop of a rollercoaster. Dread and annoyance kick in. My inner mean girl boots up: You idiot, why would you hike with your phone in your pocket? How could you be so dumb? You always put it in your backpack…

I shut off her chatter by speaking out loud. “Fuck…” is what comes out.

Adam turns around, his face in a question mark.

“I don’t have my phone.”

He seems to realize the urgency of the situation without my having to say it because he doesn’t follow up with questions like, Are you sure it’s not here?

I know beyond doubt that it fell out of my pocket somewhere on the trail because I remember checking for it at one point, although I don’t remember where or when.

I start to panic, spiraling.

Adam—cool, calm, collected Adam—is better in this kind of crisis. “Stay here, I’m going to walk our steps.”

“Let me come with you…”

“No, you should stay and watch the stuff. I think I know where you dropped it. I’ll be back soon.”

I try to plead after him, talking him out of his confidence. “But you’ll never be able to find it, we trekked through the literal woods with like mile-high grass, it could be anyway…”

I trail off as he mutters, “I got this,” and walks away.

In shambles, not nearly as cool and collected as my boyfriend, I sit down on a log and look out across the lake. The trail that Adam is retracing winds back up the hillside that I look out at. I see the white of his long-sleeved shirt meandering with the dirt path until he disappears behind trees and then out of sight.

I guess now I wait.

And in the waiting, my inner mean girl comes back up. He’s never going to find it. Now you’re going to have to spend a thousand dollars just because you were stupid.

I fight back with her, reasoning that maybe he will find it, given that he’s got better navigation than I’ll ever have.

She’s back with another remark. Oh, yeah? Well then why did he say that you wouldn’t find the paddleboard stuff again if you ditched it?

She’s got a point there. Our destination for the day was supposed to be a lake called Butts Lake, a half mile above Upper Eggleston Lake. We had walked half a mile from the car to Upper Eggleston Lake with our paddleboard gear, fishing stuff, and backpacks on the small dirt path.

But once we got above Upper Eggleston Lake, the trail disappeared. There was no path to Butts Lake. So we ended up having to go off-roading, walking through backcountry woods. There was downed trees, rampant weeds, pointy plants, and two-feet tall grass. The added weight of all our gear made walking through this terrain a difficult task. I suggested ditching the paddleboard gear and coming back for it later, but Adam was skeptical. After I fell over a log, we decided to turn around and fish at Upper Eggleston instead.

That log is probably where my phone fell out.

In the middle of the woods.

Far away from any visible path.

visual reference for “no path.”

We have no service and he has an Android so even if Find-My-iPhone worked in SOS mode, we have no way to ping it.

I let myself be grateful that there is nothing on my phone that I can’t access elsewhere. All my photos, notes, drafts, emails, documents, resources, live in one cloud or another.

Truly, the worst case scenario is that I’d have to go to the store and spend the money to get a new phone.

I resign to the fact that I’ll be at the Verizon store tomorrow and mentally take the money out of my bank account. It could be worse, I tell myself as I look out at the beauty of the nature before me, aware of the irony that I can’t take a picture of it or look at how much time has passed.

The wind is vocal in the trees, blowing with coming-and-going force that makes it sound like I’m sitting next to a highway. I notice it and the sound of the water and the feeling of flies landing on my arms. I am peaceful, truly unplugged, in this moment.

After I-don’t-know-how-long, I see a white blob come into view and start making its way down the visible path again, winding back to me.

I cry, letting all the feelings of overwhelm and stress and exhaustion pass through me. Whatever the outcome, at least we’re here together.

When he comes into view, he is waving my phone in one hand, clutching his phone in the other. “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” is playing over his speaker.

I crumble. I crumble from all of the emotions, I crumble at the fact that one of my favorite songs happens to be playing, I crumble at the patient, kind, and resourceful man that stands in front of me.

I had no belief that he’d find it.

I didn’t let myself believe that he’d find it.

I listened to my inner mean girl.

It’s a defense mechanism against disappointment.

The forest dared me to believe in magic, to believe in other people.

I’m trying to live differently now.

I want to let life surprise me.

I want to let people surprise me.

I want to listen to the voice that knows everything is working out.

I want to expect the best and be knowingly surprised when I actually receive the best.

Lesson learned, forest.

Thank you, more please.