I left South Bass Island State Park roughly the same way I left my Ruidoso, New Mexico campsite two years ago. Things stuffed into my car with no manner or way about it, just temporarily managing it so that I could get home.

But when I left New Mexico, I was jovial. I felt accomplished. My first solo camping trip was a success. I had survived and gone through some emotional breakthroughs needed for my portfolio writing course in my Environment and the Humanities minor for the final semester of my college career.

But as the seagulls laughed as I messily stuffed my soaked towels into a trash bag or my hammock into the crevice of the trunk, I felt like a quitter, defeated.

I hadn’t made it 48 hours.

I should’ve known it would be a bust. Two months leading up to this trip, I’d had two bikes stolen. The island is made for bikes and golf carts, not cars. So now I’d need to rent something to get around, if I wanted to leave my homely camping site.

But I liked the simplicity. I’d waited to take a vacation so that I could secure this specific spot. It overlooked Lake Erie and faced the mainland of Ohio - albeit far away. But I needed a vacation a month and a half ago when I planned this trip.

COVID was wearing on me. I’d been in quarantine since March. And the visual of George Floyd dying with a knee crushing the air out of his God-given lungs was burned into my mind - along with every comment online from friends and family saying he deserved it. Two step-grandparents had died, and other family members were not faring well. I was not okay.

But I decided to delay. Deadlines were imminent at work and couldn’t be avoided. Camping seemed magical after my New Mexico trip. So I booked a site and waited.

I told everyone from coworkers and friends that I’d be off the grid. I needed a cleanse from all contact, social media accounts, and the world in general.

I was giddy as I parked at my site after driving 2.5 hours. The view was exactly as I had hoped. High on a cliff, I overlooked the lake. I could put my hammock between two trees close to the edge and take in the view knowing it was the cure for 2020.

I pitched my tent, got settled, and took a nap in my hammock. I warmed a can of black beans and had bean and cheese burritos before crawling into my tent and letting the lake breeze fan me to sleep.

I woke sweaty. The breeze was gone and I could hear flies buzzing. Looking for breakfast, I realized an animal had found my bagels. One was gone and the packaging ripped through. The rest were salvageable and I ate one with cream cheese and blueberries.

My back and shoulders ached from the sleeping on the rocky ground. The centimeters of foam from a yoga mat didn’t provide much protection.

Yet, with an adventurous spirit, I thought I should rent a bike to explore the island. Too far to walk, I tried starting my car and it took several times for the engine to roar. It’s a 2015 Corolla. It shouldn’t have this kind of trouble. So I forgoed the bike in search of an automotive garage.

I pulled into the only one on the island to be told that my battery was dead, dead. If I left, they doubted I would be able to turn the car back on again. A battery could be procured, but with the ferry schedule, it probably wouldn’t show up till tomorrow afternoon. Fine.

I left it, walked 10 minutes to a golf cart rental shop, paid $87 for an overnight fee, and went back to camp distraught, but not defeated. Yet.

I put on a newly purchased swimsuit and went down to the rocky shore to cool off. It was a wonderful afternoon rotating between the lake and the towel, cognizant that my skin was whiter than the stones lining the water. Just after lunch, the crowd picked up considerably and my self-confidence withered.

Back to the hammock I went, still in my swimsuit and a mystery book in hand. I tried to ignore the biting flies and eventually napped for a bit. Awake with new energy, it quickly evaporated with the flies biting worse than the mosquitos.

I managed to get a shower, and in frustration got in my golf-cart to find something to eat on the north end of the island just to escape the flies. I must’ve looked pitiful eating by myself on the “party island,” but I journaled, read, and contemplated life only the way one can eating and drinking alone at a restaurant.

With the breeze gone and only a 10 degree difference from the day, I decided to sleep in my hammock that night. Tucked in my sleeping bag, lamp on my forehead, I read in comfort and thought I could do this the rest of the week. No problem.

Thunder woke me at 6:30 a.m. In a daze, I realized it was raining. Less than a minute after that, it was a downpour. Confused and pissed, I clumsily got out of my hammock, dumped everything in the tent, untied the rain cover flap and jumped to safety.

I was soaked through.

So were my tennis and hiking shoes. And the towels and swimsuit I left out to dry on the picnic table. And a couple bags of food. Even a sliver of the inside of my tent had pooled water.

I managed to sleep off and on for the next three hours, chilled because my sleeping bag was wet. When I got out, the rain was done and the breeze with it. The flies bit like a ravaging Pacman. A call from Kowalsky Automotive let me know my car was ready with a bill of $256.

Back at the campsite, I sat in my AC-filled car dreading the outdoors. I discovered there to be dozens of mosquito and chigger bites along my feet, ankles, knees and legs, arms and even one on my neck. My bug spray had been left in the car when I dropped it off the day before.

For an hour I sat, arguing with myself if I wanted to be a quitter.

I didn’t cry on the way home, but I felt like it. Every maddening scratch to my ankles and toes rose the boiling hatred in my stomach for what this “vacation” had become.

I was just so tired. So. Tired. Was there no rest?

Scripture came to mind reminding me that only true rest can be found in Christ. Knowing it to be true, and annoyed it was right, I pushed it out of my mind and chose to be angry. I was too hurt to be comforted.

After two hours of driving winding, two-lane roads back home, I’d devised a plan that hopefully could make up for the last two and a half days.

Something I’d not done since I began the Dave Ramsey financial plan in October - I spent trivial money on myself.

After I unpacked and showered, I got a manicure and pedicure. Thursday, I went shopping at a mall and got a massage and facial. Friday was fun errands, more plants for a growing collection, and then a date that ended with a question to be his girlfriend, which I happily said yes to.

It’d seemed like I’d made lemonade out of sour lemons. The “staycation” was the first time I’d been home and didn’t have to sit in front of a computer. I got to spend money that I had dutifully saved for several months. I was now someone’s girlfriend.

Then I turned all the notifications and apps back on that I had silenced Monday morning.

Another black man had been shot, in the back, paralyzing him. An underage white man with a gun went to the protests and killed two people.

Chadwick Boseman - King T’Challa - had died from a cancer he hid from everyone.

More political games and childish behavior. More social media vomit from people justifying the shooting of Jacob Blake. People still dying from COVID and protesting wearing a mask because it’s “unconstitutional” or “oppressive.”

Two hurricanes battered the Louisiana and Texas coasts.

All in one week. One.

I don’t have a moral to this story. It’s been six days as I write this. But things I hold true to have always been true in my life. Jesus is still King. Love others as He has loved me. Count your blessings.

It was a privilege that I could go on vacation this week. It’s a bigger privilege that I still have a job in 2020, or that I’m not seen as a threat walking down the street.

But I can’t say that I’m not discouraged. My shoulders weigh a little heavier, even if I had all the knots worked out. There’s so much hurt and pain in this world, and I experienced a lot of it - it feels like - in less than a week.

Yet, there is no other option but to march on. I will go to work Monday. I will continue to use my voice to say Black Lives Matter. These bites will fade away and my pride will rebound.

And someday, maybe a week or a month or several years from now, this hell of a week will make sense in the grander picture. I choose to believe it will.