What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?

That’s all that was going through my head for the first six hours aboard a cruise ship enchantingly called The Escape. And honestly? It was exactly that.

Let me back up.

I live in a cabin in the mountains. No Wi-Fi, no television — just forest, a couple of woodstoves, and the kind of silence that completely rewires your nervous system. For the last two years, I spent four days a week on the Appalachian Trail in the Smokies. My life is not one I need a vacation from. It’s one I’ve meticulously, joyfully, and sometimes stubbornly built around being outside, doing the work I love, and surrounding myself with people dedicated to sharing light in the world.

So how did a mountain woman who hasn’t been on a cruise in sixteen years end up booking one at 8pm on a Thursday night?

Winter happened. The real kind.

The forecast was brutal — sub-zero temperatures, a severe ice storm, insane snowfall, and the looming threat of extended power outages. My cabin is heated only by wood, and while I had plenty of it, along with everything else I could need, I was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, but the bone-deep weariness of yet another stretch in survival mode. I wanted to be warm. Not “throw another log on the fire” warm. Somebody-is-bringing-me-dinner-and-I-don’t-have-to-melt-snow-for-water warm.

The funny thing is, this wasn’t entirely out of nowhere. During my winters on the AT, when the winds were relentless and the temperatures absurd, I used to entertain myself by fantasizing about being on a cruise ship. I’d have full-on imaginary conversations with my room steward — a lovely man I named Eduardo — and pretend I was ordering off a fine dining menu, dreaming up the most elaborate meals I would never in a million years cook for myself. It was my favorite cold-weather coping mechanism. Then spring would arrive, the mountains would soften, and I’d forget all about Eduardo and his impeccable service.

I hadn’t thought about those daydreams in years. But apparently, the universe had been taking notes.

And then — because this is how my brain works at 8pm on a freezing cold Thursday in February — I thought: What if I just… booked a cruise?

I found one leaving from New Orleans, a city I could drive to if the storms grounded my flight. The ship’s name? The Escape. I mean, come on. The universe wasn’t even being subtle.

By 2am, I was packed. By 8:30 the next morning, I was in my driveway putting chains on my tires to get off the mountain before the next storm rolled in. I caught a flight on standby (by the hair on my chiny chin chin), landed in New Orleans on the tail end of that very weather system, and walked the French Quarter in a daze of exhaustion and exhilaration, marveling at what I had just pulled off.

Here’s the part I didn’t expect…I told no one.

Not a soul. I kept the whole thing a secret, and I’m still unpacking why. Part of it was the speed — I barely had time to tell myself. But if I’m being honest, there was a whisper of something else. A woman who has built her identity around backcountry badassery doesn’t exactly broadcast that she’s sipping poolside fizzy water on a floating resort. It felt… off-character, to say the least.

And that, I’ve since realized, is a little ridiculous. Because you know what’s actually badass? Deciding at 8pm on a Thursday — during a winter storm warning — to book a cruise, pack your bags, chain up your tires, and fly somewhere also in the storm’s path, and walk onto a ship the next day. Solo. Without a plan. Just to see if you could pull it off.

Oh boy, did I pull it off.

Walking onto that ship was like stepping into another dimension. After months of woodsmoke, wind, and solitude, the sheer volume of everything — sounds, lights, smells, humanity — hit me like a wall. I wandered the decks wide-eyed, a kid in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, muttering “what have I done” to anyone within earshot (and several people who were not).

For about five hours, I was convinced I needed to jump ship in Cozumel and find someone to paddle me back to civilization — or at least back to a trailhead. I was spectacularly overstimulated.

And then, like magic, my well-practiced arsenal of sacred tools kicked in. Everything is a blessing. You are exactly where you are meant to be.

I laughed out loud. Okay, universe. I buy it. So what am I doing here??

You need a vacation.

Ah. Right. That thing other people take.
Once I truly surrendered to the experience, I had an absolute blast — on my own terms. I wasn’t interested in bingo or karaoke (though I make no promises about the dance floor). I dove into my work with the kind of focus that only comes when you remove every possible distraction and replace it with room service.

And here’s the plot twist that still makes me grin: I completed the first draft of my next book and launched my Sacred Walking Peru trek — from a cruise ship. A working vacation, if you will. Though “working adventure orchestrated by a woman who refuses to sit still” might be more accurate.

I walked all over that ship — every day — averaging over seven miles and up to 20,000 steps. I ate well, with only the occasional midnight rendezvous with the 24-hour pizza bar (no regrets). I danced for hours. I worked out. I had wonderful conversations with strangers. I came home feeling healthy, rested, productive, and nourished in ways I didn’t know I was missing.

The real kicker? I couldn’t even get home when I planned to. While I was floating somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico being impossibly productive, eighteen inches of snow had buried my mountain — and seven to eight inches had fallen where my ride lived. My “escape” got extended whether I liked it or not.

I liked it.

My takeaway? Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is surprise yourself. Break your own rules. Defy the image you’ve built — not because it’s wrong, but because you are bigger than any single story you tell about yourself.

I am a mountain woman. I am a backcountry guide and wilderness educator who sleeps on the ground and loves every minute of it.

I am also apparently a woman who booked a cruise at 8pm on a Thursday, chained up her tires, hops on a standby flight, and finished her book on a ship called The Escape.

Both of those women are pretty badass, if you ask me.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go chop some firewood now…