The freshly dewed grass held six abnormally dull stakes perfectly in the soft ground while myself, my soon-to-be boyfriend, and his oversized ‘lap’ dog (who took up the majority of the tent) slept. The warmth of our bodies and the leftover hue of the five hand warmers dispersed throughout our sleeping bags kept us just warm enough to not quite notice the wind creeping through the partially unzipped tent door. The tent flaps danced with the wind, and the sound of early morning boaters whistling on the nearby river gently stirred the silence. The leaves were transitioning into their fall colors, painting the ground with shades of yellow, orange, and red. However, the chilly October morning was still holding onto the remnants of summer, lingering between every cool breeze.
This last-minute adventure began the night before, just as the sun disappeared behind the hills we call mountains. We had a knack for making plans the day of, and fortunately, we managed to pull off a Friday evening post-work paddleboarding trip to a small island for camping. We strapped our packs onto the boards and paddled two miles down the Tennessee River to Williams Island. Daylight didn’t last long, but the rest of the journey was illuminated by the small beams from our headlamps and one of the brightest, star-filled skies I’d ever seen in Tennessee. For someone who spends hours stargazing at every opportunity, it felt like a dream come true. Honestly, the whole weekend felt like a dream.
Months passed, and we continued our spontaneous trips and camping adventures. But by mid-December, he received news that he'd be moving away for work. Distance gave us an excuse to explore new camping spots between Florida and Tennessee. Once a month, we packed our gear and met somewhere in the middle. We each had our own packing lists—mine always included the tent stakes. As our relationship and camping experiences led us into new territory, we faced many challenges. The first real test came on his birthday weekend.
That Saturday night, the rain poured, the wind howled, and every gust uprooted our tent stakes, sending them flying. The storm outside reflected the tension between us, and the tools we’d brought—both for camping and for navigating our relationship—proved inadequate for the challenges we faced. For the first time, I seriously considered abandoning the trip and finding refuge in a hotel. Looking back, it’s almost comical to remember us battling the wind and rain, arguing while the campsite flooded around us. We rushed between the car and the tent during relentless downpours, determined to make it work. In the end, we managed to set up the tent, though only half the stakes held through the night—a fitting metaphor for the shaky ground we were standing on.
After that trip, we often joked about designing the perfect tent stakes and what they would need to meet our camping requirements. I wish we’d had the same conversation about our relationship, but at the time, neither of us really knew what we were missing. A few more trips later, we decided to end our relationship and focus on building the things we both needed to keep our own tents—I mean lives—secure.
My next adventure was terrifying, but it was mine. What was originally supposed to be an anniversary trip became my first big solo journey. In eight days, I completed the Utah Mighty Five, the Grand Canyon, Sedona, and a few other stops along the way. After a lot of research and trial and error, I embarked on my first big solo trip with the sharpest, most dependable tent stakes I could find. Months of unsolid foundations and constant falling over would no longer be my reality. I was leaving behind the old and uncertainty. I wasn’t entirely sure what the future held for me or for my relationship, but I knew, as my therapist often reminded me, I was now equipped with the tools for success.
Setting up my tent every night on that trip felt amusingly easy. I’d arrive in the morning, push the stakes into the ground, and they wouldn’t budge—not even in bad weather. In some sites, they stayed firmly in place for days even during downpours. There are countless ways to interpret the value of upgrading my tent stakes, and for some, the answer might be as simple as finding better gear. But for me, I realized how much harder life can be when you don’t have the tools you need. For camping, it might be tent stakes, enough water, or the right gear. In life, it could be coping skills or a healthy support system. My relationship with myself has become my most important focus, and tent stakes have taught me just how essential it is to provide yourself with the tools you need to be prepared and to make life smoother.
Ultimately, camping—and life—are all about preparation. The right tools, whether physical or emotional, can make all the difference. While relationships and adventures may come and go, what stays is the ability to set your own stakes, stand your ground, and weather whatever storms may come your way. And in doing so, you find that the journey—whether it’s shared or solo—becomes less about the destination and more about how well you’ve equipped yourself to handle whatever comes next.
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