Do It For the Plot

By: Ashley Holm 

The truth is nobody is out here living some flawless REI catalog life. If you’ve ever seen a woman in the outdoors who looks like she has it all figured out, I promise you she also has a story involving mud, tears, and regret. Probably all on the same day.

We don’t get good stories from staying comfy and cozy on the couch. We get them from showing up, even when it gets messy. 

Like the time I showed up to guide a hunt, all confident and ready to impress, and immediately drove straight into a mud hole that swallowed my tires like I owed it money. Nothing humbles you faster than sitting in your truck, wheels spinning, watching some ranch hand who looks like he’s 12 tow you out while your clients casually look anywhere but at you. Plot development. Character arc. Personal growth. Whatever you want to call it, I earned some that day.

Or the day I went goose hunting with a group of guys and learned the hard way that bibs are, in fact, waterproof, in both directions. I stood back up and realized I’d basically marinated myself in my own pee. Had to just own it. There’s no quiet way to walk that one off. Moral of the story: always check for puddles. Always.

And don’t get me started on packing out of the saltwater marsh. If you’ve never felt your soul leave your body while your legs sink 12 inches at every step, just know that the marsh does not care about your feelings, your femininity, or the fact that you are “trying your best.” I fell so many times I stopped counting. I invented new curse words. At one point, I was both laughing and crying while carrying decoys like I was being punished in some very specific CrossFit class designed by Satan. I still limited that day though. 

Then there was the time I hopped off the boat onto what looked like solid ground but was actually four feet of Texas coast mud. One second, I was upright, the next, I was swallowed like a Capri Sun. I didn’t even fall gracefully. It was full-body chaos. I came up looking like I had just fought a swamp creature and definitely lost.

And let’s not forget the moments where you are absolutely convinced you are dying, but really, you’re just out of shape and remembering why you swore you were quitting vaping. You’re trying to act casual while hacking up a lung and pretending to admire the sunrise like this is totally fine and normal.

But here’s the point:

Those moments?
Those disasters?
Those you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me situations?

That’s the plot.

It’s not supposed to be glamorous.
It’s supposed to make you laugh and grow stronger.

In the outdoors, nobody cares if you’re perfect. Nobody is grading your form or your cool factor. We’re all just trying, learning, messing up, getting stuck, and showing up again the next day anyway.

Because somewhere in all that mud and chaos and deep breathing that sounds like an asthmatic tractor, you realize something:

You can do hard things.
You can recover from embarrassing things.
You can laugh at yourself and keep going.

And suddenly, you’re a little stronger, a little braver, and a whole hell of a lot more interesting.

So go.
Sign up.
Show up.
Mess up.
Try again.

Do it for the stories you’ll tell around the fire.
Do it for the version of you who needs proof she’s capable.
Do it for the laughter you’ll choke on when you tell your friends later.

Do it for the plot.