THREE+ME: The burger is good, but the journey is better

Backpacking is miserable and unbelievably worth it

Do you know how uncomfortable it is to sleep in the back of a car?

How about on the ground?

When it's cold out?

*raises hand*

That was me last weekend. My husband likes to go hiking. Or, more specifically, backpacking, which I learned from him is a multi-day hike, carrying all your camping supplies in, of course, a backpack.

Several other (equally crazy) friends were in on this, too. And Friday night, off we went (sans kids) to meet them at the trailhead, driving three hours into the wilds of New Hampshire.

I was a little excited, just because my husband was excited. But really, I was thinking: "It's cold. It's the middle of nowhere. It's a lot of walking. And this is how we're spending our kids-free weekend? Being miserable?"

The only appealing part about any of this was the fact that we were going for a burger when we returned to civilization on Sunday.

So I also found myself thinking: "Why can't we just get the burger now, and skip all the uncomfortableness in between?"

Basically: What's the point? Why are we bothering to do this when it's so much more comfortable to just stay home, where there's a cushy couch and climate control (and we can still get a burger if we so desired)?

We met our friends at the trailhead parking lot, and I was already cold. We all slept in the trunks of our respective cars, and I woke up cold and sore. I pasted on a smile, hefted my pack, and trudged forward.

And for over five miles, we walked.

We paused near a US Forest Service shelter, but there was already another group camping there. So we pressed on.

We happened upon another site with a firepit. But we pressed on.

Finally, we found the place my husband and his friends had been to before. He'd insisted it was beautiful. I hadn't believed him.

But I should have.

When we got there, all the discomfort of the hike faded under the excitement of — not only reaching our destination, but also — how secluded and beautiful the site in fact was.

It was almost like our own little island, surrounded by the pond on three sides, with a huge firepit, a separate area for pitching our tents, even a little log bench right on the water (which was perfect for sitting and drawing, for those who may like that sort of thing).

I hadn't been impressed by the Forest Service shelter, or the little firepit site. But this?

This is why we were here.

The sun (which had been kind enough to shine all day and warm us) sank below the treeline, and we got a campfire going. The pond was motionless as glass, and the moon found its twin on the mirror surface as a slight mist hovered above everything.

I couldn't get over just how beautiful it was.

This is why we were here.

We all talked long into the night, just enjoying each other's company.

And somehow, it was a different kind of enjoyment, hanging out in the dark woods by the light of the fire, than it could have been in the comfort of our warm, electricity-powered home.

We'd earned that night.

This is why we were here.

It had been uncomfortable getting there, and it was even more uncomfortable going home (we were so sore by then), but I took away a reminder to appreciate where I am — not only where I'm going.

Being in the woods — not only stuffing my face with a burger when I get out of the woods.

Being a stepparent of a 7- and 11-year-old — not only being "kid-free" when they're grown up and I don't have to worry about little things like them wanting to play with me when I'd really rather just sit and write my book.

This reminder was underscored a few days later, too. It was my husband's birthday, and I wanted the kids to have a present for him. Upon consulting my Stash Of Gifts I Stockpile For Future Use, I found a wallhanging I'd intended to give him at some point, and thought it'd be cute if the kids decorated it for their dad.

They did, and he loved it.

Their painted additions were cute, but the placard's saying itself held some meaning, too. "Don't forget to enjoy the journey," it said.

It isn't about the destination. It isn't about crashing on the couch at the end of the hike. It isn't even, I hate to say, about the burger.

It's about the getting there. It's about being present in the moment. It's about immersing yourself where you are, and not counting the minutes til you can be somewhere else.

Appreciate the now.

Email Emely Varosky at evarosky@heraldnews.com.