Two out of three weekends living in the tent, so far, Adrian and I have gone camping. We left our warm, cozy backyard tent behind and headed out not quite into the wilderness, but to some pleasant spots involving trees and water within easy commuting distance of the city.

Since people who sleep in beds often break out the tent for a weekend, one might think that people who sleep in tents might seek out a bed for a weekend. However, that appears not to be the case. People who sleep in tents, it turns out, ditch the tent and spend the weekend sleeping wherever they please with nothing but a sleeping bags.

The first trip was to Britannia Beach, where we intended to jump a few fences, pick a few locks, and take ourselves on a private tour of the mining museum. However, we ended up just starring into the mineshaft for a few minutes before mutually deciding on a resounding ‘nope-nope-nope-nope-nope’. After that, we walked around reading the information panels with flashlights like we were tourists before climbing up on top of the giant dump truck to get some sleep.

In the morning we beat the Whistler-rush into Galileo Coffee and went to go check out the graffiti-splattered warehouse across the street. In the early morning light, it was basically gorgeous.

We hitched back into town, took a nap in the Ambleside dog park and then went to visit our mothers… like you do on a Sunday.

Trip number two was the classic Lynn Canyon.

As always, Adrian and I spent the Sunday afternoon trying to convince everyone and anyone to come with us, because seriously, we get lonely with just the two of us. We begged our room mates to come, but they were all concerned about the forecasted thunderstorm. We thought they were being paranoid. It was a clear, sunny day and the storm had been removed from the environment Canada forecast a few hours earlier.

Unable to convince anyone (as always), we packed up our bags and rushed out the door within 15 minutes of Adrian giving our friend Sonam a stick and poke tattoo on her foot. We were fully prepared to count stars and maybe dip our feet into the creek, but we hadn’t even finished the walk from the bus stop to the park when fat raindrops started to fall.

We took shelter under a tree to discuss our next move. Our main concern was returning home to our room mate’s mockery, but we were also hungry and wanted to eat the sausages that were chilling, still frozen and uncooked in Adrian’s backpack. Then we realized that the tree cover was doing an adequate job of keeping us dry-ish.

An hour later, we were cooking over a hot fire beside the creek and had a shelter made with the tarp I’d shoved in my bag on a whim and 10 feet of twine we’d been meaning to get rid of. Thunder boomed in the distance and the rain came in waves, but we were warm and cozy all night long.

I’ve been thinking about how this is exactly the way I want to spend my life: never too comfortable and never in one spot. I think that I’ve known that for a while, but I’ve been worried that I’m wrong. What if I do actually like sitting on the couch watching Netflix and I just don’t know what I’ve got until it’s gone? What if I come crawling back from this trip regretting everything and wishing I hadn’t run down my savings so far on things that didn’t turn out to make me happy?

I’m worrying less now, though. When we are handed freedom, we will inevitably drift towards our destiny. I think the things we choose to do on the weekends are what really define us. Can I handle four months of weekend? Probably.