Curiosity Didn’t Kill the Cat.

I knew the park was closed.

Secretly, I had checked the hours of operation when we drove by the day before.

I mean, how could I not? The views from the road were spectacular.

But the friends I was with insisted on at least checking it out, and I was definitely curious, so we pulled on up.

“Pulled on up” meant parking on the side of the road and creeping towards the entrance.

“Pulled on up” signified ignoring the “Park Closed” signs and proceeding forth anyway.

“Pulled on up” involved taking the advice from the family that had tried to sneak in before us: You could probably hop the fence just up the road.

“Pulled on up” implied that we were gonna see this thing whether it was closed to the public or not.

Sure enough, just up the way lied the perfect place to hop the fence.

I mean, it was THE perfect place, just beckoning for us to climb over.

And so: one hop, two hop, three hop, and then me.

I… was a little more hesitant.

Swaying back and forth, looking over my shoulder for the cops that I knew were going to pull up any minute with sirens blaring, I felt a little unsure because Elan doesn’t do this. Elan doesn’t hop fences and sneak into closed parks after hours.

The thing was though? Deep down? I wanted to hop the fence.

And as quickly as I came to that decision, I realized that this “voice inside my head” was spotlighting.

The clinical definition for spotlighting, which is something I do rather often is: a cognitive bias that causes people to overestimate the degree to which they are observed and noticed by others, as well as the degree to which others care about the things that they notice about them.

Basically, I overestimate how much others think of me and the things I do.

So while I’m standing there, on the edge of doing something I reallllllly wanted to do and fighting against maintaining this preconceived image I think everything has of me, this perfect girl who wouldn’t dare do something like this, I finally decided, what the hell.

Because instead of thinking about me and what I wanted to do, I was watching, evaluating, and living my life through the lens of those around me and how I imagined they saw me.

Which, in reality, isn’t reality.

It’s me using my own thoughts and experiences about myself and imagining everyone else viewing and judging me the same way.

With that in mind, I grabbed the top of the fence, hoisted one leg up, then the other, and landed on the other side with the help of my friends.

Next, we’re sneaking down the landscape, rocks scuttling in our wake, whispering shhhhhhh! and giggling like drunken madwomen, making our way down to the water’s edge.

It was there that I truly felt naked, exposed, visible for the world to see. I thought that at any moment, there’d be a patrol, racing down the rocks coming to arrest me for trespassing. I kept thinking, This is it. This is how I go.

But wow. We had the whole place to ourselves!

After just a few minutes gawking at the scenery, my friend suddenly looked back at me with a grin on her face and asked wickedly, “Wanna go skinny dipping?”

What, here?

No.

Nooooo way.

Elan doesn’t do this. Elan doesn’t hop fences, sneak into closed parks, and go skinny dipping.

Again though, I wanted to.

Like, I really wanted to. I had never done it before and if there was any place in the world to break free of my maiden-like tendencies, it was definitely here.

So, still maintaining a little bit of dignity and class, I had all the guys turn around, and once every last article of clothing had been discarded across the red rocks around me, my friend and I slunk under the surface of water.

Totally butt naked.

Man, if I thought I was naked before..

We were probably in the water ten minutes. Shivering, laughing, boobs bobbing at the surface of the water. Though I was constantly on the lookout for the state park police to come and kick us out, I did take a moment to look around me and appreciate where I was and who I was with.

Here I am, nude in the water thinking: Elan does this. Elan’s doing this.

And for a minute, I felt myself breaking free from my shackles.

I don’t know where I developed the inclination to maintain this perfect image, this “good girl”, but the amount of unnessecary work that has gone into how I think people see me is exhausting. Overanalyzing every decision, conversation, experience, and choice I make through the eyes of others is not healthy, it’s not real, and I’ve lost a bit of myself trying to be someone I’m not.

And if I am so consumed with other people’s “presumed” thoughts of me, then what’s the point of even having my own?

While I don’t condone breaking the law to discover yourself, this experience of hopping the fence, sneaking into a closed park, and skinny dipping with my friends enabled me to reconnect with who I really am and enjoy the choice I made as my own individual self.

It was a decision made with no judgement, no more guilt, and of course, no clothes.