Guten Tag, Reader,

I am not a minimalist when it comes to packing. More of a comfort-ist. Which is why river floating suits me much better than backpacking — the river carries whatever you end up choosing to bring.*

• A finely tuned assortment of warming layers.
• Fabrics and cuts with designated purposes.
• Equally, shoes. For boating. Hiking. Swimming. Concrete-jungleing.**

Ailments, past and present, demand extras:

• The proven pillow.
• The silicone cupping cups.
• The neck-stretching thing.

And then, friends, I bring myself the comforts of color. In clothes, yes, because that cheers me up. But also in pencils and fountain pen ink. Because they make me want to pick up my journal, and that’s a big comfort, at home and away.

I’m reflecting on all of this on the 4th day of being back in Missoula, MT, after two months in Baja California Sur. The 4th day of unpacking a Subaru Outback that had just enough space in the back to still use the rearview mirror.

Was I comfortable at all times? Hell no!

I pack all these tangible comforts because I anticipate big, powerful, sometimes startling stretches to my comfort zone. In Mexico, these came from intangible forces like language (how do you tell the landlord that the sliding door is stuck?), flavors (peppers filled with fruit and beef?), sounds (barking dogs all. night. long!), customs (passing in the no-passing zone?), the desert (what CAN I touch?), the ocean (how far in is safe?), and all the things that are just so stunningly different.

On the river, all kinds of intangible things used to cause me discomfort: the power of rapids, glacier-cold water, knowing that what you don’t bring, you won’t have (including the noodles for the pasta dish, the car keys, or the cash for the ice cream at the riverside ranch).

After years (ahem, decades) of river rafting, following the current downstream provides few comfort zone stretching opportunities. As long as I leave one intangible thing at home:

Expectation.

The river, the weather, the crew (friends on a private trip, guides on a commercial trip, participants on retreat) – all will do and be what they are going to do and be. All I can do is prepare for what I know and then flow with what I can’t possibly know.

Listen, my colleague Angie and I have expanded our river comfort zones wide enough to create an atmosphere where jokes are cracked all day and fear is normalized around the campfire.

A week from today is our first group Zoom call for wildHER 2026, and the packing list will probably come up. And I will tell everyone to bring whatever soothes their nervous system. That’s how you create the right energy to sleep outside, navigate a rapid in an inflatable kayak, share that vulnerable thing, and do other things you never thought you would.

Only three spots remain open. If you’re feeling curious, but also unsure, that’s normal. I’d love to hear from you.

Always on your side, truly,

p.s. Does the thought of rafting a river make you uncomfortable? Do you notice questions like

• “Am I too old for that?”
• “What if I am the least experienced?”
• “Is my body fit enough?”

I am happy to talk it through. In fact, I genuinely enjoy conversations about the doubts that creep in. Just hit reply.

* Unless it’s an extreme low water season, and we have to worry about a heavy boat getting stuck on exposed rocks. But even then, I’d rather skip the Dutch oven brownies than the red boots that keep my feet warm and dry.

** And here is how you know this isn’t artificially assembled wordage.

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