Photo taken at Duke Farms, NJ
When the pandemic hit, I didn’t stop DO-ing. I didn’t jump on the Netflix binge wagon in March or April or May. I stayed in my pajamas or athleisure or an extra sexy flattering combo of both but I had a schedule and structure, or at least what I thought was consistency, schedule and structure. The only thing I was consistent about was taking ample time throughout the day to beat myself up for how unproductive I was.
I never went to Action Park because I didn’t live in New Jersey but if I did, would I have been bad-ass enough to go?
My Momma forbade me from going to water parks because they were mostly “death traps” and heck, I never even went to summer camp because I was too afraid to sleep away from home. (Even day camp terrified me because I’d rather be home watching “David the Gnome” and doing mystical mermaid dancing in the living room than sharing Hi-C juice boxes with the other children.)
I didn’t need water parks or summer camp because my momma and dad were able to create summer experiences for me that were just as gnarly, totally tubular and rad and arguably maybe even more gnarly, rad and bad-ass than Action Park and any summer camp experience combined.