The Freedom of Honesty
“Perhaps wilderness doesn't change us as much as it creates the conditions for what is already true to emerge.”
As we gently emerge from Utah's river canyons and wash the silt from our skin, one question lingers:
What remains?
For me, it isn't just the breathtaking landscapes or the miles we floated together. It's something quieter.
It's the freedom that appeared when life became wonderfully simple.
A week without mirrors, schedules, notifications, or expectations has a way of peeling away the layers we carry every day. Somewhere between the current and the canyon walls, honesty emerged—not because anyone asked for it, but because there was finally room for it.
Each morning we paddled in silence.
Birds answered one another from the cottonwoods and willows. Great blue herons skimmed effortlessly above the current while early light slowly awakened the towering canyon walls. Nature wasn't performing for us. It simply was. And somehow that purity invited us to become a little more ourselves.
We watched courage unfold in unexpected ways.
One woman, more accustomed to city sidewalks than desert sand, quietly learned to pitch her own tent each evening, navigate unfamiliar physical challenges, and discover that she was capable of far more than she imagined. By week's end, confidence radiated from her.
Our guides taught us another kind of freedom.
The very first evening, one respectfully asked if we'd mind if she took a skinny dip before bed. Her simple honesty quietly gave others permission to experience the river with that same childlike freedom.
I discovered my own unexpected freedom.
Without mirrors or makeup for an entire week, I noticed that the signs of aging that had subtly occupied my attention disappeared from my mind. I remembered that beauty isn't something reflected back to us—it radiates from within.
And our stories deepened everything.
On our first evening together, each woman shared a simple prompted "I Am From" poem. Beyond the standard exchange of credentials, roles, and accomplishments, we shared the people, places, memories, and moments that have shaped us. Within minutes, strangers became something else entirely. Again and again we found ourselves saying, "Me too."
There was laughter. The kind that leaves your stomach sore.
Four women huddled around tents in fierce winds, laughing so hard they could barely hold the stakes in place. Later one confessed, "I haven't laughed like that in years!"
And there was celebration.
A milestone birthday marked by a red tutu and sparkling tiara, coloring books, and a dance party that reminded us that joy is not frivolous. Sometimes it's exactly what the soul needs to share.There were questions that couldn't be answered quickly.
One beloved elder shared honestly about entering a season of life where she longs for companions who are moving beyond maturity into wisdom—women willing to ask deeper spiritual questions as they become more aware that there is less life ahead than behind.
There were hearts quietly opening.
Our trip companion book, When the Heart Waits, reminds us that transformation rarely happens all at once. Like the caterpillar within the chrysalis, we become formless before something entirely new can emerge. In that waiting, patience and curiosity become gentle companions.
Together, we discovered how strong women are when they move as one.
Each evening, another gift arrived.
The haunting ancient sounds of one guide's flute drifted through camp beneath the stars, gently calling us into silence. Even now, long after returning home, I can close my eyes and hear it echoing through the canyon. Some moments become places we carry within us.
Perhaps this is what stays with me most.
Not the miles. Not the rapids. Not even the extraordinary beauty of the Green River as it carried us through an 84-mile corridor of canyon walls that grow older with every bend, revealing layer upon layer of Earth's ancient history.
It is what became possible when life was stripped to its essentials. When there was no performance. No pretending.
Only honest hearts sharing ordinary moments that revealed something sacred.
Sue Monk Kidd writes,
"When you're waiting, you're not doing nothing. You're doing the most important something there is. You're allowing your soul to grow up. If you can't be still and wait, you can't become what God created you to be."
Perhaps wilderness doesn't change us as much as it creates the conditions for what is already true to emerge. What Kidd calls our "false selves" quietly fall away, leaving room for something more authentic to surface.
Maybe honesty isn't something we achieve. Maybe it's something we remember.
And perhaps that is the deepest freedom of all.
Jennifer, the founder of Honest Heart Journeys, is a woman wholeheartedly embracing the ongoing journey of self-awareness, growth, and deep, authentic connection. She has found her calling in celebrating women’s unique gifts through shared restorative experiences.
By creating spaces where women can return to themselves, find clarity, and build healing sisterhood, Jennifer began HHJ as both a movement toward a more intuitive, collaborative world and a foundation for trusted, lifelong friendships.
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