Nature or Nurture?

There is a part of me that is really ugly (and no, I’m not talking about my feet, though I do despise those wide set boat-looking stubs). I hate sharing. I hate sharing and I blame those who love me most. The problem is that on a trek like Everest, where there are such limited supplies, you have to share. It is the only way to make friends and to survive the trip.

First, I tried to avoid sharing by being charming. I thought if I could charm the pants off everyone in the trek (metaphorically of course, this was an all women’s expedition), then they wouldn’t notice my lack of generosity. After a few days I realized this was not going to fly. You see, every snack break we would all perch on a stone wall and someone would open a chocolate bar or bag of peanuts and then offer it to every single other person. While I did not partake in this, the others did, breaking off a piece of Twix or taking a handful of nuts, until the original owner had nothing more than a tiny morsel! And everyone seemed fine with this! No - more than fine – happy!

The problem is that, when I packed, I packed enough snacks and protein bars for only me, not for me and 6 other people. I turned to my next option: prioritizing. I could share my Qivana Nitrate Oxide powders, and my Coca tea! Not only did I have plenty, but those things were not near and dear to my heart. I passed them around the group generously, with smug satisfaction; I was sharing and I didn’t even mind it! Yes! But this still did not address the issue of snack time.

Again I assessed my options: I could sit there awkwardly and horde the bars, or I could break off 1/6^th of the bar and then pass it on. While the protein bars were easy to say goodbye to, I had brought with me 2 Snickers bars as well. I had planned to enjoy them over the course of the 2 week trek, and slowly savor them – maybe even have one with a victory beer at the bottom. You see, one of the few flaws I have (I know, hard to believe) is that I do not share chocolate. I just don’t. I will offer you a sip of my drink or a bite of my sandwich – even half of my slice of pumpkin pie – but I do not share chocolate. I’m pretty sure the Supreme court is on the verge of calling forced Snickers sharing cruel and unusual punishment, because I wouldn’t even wish that on Ayman al-Zawahiri. Water board me first.

But then, one night after dinner, I came up with a brilliant alternative. I could eat the Snickers alone, in stolen moments, and speak of my supply to no one (and no, I decided the bathroom wouldn’t count as a stolen moment). I excused myself from the table under the guise that I wanted to read in bed (not entirely a lie) and left the main dining hall, where everyone spends their time. In these lodges the dining hall is usually heated by a wood furnace, and it is the only heated room  in the entire compound. Everyone – cooks, owners, trekkers, guides, porters – spends all their time hanging out in these lodges until the moment they crawl inside their sleeping bags to go to sleep because everywhere else is just too cold. Everywhere else is utterly deserted.

Shortly after 7:30 I reached our cold dark room, alone at last. For those of you environmentalists, you’ll find it inspiring to hear that most tea houses in Nepal are powered completely by solar energy – they have these huge mirrored structures in the backyard that look like the inside of giant halved disco balls, and they point them at the sun all day long. The coolest part about my solar energy experience was that when you went back to your room after dark, or got up before sunrise and needed to turn on the light because it was pitch black outside… you couldn’t. You see, the electricity only worked during the hours of 7am-7pm, when you already had sunlight to illuminate your crap. Brilliant. At this point I’d like to give a warm shout out to Jonny and Grace for buying me an adorable little blue flashlight that proved invaluable during those middle-of-the-night bathroom trips (and after drinking 4 liters of water per day, I had quite a few…). But I digress.

Back in my room I fumbled around until I was in my thermals, inside my down sleeping bag with a hot water bottle at my feet and a tiny flashlight stuck inside my winter hat (thanks for the used smelly green hat, Matt!). Then I pulled the sleeping bag and liner far over my head and took the following inside the sleeping bag: the novel Memoirs of a Geisha, my camera and iphone to keep them warm and protect their battery life, and a snickers bar. Those of you who knew me as a child, or those who are lucky enough to truly know my nerdy side (so mostly nuclear family members who wouldn’t be foolish enough to talk) know that chocolate and a good book is the closest I’ve ever come to a religious experience. I believe the Buddhists refer to it as nirvana. Although, I felt both elated and guilt ridden since this moment was achieved as a product of pure selfishness. Look at me! I thought. I am a monster (copyright CHC).

But I don’t think it is my fault that I am a selfish hoarder, and I had about 9 hours of silent trekking the following day to mull this over and find a scapegoat. Dearest mother, I blame you for passing your hording genetic makeup down to me. Just throw the polly pockets out already! And Matt, thanks for picking your nose and shamelessly eating it all those years, regardless of setting or audience. It was around then that I believe I ceased sharing my toys with you. And I now find myself, at the tender age of 24, a victim of nature and nurture, and a complete creep eating Snickers and reading under the covers. But all of you kind hearted sharers out there can rest assured. I got mine in the end.

The thing about chocolate is that it inevitably crumbles a bit. The thing about those crumbs is that when they are on the inside of a heated sleeping bag, they melt… and smear. The thing about my fancy sleeping bag liner is that it is made of a white silk so thin it is almost sheer. Since I was secretive about my chocolate consumption, nobody else knew I even possessed any chocolate. As you can imagine, there was an uncomfortable moment the following morning, when all my bunk mates and I were packing and I extrapolated my white silk liner from the bag and held it up at full length to the window’s light so that I could fold it, revealing several long brown streaks.

Well played karma… well played.

I shared the second bar.