Letting Go

All the people in the REI trip to Alaska were partnered—friends or spouses. One woman and I were the only singles and had to share a room. From the beginning, she treated me with disdain, sometimes talking about me to others as if I weren’t in the group. I didn’t know what set her off—we hadn’t argued or had a disagreement about any issue. It was so uncomfortable I asked if it were possible to have a roommate change. It wasn’t.

She chose to hike with the slow group so at least I didn’t have to interact with her while I was hiking with the faster group. Still, when we took a break, she would interact with everyone but me, so obviously ignoring me, one of the hike leaders asked what was going on. I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess she just doesn’t like me.” 

She made sure not to be next to me when we lined up for dinner, putting something on a seat so I couldn’t sit next to her, even when it meant splitting up a pair. At night, she kept her light on, reading long past a sensible time to turn it off, as if daring me to complain. I put my head under the covers and tried to sleep. In the morning she rushed to the bathroom and stayed so long, I left the room and found one in the hall. 

Fortunately, the hiking was spectacular and I focused on the glorious views all around us. When we boarded a boat that would take us to see various aquatic animals, she chose to stand rather than sit next to me. 

That night, at dinner, we were offered an opportunity to purchase tickets for a helicopter ride to view Denali up close. It was expensive, but any thoughts of my going stopped when I heard it was often very windy. I had no interest in a bumpy helicopter ride no matter how great the view of the mountain. I don’t know if she heard me say no, but I heard her say yes.

The next morning the group split up between those choosing the flight around Denali and those planning to hike. It was another great day of hiking, which ended in a small town where we could shop or, as I did, buy a coffee and stroll. 

When we met with the flight group, I saw my roommate leaning heavily on one of the leaders. She looked awful. When I asked what happened I was told she’d had terrible motion sickness. They didn’t spare the details. The flight sounded dreadful and I was glad I’d chosen not to go.

The leaders helped her into our room and left. She slumped onto her bed, making a kind of groaning sound. She looked so uncomfortable I decided to take her shoes off without asking. She let me. I took a blanket from the closet and put it over her. She let me. When it was time for dinner I asked if she’d like me to bring her anything back. No answer. I found myself feeling sorry for her. 

When I went down for dinner, I kept thinking about her. How terrible she looked. How awful she must feel. I asked the chef if he could make a bit of soup for her. He’d heard about what happened and agreed. 

I brought the soup up to her and put it on her night table. She said she didn’t want it. Undressed. Went to bed. Closed her eyes. I shrugged, leaving the soup, and got ready for bed.

In the morning, I noticed she was still asleep. The soup bowl was empty. I had breakfast and brought her back tea and toast, which she took without a word. 

I never found out why she didn’t like me, but as we got out of the van to catch our planes, she came up to me, said, “Thank you,” and hurried away.

How do you put aside being treated badly to act with compassion? 

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JUNE 2025 stories