“I'm trying to have reasonable expectations for today, but I really want a condor for Christmas,” I said with a smile. The jolly Pinnacles National Park shuttle bus driver grinned back at me with a twinkle in his eye, “Well, sweetie, you've come to the right place.”
At 30 years old, I was celebrating Christmas alone for the first time in my life. Rather than staying in Los Angeles and enjoying my city's festivities, I packed up my car and drove five hours north to Pinnacles National Park for a solo holiday adventure. For the two days before Christmas, I'd enjoyed getting into the holiday spirit in the park—I'd decorated the inside of my tent with twinkle lights and a disco ball ornament, fed my campfire with what I proclaimed to be “Yule logs,” and stood under a thick clump of mistletoe, hoping for a kiss from a mysterious stranger. Though my clichéd Christmas movie fantasy hadn't
