Caroline Connolly (3:21)

I had never felt smaller sleeping in the twin size bed of my childhood. It still had the same floral bed sheets and floral wallpaper all around it that I had picked out in middle school. It had this way of making you feel like you were trapped in a terrarium at all times. And when I was in high school, while my mother was out of town one weekend, I actually painted over that wallpaper in protest of all things Laura Ashley design. When my mother came home and discovered what I had done, she kicked me out of the house for an entire 45 minutes until my father finally said grace. The neighbors might see it was truly one of the most thrilling moments of my suburban upbringing. But at age 29, this Victorian garden felt more like a reminder of how little I had done since while my friends were celebrating engagements and pregnancies, I was moving back in with my parents after a rather abrupt and devastating breakup. And while my parents had made me and my sisters feel like we could always come home, they also had this way of reminding us that we should find our own homes quickly. And so my father had started sending me emails from one room away in the house that said things like, did you see the youngest Kardashian sister is already a billionaire, she's only 19. And my mother had started suggesting I join her local Rotary Club to meet, as she put it, a nice man with a good health insurance plan. Now this of course, was not my life plan. I had actually planned at this moment to be backpacking through Greece with my ex boyfriend. He liked hiking and I liked him, so we had planned to hike Mount Olympus together. I know a mountain I had revered though as a little girl, as a fan of Xena the Warrior Princess and Hercules. And I was kind of stewing over all of this one night propped up in my twin size bed, scrolling through my ex boyfriend's Instagram feed as one does, and I had a revelation. Suddenly the solution to my problems seemed so simple. I would just go to Greece and I would hike that mountain and I would take a picture at the top and I would post it to social media. It was such a good plan. And so I called up my older sister, who is an economist, who has never had to move home in her entire life. And within a couple hours, we had a trip to Olympus booked. And of course, my mother's reaction the next day was something pragmatic, like, how can you afford a trip to Greece when you can't even afford health insurance? But nonetheless, off I went, and I landed in Greece with a backpack that contained one Ace bandage, a tin, a tiny tube of Neosporin, and a large Ziploc bag of raisins, all of which I had read in different places were helpful to have on hikes. And my sister and I had planned to summit Olympus at a leisurely pace over two days. But when we arrived at a mountain hut halfway up, we learned that a storm was going to derail everything. So if we wanted to summit, it was now or never. And because I needed validation and an Instagram photo, I decided we were going to continue. And that is largely how we wound up somewhere on Olympus hours later, lost, freezing and fighting. Well, I had assured my sister I had taken a trail map from the hut. It turned out to be written in Greek. And so every time she would be like, what does it say to you next? I'd be like, I don't know, it's in Greek. And after we passed the same illegible sign three times, my sister finally threw down her bag, sat on the ground, and started to cry. She had wanted to turn back several miles ago, and I refused. And now sunset was approaching and the visibility was terrible. And so I did the only thing I could think of to calm her down, which was to offer her my Ziploc bag of raisins. And that's when she started to sob. And so there we were, my sister on the ground, sobbing, me hovering above her, eating raisins, and our parents somewhere in suburbia, unaware that not only might I die, but I might take the successful daughter with me. And that is when we saw them. Two figures emerging from the fog like Greek gods. They had shaggy hair and beards, and while we were shivering, they were shirtless and muscular and glistening with just the right amount of sweat to. To this day, they were two of the most perfect men I have ever seen in my life. And then they spoke, and they had Australian accents, and I knew they were a gift from the gods to me. And so I quickly explained to them our predicament. And they explained to us they were returning from the summit, which was not far away. So they gave us two options. We could continue on to the end by ourselves. Or we could turn back with them now and all go down to the hut together for the night. And before I could respond, I hear my sister yell up from the ground, no. She really wants to finish this thing. At which point I smiled at the men, leaned over to my sister and just very calmly and quietly whispered, one of these men might want to date me and they might have health insurance. Mom will be thrilled. Well, that was apparently the last bit of ineptitude my sister could take because she pulled herself up from the ground and declared to the loves of my life that we were going to finish this hike. And we did. Almost. We actually got within a couple hundred yards of the summit when I realized you needed a harness and rope to finish. I had not read that anywhere. And so we finally agreed that we had gone far enough and we turned back and I spent that night at the hut in a twin sized bunk bed with my sister snoring loudly above me. And when I couldn't sleep, I pulled out my phone and started looking at the pictures of us at the top that day, beaming 200 yards away from the summit we had intended to reach. And I realized that I really did not care that we did not finish. Because I didn't need to be at the top of a mountain or engaged. And I certainly did not need to be sleeping in a hut in a room full of strangers surrounded by moist hiking gear. For the first time in a while, I felt pretty okay with where I was in life. And not long after I got home, I moved out of my parents home and into my own place. And the first thing I did was buy a queen size bed. Thanks.

Chloe Salmon (9:54)

That was Caroline Connelly. Caroline grew up in Massachusetts and spent a decade reporting for news stations across the country. She lives in Boston with her husband and their dog. Honestly, I'm super impressed by anyone who can hike up a mountain. I spent most of my life being anti hiking, a long and strenuous walk during which I will also have to be constantly vigilant for tripping hazards. It was a firm no from me. But then a few years ago I produced a moth main stage in Salt Lake City. My colleague and I decided to drive to Bryce Canyon the day after the show to hike and to spend the night in the area. It was stunningly beautiful and I was hooked. Since then I've hiked in lots of places. Forests, desert, glaciers. I'm no pro by any means, but I've kept my tripping to a minimum and I haven't gotten tired of it yet. If you've got a story about hiking, grease, breakups or anything at all really, we'd love to hear it at one of our story slams. We have a bunch of them going on throughout the world and you can find out more info@themost.org events. You can also pitch us your story at the Moth Pitchline. For instructions on that, go to themoth.org pitchline up next, a visit to the confession booth. We'll be right back.

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Chloe Salmon (12:16)

Welcome back. Up next, we'll hear some confessions from Christina Nassi. She told this story at a Denver story slam where the theme of the night was green. Here's Christina live at the mosque.

Christina Nassi (12:32)

For all intents and purposes, I was raised a pretty devout Catholic kid. I was baptized as a baby. I went to Catholic school from kindergarten to eighth grade. But I didn't go to just any Catholic school. I went to Most Precious Blood Catholic school. And you don't dabble in Catholicism. At Most Precious Blood, you go all in. And so during classes, we would learn about the Catholic religion. We would go to Mass once a week. In second grade, I received my first communion. In third grade, my first reconciliation or confession. In eighth grade, I became officially confirmed into the Catholic Church and I was invited to participate in World Youth Day, which was when Pope John Paul II visited Denver. It was a big deal. And so you would think with all of these years of experience, I would be a pretty good Catholic. Yet in spite of the years of learning and exposure, I've always felt like a novice when it comes to Catholic rituals. Growing up, I was never quite sure when to sit or stand or kneel. I always felt a little bit like an outsider. I had a single mom, and I was one of two kids, I think, in the school whose parents were divorced. And at a certain point, my mom stopped fighting my three brothers and I to get ready to go to mass on Sundays. And so I started to feel a little bit distanced from the Catholic Church. I would still go. I would go through the motions. I would do the best that I could, but I never really understood what I was doing. Fast forward about a decade. I'm 23, and my stepsister, who recently converted to Catholicism before she got married, said we should go to confession before Christmas Eve services. Now, my family did go to Christmas Eve services. It was kind of the rare occasion that we would go to church. She was like, come on, it'll be fun. So I reluctantly agreed, and we went to church a little bit early for confession hours. Now, this was my second confession. A lot had happened since third grade, but I thought, you know, this is an opportunity to share my experiences, and I'm here. Might as well get forgiven. So I got into the booth. I closed the door. I said the words that I Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been many years since my last confession. And then I closed my eyes and I confessed. I've had impure thoughts. I've cursed. I've had premarital sex a few times. I had an abortion. I was in a relationship with someone who was married. I took the Lord's name in vain. And just as I was approaching the end, that small wooden partition that separates the priest from the confessor opened. I stopped abruptly. The voice said, oh, I'm sorry for being late. You may begin. The priest had just arrived. I was in shock. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. Cry. That booth heard things I hadn't told anyone. Deflated, I told the priest, I've had premarital sex. I've had negative thoughts about my parents. And then I was told to say 10 Hail Marys and a prayer for lonely people. And I shuffled out of the booth, the weight of my experience heavy on my shoulders. And I sat in the pew to say my prayers. And I've never been back to confession. Thank you.

Chloe Salmon (16:47)

That was Christina Nassi. Christina grew up Catholic in Denver, Colorado, and has been unpacking that ever since. She's a speaker with an eclectic resume, from delivering a keynote speech on abortion. Stick to performing at Comedy open mics, Christina seeks to help people laugh about their mistakes by sharing hers. That's it for this episode. If you're enjoying the podcast, why not tell a friend about it? So many of our listeners are here because their families and loved ones told them about the Moth and we'd love it if you could share our stories with the people you care about. Thank you to our storytellers in this episode for sharing with us and to you listening from all of us here at the Moth. We hope that all your confessions and mountain hikes go smoothly.

Mark Solinger (17:34)

Chloe Salmon is a director at the Moth. Her favorite Moth moments come on show days when the cardio is done, the house lights go down, and the magic settles in. Caroline Connolly's story was coached by Chloe Salmon. This episode of the Moth podcast was produced by Sarah Austin, Janess, Sarah Jane Johnson and me, Mark Solinger. The rest of the Moths leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Marina Clouche, Jordan Cardinale, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Hickson, Suzanne Rust and Patricia Urenia. The Moth podcast is presented by Odysee. Special thanks to their executive producer Leah Rhys Dennis. All Moth stories are true as remembered by their storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website themoth.org.

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