Writing that last post flushed a lot of negativity for me. And people’s responses, wow! I’m touched by the outpouring of empathy and encouragement.
I’m suffering today, but differently. Yesterday my husband and I decided to hike at Muir Woods. I packed snacks of cheese, crackers, vegetables, and trail mix, and he prepped our water bottles. We departed at noon; the traffic through San Francisco took a bit longer to get through than anticipated. When we turned onto the road heading to the national park (still Route 1), we noticed cars parked on the roadside about one mile before we got to the entrance. Not promising! We arrived to find the parking lots full, and the place was crawling with people. This is not what we had in mind. Even a hike on more remote trails would involve climbing around other walkers.
In the spirit of adventure, we headed to Stinson Beach. Having never been, we didn’t know that it was a regular beach for swimming. (By the way, those were brave souls in the water. The temperature was 65 degrees, and it was windy.) We pulled over to reassess our options. At one point, a battered old Volvo wagon drew alongside with two very dusty, disheveled people in the front and a bunch of stuff packed willy-nilly in the back. They looked like, and probably were, nomads. The woman emerged from the car with gallon-size water bottles and began refilling them at a pipe from which a stream of water trickled. Aside from one grim glance toward us, they went about their business.
Still wishing to hike, we ventured further, to Point Reyes National Seashore. We arrived around 3:00, just the time of afternoon when I do battle with the urge to nap. The park is enormous, with trailheads numerous miles apart. It was not nearly as densely populated with people. We decided to start at the visitor’s center trailhead, which provided the option of breaking off onto shorter trails or heading out to Arch Rock, 4.1 miles one way. Mind you, we like to hike but rarely do more than three miles round trip. However, lately I’ve exercised diligently; my stamina has increased, and my muscles have more strength. I was game. My dear husband, wanting to please me, agreed (he’s much less active than I).
The path was wide, the trail elevated gently, and a creek meandered alongside. We walked quietly, listening to birdcalls and tree breezes, greeting people heading from the opposite direction. We reached Arch Rock, which offered a cliff vista unlike any I’d seen. As we rested our complaining feet and snacked, we joked about a lone seagull lurking and eyeing the food pack. (Remember Finding Nemo, where the gulls cry, “Mine?! Mine?”) A little boy with his parents started a conversation with us. He was a cute kid. They passed us on bikes and he waved. On the return trip we crossed paths at the mid-point, where we all stopped to rest, and his sharp eyes caught sight of white deer on the hill. He pointed this out to everyone who passed by, and most people actually stopped to look.
I noted that the trip back felt as though it went quicker, because we knew what landmarks to expect, but our bodies ached intensely enough to make it feel longer. At one point we sang that hackneyed song from Chariots of Fire (he provided the percussion while I sang the melody) just to keep ourselves going. We told each other jokes and I inflicted puns on him. (He was, after all, a captive audience.) We minced our way back to the car around 7:30, having hiked a total of 8.2 miles. Then we headed toward San Rafael with the intention of stopping at the first drive-thru fast-food joint we saw to get dinner. My husband, despite sore feet, drove us home. We limped into the house, where I collapsed into a hot tub of water and he on the sofa. We’re nursing big blisters, but we really enjoyed that hike. It hurts to move today, though. I feel another hot soak coming on.
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Now regarding my blog ennui, I’ve taken some action. First I visited this link (thanks, Rodrigo), where I read the pamphlet and laughed and laughed at myself. Excellent spoof of that genre of public service brochure! I also decided to join Toasted Cheese, an online writing community, as a means of making a commitment to writing something other than blog posts. A fellow blogger, Eden, is a founding member of the the site. I’m not certain what type of writing I want to explore, but it’s a gesture of commitment.
Someone asked me what I would do if I could do anything. I know myself pretty well, having asked and answered that question before. The complexity of the situation has more to do with the other factors which complicate action; it’s not lack of knowledge that hinders me, it’s ambivalence about something else. What? For one thing, I struggle with sloth. I’m also withholding the pleasure of making visual art, and I don’t quite know why yet. What I do know is that movement seems to break the grip of resistance. Some parameters set around the time I spend on the Internet will also help. In any case, it can only help to assess again what it is I would love to do, and then to take small actions toward them.
