I often find when I am traveling by foot along a wilderness trail, that I am simply overwhelmed by beauty.

How can the earth create such stunning tapestries? And not just the visuals, but the sounds, smells, and something else. The earth sends out this sort of vibration in certain places. It’s like a hum.

When I am feeling lost, or confused, that hum- that vibration- never fails to bring me back. Back to peace, calm, compassion, and most of all, connectedness.

This weekend, I found my peace in a slice of Tahoe beauty just off Echo Summit on Highway 50. I left early in the morning Saturday with my trusty van Betsy, and was on the trail trotting along to an empty mind by 8:45 am.

Fall colors were showing off and the trail was quiet and empty.

I am often amazed at trail builders. The moving of granite boulders and the creation of stairways up to mountain passes sets my imagination off- the work of this all is beyond my 5’2’’ frame.

I visited Showers Lake and managed a tidy 15 miler, but was left craving a longer journey.

Still, I had found my peace. I left the wilderness for lunch and tooling around South Lake Tahoe with a clarity that I had been missing.

Next morning, I awoke in Betsy at the trailhead for Echo Lakes North of Echo Summit and was moving on trail by 7:30 am. One word to describe my morning: Thankful.

When we spend time in nature, I believe we are stripped of our ego, our neuroses, and in exchange given humility, and comfort and joy. I think also, we develop an obligation- a call to action- to give back to nature- to take care of our planet.

How can anyone stand among the achingly beautiful wonders of earth and not want to heal it? Not want to heal ourselves and each other? With wildfires devastating California right now, a signs of drought with low lakes this autumn and no rain in sight… indeed, we must act to protect the earth. She is resilient, but she is calling for help.

I often think of my emotional life as an ocean. Sometimes calm, but more often churning, stirring, storming. Waves grow, crash, come in sets, lap at the shore.

With all that is happening in the world: Covid-10, Black Lives Matter, wildfires, the death of RBG and a presidential election, along with personal transitions, I have lately been feeling overwhelmed by the wave sets. Unable to keep my grounding among shifting sands.

The world feels unjust and frightening lately. And even stepping out of the front door can feel like a challenge.

But when I do, when I get to a trail or a mountain or even to my front porch with trees surrounding me, I can find a small sense of okay-ness. A little reminder that I can breathe, that I can move, that I can connect.

This past weekend, I found my footing in Los Padres National Forest and the Desolation Wilderness.

Although the runs were blissful, the air was clear, and I got to spend time with my partner, I also felt a heaviness weigh on me throughout the weekend. It was Yom Kippur- the Jewish holiday of atonement, promises for the new year, and most of all, connectedness. But I feel lost in the ocean, alone, and long for solid ground or a buoy of safety.

I feel I am ignoring something. Another wave set coming. More shifting sands. An election, a new school quarter, a new clinical rotation. In sum: uncertainty.

And all we can ever do in the face of so much fear and uncertainty is take the path ahead. Keep moving along, as slow or fast or uncertain as we feel, one step at time.

This past weekend, after recovering a bit from night shifts at a nursing home in Southern California, I got a wee bit of much needed trail time, fresh air and beautiful, clear skies.

Since I was in LA, I had the perfect opportunity to get together with a soul trail sister, Naomi aka Mountain Goat, and her fiancé and a couple friends.

The air was clear of smoke by the coast, and the weather was perfect for a sunset run.

We ran into the night and I felt my spirit reawaken after the artificial lights and sounds of hospitals and hotels.

Naomi, her partner Dave and I caught up about the fires, politics, love and running. That night I started my drive back to my current nest in Davis, CA, and by the next day, my partner and I were running along the American River for a Sunday shake out run.

Being by water is so healing, especially after feeling the weight of fires and drought in Southern California. I feel the earth crying for rain.

For now though, I am enjoying a bit of clean air, the opportunities to be free and moving in beautiful places, and feeling grateful that Mother Earth hasn’t totally kicked our butts off the planet yet!

My home is on fire.

I dream of breathing easier on a wilderness trail, while I sleep in a stale hotel room in the daytime, and work at a nursing home at night.

I wonder if hummingbirds, due to their small size, ever find themselves swept away in a storm, and end up hundreds of miles from their familiar territory, confused and hungry for homegrown nectar.

I feel that way. Swept away. Ready to find my ground again.

Last month, I “marched” 1,000 miles to benefit the Black Mammas Matter Alliance from Canada to California along the scenic Pacific Crest Trail.

The trail was not new to me, was close enough that I wouldn’t have to fly during the pandemic, and is isolated enough for social distancing and some necessary wilderness therapy.

The cause was equally appropriate to these times and my heart callings: I am a nurse and social justice activist and feel I must bring attention to the health disparities in maternal outcomes for black mom’s: more preterm birth, lower birthweight babies, higher infant and maternal mortality than their white counterparts. How can we truly make changes towards equity for people of color if the injustice begins in utero?

Enter Black Mammas Matter Alliance, whose mission is to advance black maternal health and justice. They fund various research, health care programs and birthing initiatives and their leadership includes some of my professors at UCSF. I am inspired by the collaborative vision and action of this organization- and fund raising for them pushed me forward on the trail.

Of course, my love of the mountains and exploration pushed me forward as well. Once I crossed the border into Oregon, I took a risk and tried for a speed record of the Oregon state portion of the PCT. My goal: 455 miles in 9 days. This was my fourth time on the Oregon section, and it has been a dream for me to try for a “Fastest Known Time” on a long trail, so I thought I would give it a go!

The FKT through Oregon was beautiful, gratifying and challenging. I completed the 455 mile and 65,000 foot elevation trek (plus about 7 miles off trail for resupply stops) in 9 days 6 hours, and arrived at the border of California grateful, exhausted and pretty dirty!

Although it has been two weeks since finishing, I am still reflecting and processing the experience: looking at photos, re-reading journal entries, and recalling the scenery and memorable moments of the trail.

My second home is the mountains, a trail, a quiet stream, a field of wildflowers. How can I readjust to this modern, asphalt and building dominated society?

Slowly, I suppose.