I was doing a solo hike through Joshua Tree National Park (JTNP) on the Mastodon Peak Trail. An important detail about JTNP is that I often come across articles and news reports of people who have wandered off trails, gotten lost, and passed away in its infinite wilderness. Needless to say (but must be said): going on a hike at JTNP scares me. But I have this ritual of allowing myself at least one solo hike when we go camping. Every hike is for me to clear my head, to be in tune with nature, to practice compassion with myself, and to be a baddie. This hike was both scary and a necessity for my soul.
The Mastodon Trail 2 1/2 mile hike that leads you through boulder passes, to an abandoned mine, up a peak, and through an oasis. It’s gorgeous and restorative and only be done with lots of water, carbohydrates on hand, and the keen ability to pay attention. I admit that I don’t have the best sense of direction and my anxiety gets the best of me, disrupting my path. Much of this hike was being able to be in tune with my surroundings, to watch, and listen to the scenes. What was curious about this hike (and many hikes in Joshua Tree) is how absent and spaced out the signs and markers were. This almost three mile loop is guided by a few wooden arrows and rocks laid on the sides of the path to guide your way. There is no park ranger or guide to steer you through. There is only you and your ability to listen.
I cherish the art of deep listening. I don’t think I’m very good at it (but I desire to become better). I am thankful that the learning curve is steep. I had no cell phone or internet reception available to me. There was no GPS to guide me. This hike was its own course in deeply listening to the subtle signs splayed throughout the wilderness.
I made it through, but not without my anxiety inspiring a detour that could have doubled my hike time. Once I was 3/4 away from the trails end I decided to turn around and retrace my steps back to the camp. I walked a mile back up a hill before I asked two other hikers to help me understand where the trail loops. (It is terrifying to be a woman of multiple colors asking strangers for help. That terror amplifies when you’re vulnerable and unsure of your way in the middle of the wilderness.) I turned around, followed the course, and made it back to my family at the campsite safe and sound. My family was happy to see me return (my husband was very worried). My anxiety detour added thirty minutes and an extra glute workout to my hike.
I don’t want to be harsh to my anxiety. She’s not a villain. In the past, my anxiety has sheltered and protected me from worrisome things. But those are past versions of myself and I’m learning new ways of being. This particular situation showed me that it’s not fruitful to solely rely on her.
It feels a little cliche wrap up this story to tell you to trust the signs. But that’s what I’m doing because cliches are timeless for a reason. Mastadon Peak taught me that deep listening builds trust by leading me to excavate my anxiety. The moment I didn’t listen to the rocks and the arrows strewn around Gaia’s peaks and curves could have led to results that I don’t want to put energy into imagining. Everything is speaking its own language be it nature or anxiety. I’m still learning how to listen to all of it and discern the best path forward.
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What I’m reading: The Diaspora Sonnets by Oliver de la Paz
My current Baldwin: Letter from a Region in my Mind
What I’m listening to: guest Nam Le on Poetry off the Shelf