The Redwoods Have My Back

coming out of the dark in northern California

Yesterday I received a message

from a reader. He wrote, “Missing your writing, Tina. Hope you’re ok.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that someone might notice my letter was late. I took it as a compliment. There’s a person out in the world, waiting to hear from me.

Thank you, reader. For getting me going. This is for you.

It has been a hard few weeks

I’m ok now, but for a while I wasn’t.

I’ve been sad, and anxious. Not feeling like myself. Or not like the self I want to be.

There’s no one reason. Grief is unpredictable, and so is life on the road.

This traveling life rarely feels like a vacation. And that’s alright, it was never meant to be one. Many times over the past two years I’ve thought, “I can’t believe we’re lucky enough to live this way,” because there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing. Still, it’s work, just like regular life is work, but with more uncertainty, and none of the stability of community and home.

Grief has its cycles, and travel has its highs and lows. Sometimes they crash.

And if the crashing cycles are accompanied by an actual crash, like if your trailer goes off the pavement and gets wedged against a fence and has to be untangled by a guy with a forklift, and it could have been so much worse, a real disaster, then you might think I’ve lost my way and why is this my life? because you’re lost emotionally, but you’re also lost physically, as in, where the hell are we on this map of California and how do I get us out of here?

You might,

for a while,

lose hope.

In my last letter, I told you about

leaving southern New Mexico, and traveling through the Gila Wilderness to Pie Town. At that time, Eric and I had just finished ten weeks in one place, at City of Rocks State Park, and there, with our volunteer job and daily hikes, we had our version of home and routine.

Since then, we’ve wandered through Arizona, across the Mojave desert, skirted the edges of Los Angeles and rolled up the Central Coast on our way to Northern California.

The only reason I can pull it together to write is that I had some kind of breakthrough in a grove of giant redwoods, five days ago.

On a warm and sunny morning

last week, Eric and I hiked a short trail off the Avenue of the Giants in Humboldt County. The loop took about an hour. As we headed back to the truck, I felt uneasy. It was our last day in the redwoods. I hadn’t had enough time among the trees, and what if I never get to come back?

I said to Eric, “I think I need to do that loop again, by myself.”

I felt panicky, like it was my last chance to help myself out of the emotional pit I was in.

He said, “Ok, I’ll make some phone calls, you go ahead.”

I left him at the trailhead

and went back to the trees. I breathed in the damp forest scent of leaves and dirt, and newly opened blossoms. Alone on the trail, in my state of discouragement, I cried. I’d missed my solitary hikes. I’d felt so disconnected from Kiki during the previous busy weeks.

I talked to Kiki as I walked. For me, that’s a prayer.

Walking in silence among the giant trees that day was also a kind of prayer. Help me.

There were reasons why I’d fallen into despair, and reasons why things turned around. I could list them, and probably I’ll tell you about some of that in the next letter. But if there was one thing, one hour that lifted me from the depths, it was that walk among the giants.

I left the dappled green light

of the woods and stepped from the trail into bright sunshine in the parking area. The weight was gone. I felt free and joyful and full of hope.

Was it just endorphins? Or was there a force with me in that grove, answering my plea? I believe there was. I’m not going to give it a name but you can call it anything you want.

Friends, I was disappointed in myself this month, as so many things on my to-do list went undone. But the hard work of the heart and soul, and the result of that work, is not something I can touch or see. I know I’m doing enough, even if it can’t be measured.

The feeling of relief

has stayed with me. Today’s a good day, in a string of good days. Eric and I are now at one of my favorite places on Earth: Su-meg State Park on the Northern California coast. More on that in the next letter.

A note on the photos: I didn’t think I could capture the full majesty of the redwood giants, so I focused on the textures of the forest. Colors are unedited. Location: Humboldt Redwood State Park, near Red Crest, CA.

We took a side trip

from the redwoods to the historic Victorian town of Ferndale, where I was stoked to meet local artist Shawn Griggs. Eric and I walked into his Main Street studio, Redeye Laboratories, and I was entranced. Shawn calls his work “Cosmic Surf Art” and it is! It wasn’t just that his themes – the California coast, surfing, Mexico, skulls, glowing jellyfish, skeleton skater kids in hoodies – made me giddy with happiness. It was the way I felt like I’d entered into a complete world. I want to live in that world, so I ended up buying two prints. (We don’t have a house to hang them in, but maybe someday…)

I was especially enthralled by his paintings of nighttime. His night scenes provoke an emotional memory for me: the feeling of being in the dark woods, and walking towards the yellow glow of a campsite. It’s a memory of safety and happiness.

I asked him about that, and he said he grew up camping and had the same feeling about a welcoming glow in the darkness. He is a super nice guy and took the time to chat with us about art and Mexico and beaches. It was a good day.

Check out Shawn’s Instagram here: Redeye Laboratories

Night on the Harbor ©Shawn Griggs

And one last thing…

If you’re someone who (like me) keeps circling back to the question of a life’s purpose, and the idea of doing, or not doing, “enough,” I think you will enjoy this short essay by

SuddenlyJamie

:

What if "What's my purpose?" is the wrong question?

In it, she introduced me to the author Becky Chambers and shared a beautiful passage (spoken by a robot!) about purpose, from one of Chambers’ books. The quote, at the end of Jamie’s essay, is so good I had to copy it into my journal.

Thank you for joining me on this journey! Until next time,

Love 💛 Tina