Sure-Footed

I went for a hike alone. This past Sunday, I needed some time by myself. I needed to clear my head, to breathe my own air and think my own thoughts. I needed to get away from books and TV and the Internet and my phone and just process the events of the week without any influence over my thoughts but my own.

The shallow "waterfall" at Temescal; the mark of a dry year?

I drove up to Sunset Boulevard, parked my car across from Temescal Gateway Park and walked up the hill. For hours. And then back down.

Four years ago I would never have thought to hike alone. As silly as it sounds, I was scared of the idea of hiking in general. Not scared for my life. Scared that I’d not be in shape enough to hack it or that I’d take a misstep and end up with a skinned knee. I did not trust myself. I did not trust my body.

A hike didn’t seem like something I wanted to do for fun.

Back then, I had this friend. She was older and braver than I was by a long shot. When she caught wind of the fact that I was scared to go for real hikes, she got on my case. She was indignant: I was going hiking with her. And so the next time she invited me for a morning hike, I didn’t tell her I wanted to sleep in (which was true!) or that I had something else to do. I just showed up at her doorstep.

Her brown pit bull pup jumped into the back seat, far happier than I was for the impending hike.

We drove up to Mandeville Canyon (not a very steep hike at all), and I took a deep breath as I got out of the car. This wasn’t so bad, I thought. Not so bad at all. But my friend, well, she was seasoned.

And about a half foot taller than me. She and Daphne Dog eventually left me in the dust. I was not sure-footed.

Slowly, I climbed that hill. We hiked more and more after that. Then I began hiking with other friends, too.

Eventually, I learned that being sure-footed wasn’t so much about talent or natural-born athleticism. It was simply about finding the balance between where to place your next step and being confident about it as you step there.

Besides, taking the wrong step doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll fall. It might just mean you better be ready to stick your other foot on some solid ground really fast. And even if you do trip a little, who cares? Maybe you slide down that hill a little bit and get a skinned knee. That will heal. Most things do with time. Other things do not.

It’s important to know the difference.

On Sunday, I hiked and I remembered this friend and her influence on me. The world had unexpectedly lost her the week before. For this reason and more, I felt heavy and my mind felt blurry.

I left the trail to get a better view of a bluebird (you don’t just see those in this city) and had to really climb to get there and back safely. But as I did it, I knew I could. Even though the dirt was sliding out from beneath my feet, I made it safely back to the trail.

As I walked, my heart felt lighter. I hummed the songs in my head, and I stopped to admire the colors of the leaves and rocks and flowers around me. I remembered some of the things I love about myself and my life, the things that seemed forgotten or brushed aside in the fury of the week.

And I planned my next steps. I am sure-footed.

From the Outside In

When I was about 7, I was the girl who’d sit for hours scrawling out lists of potential names for each of her dolls. Or compiling my birthday party guest list. Or listing titles for the books I wanted to write. Places I wanted to visit. My favorite book characters. And so on.

These days, the lists are a bit more tangible. Like most adults, I write out to-do lists (both for work and home), and grocery lists, maybe the occasional “wish list” for apartment décor or whatever.

The other day, I took a nice break from these boring and responsible lists and went back to the day-dreaming lists of my youth.

I found myself listing each of the things that make me happy as they came to mind, from the obvious to the unexpected. The ocean’s waves and soft roar, bright fingernail polish, Webster, texts from my siblings, wine with my girlfriends. I didn’t list them in order of priority, but the first thing I wrote down was “Being known by my foster kids.”

Some of my favorite girls. Photo by Socorro Reynoso.

To be clear, I don’t actually have my own foster kids. But if you know me at all, you know that most Saturdays over the past few years I have“volunteered” at a program for kids affected by the foster care system. (And please, this isn’t the place for any praise about how great it is I do this. That’s not the point.)

When I first showed up for the program in early 2010, I was so intimated. I didn’t know a single person, but it was clear the others had formed a sort of family among themselves. They were friendly but unfamiliar to me. Most of the kids viewed me as an outsider. Not in a rude way, but it was clear I was not one of them.

Not only was I new without anyone to vouch for me, but it was also one of the few times in my entire life I had been around so many people who were black. Yeah, I went there. It’s not that I have a problem with being around people who are mostly of different ethnicities, but it is disconcerting, something to which I’m not generally accustomed.

Regardless, I knew I was committed. One of the main issues with foster care is that it doesn’t provide a sense of stability. I wasn’t going to be another adult to slip in and out of the lives of these kids. So I kept going, and I got to know everyone.

But even though I quickly learned the names of so many kids and most of the adults, it took some kids a while to even recognize me as a returning volunteer, much less to remember my name.

This year, we’ve turned a corner. Kids of all ages call my name as soon as I see them. They tease me, they hug me, they ask about my life.They know me, and I know them. I have grown with these kids. I’ve watched as some of the little kids become not so little (and not so wily). I’ve seen some of the older ones go through struggles they have worked to overcome.

And they’ve watched me go from being a little uncomfortable in my own skin to feeling like I’m completely myself around them. They’ve watched me go from being there just to be there, to consciously trying to learn and listen and contribute and be my best self for them.

It’s an interesting thing to be known by them. To be seen, and heard and mostly understood by these kids. In some cases, I had to work for it. And it was worth it.

So when I list things that make me the happiest, they are at the top because, when I’m with them, they feel like my home.