Into Outdoor Education

Scouting a climbing area with GirlVentures staff at Pinnacles National Park, February 2015

I'm bemused at the turn life has taken. Two years ago, I'd never imagined working in outdoor education. My work life very much revolved around being in the city, in offices and libraries and coffee shops. Then I got the opportunity to work a backpacking trip with GirlVentures in April 2014, shortly after which I signed up for a 5-day Women of Color Backpacking trip with Balanced Rock Foundation which was, amazingly, co-led by a badass Khmer American woman. On that trip and beyond, I met more women of color who integrate outdoor trip leading into their lives, both professionally and personally.

From the NOLS WMI WFR Handbook

After I went to live and work at NOLS in Wyoming for nine weeks and encountered even more people who spent a big part of their lives outdoors, and though only a few of the people I met were Asian American, I gained more of that sense of permission and possibility that I gained from the Balanced Rock trip. I then signed up for a WMI Wilderness First Responder certification course using the Americorps Segal Education Award I'd earned as a Public Ally in Los Angeles back in 2012 (everything is connected). The course would have felt prohibitively expensive if not for that, which is also true of the Balanced Rock course I took-- I received tuition assistance for that, as well.

This past spring, I worked as an instructor on three courses run by GirlVentures: climbing at Pinnacles National Park with 6th grade girls, backpacking at Point Reyes National Seashore with 7th grade girls, and climbing at Castle Rock State Park with a mixed-gender group of high school students. It was exhilarating to spend all that time outdoors and to get to watch students transition from being squeamish about camping at all to happily digging catholes.

I would have loved to instruct on one of GV's summer courses if I weren't embarking on another trip on Wednesday: I'm heading to Alaska to spend 30 days backpacking in the Eastern Chugach Mountains with 3 NOLS instructors and a group of 12 students, age 16 &17. It will be my first time spending so long in the backcountry, my first time in Alaska, and my first time witnessing the NOLS progression.

I'm excited and nervous, which typically means I've made a good decision. 

After "In Defense of 'Busy'" // Life's Too Short to Hurry

Sean wrote about being busy.

The comings and goings and doings he describes are familiar to me. I'm not there any more, though. I can't say I'm busy in that way anymore. I'm not organizing or producing, and this month even my online writing has diminished as I throw myself into pottery (couldn't resist the pun). And the calm feels really good. Maybe it's part of my recently developed introversion.

There's that Howard Turman quote: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” I surely felt alive when I had a busier lifestyle, connecting with many people, holding and sharing space in various ways. But there was a point when it stopped making me feel alive and mostly made me feel tired. And for a time I was sort of frustrated with myself for stopping, and I mourned the passing of that past self, and I tried to recreate the desire to live that way. But the resistance was not necessary. I was pushing myself to interact with the world in ways that made me feel tired rather than alive.

There was no need for me to push myself to try to be busy-- there are so many ways to contribute to society, to social justice, and different ways to learn about being human, both by being around people and by being alone with ourselves.

The intention I set for this year is "Life's too short to hurry." A reminder to myself that life doesn't have to be frenetic to be exciting, and that there is value in slowness. Even though most of my days don't have much externally-imposed structure, I still create quite a bit of structure for myself.

On Wednesday, I wanted to climb, go to a yoga class, repair some camping gear, spend an hour or two at the ceramics studio, and go to the grocery store before work at the climbing gym at 4:30pm. I also wanted to feed myself and maybe do a little reading. While I was in the yoga class, I was asked to set an intention for the practice and for the day. In the course of the class, I realized that I was imposing a lot of unnecessary urgency into the day. If I could only spend an hour or two at the studio, it wasn't really worth it to go. And if I didn't make it to the grocery store before work, I'd be okay-- there was plenty of food in the house. Once I let myself let go of that urgency, I could feel my mood improving, and things feel lighter. I felt better about the day.

I respect the folks who spend a lot of time working, studying, organizing, going from here to there and everywhere. And I worry a bit, too, when they say they are busy. I avoid being "busy" now because of the way it makes me feel. It makes me feel like there is great time-scarcity in my life, and feelings of scarcity in whateverthing, be it affection, friendship, money, or time, leads to stress. Which leads to a wide array of other negative health and social implications.

Granted, things aren't always light. There are a lot of very dark and heavy things that we must cope with and change in this world. What I fear about "busyness" is that it sometimes feels like being pulled down into that darkness rather than like reaching in and pulling that darkness up to our light.

And it makes me all the more appreciative of those people in my life who are able to be busy and at the same time pull the darkness to light. (Sean is in that group.)

From Oakland, CA to Lander, WY

As I neared the end of a six-month position as Admissions Associate at GirlVentures, I wasn't sure what late summer or fall would hold for me. I was on belay staff (mostly in babytown) at Berkeley Ironworks, but I knew that I wanted additional work. 

I'd unexpectedly embarked on a journey as an outdoor educator when I was offered the opportunity to work a short 7th grade girls backpacking course with GV in Point Reyes. I still need to write a post about that. One experience as a trip leader was enough to convince me that whatever I did next, I wanted it to further me along the path to more such work. At the urging of my coworker Grace, I applied for a fellowship with National Outdoor Leadership School. 

Soon after the phone interview, I left for a backpacking trip in Yosemite. I was nervous. Nervous that I wouldn't get the job, nervous that I would. Shortly after my return, I was offered the fellowship. It took me a few days to think it over. 

There are less than 600,000 people in all of Wyoming. Lander, where NOLS is based, is a town of around 7,500. In Oakland alone, there are over 400,000 people, but Bay Area cities all blend together, so the sea of people feels endless until you drive out an hour or two.

Asian Americans. Queer/trans folks. People of color. The Pacific Ocean. The Sierra. My loved ones. My lovely housemates. My favorite coffee roaster(s). I'd be leaving them all behind. Not just venturing a few hours north or south, not just for a few days or a couple of a weeks. For a couple of months.

I decided to do it. Because I've been telling myself for years to Do what you're afraid to do, among other mantras. Maybe it's just a part of my life now to spend three months away from home.

And also, of course, there's the access to climbing. I watched and enjoyed the Lander climbing film Wind and Rattlesnakes immensely when it came out last year. The section of Core about Lander climber BJ Tilden is my favorite of the whole film.

[Edit: I also owe a hat-tip to Jared Spaulding's blog for giving me a glimpse inside the Noble Hotel and the life of a NOLS instructor based in Lander.]

So on September 10th, I packed up my car, bundled Audrey into it with me (she flew down from Portland to accompany me), and we set out on I-80 for the 1,018-mile road trip from Oakland to Lander.

We camped in Winnemucca, Nevada, at a campground I'd found called Water Canyon. We built a fire, drank rye whiskey, and wrote.

In Salt Lake City, we stayed with a friend of a friend I knew from Ironworks, and climbed with a friend of a friend of a friend I knew from climbing outside and Twitter. (The climbing community is so great about travelers.)

And then, it was off to Lander. As we crossed the vast, flat land, I repeatedly exclaimed "I'm going to Wyoming!" There was not a little anxiety in my voice, tempered with excitement. As we hurtled along the freeway with an 80 mph speed limit, the fact of my distance from California got closer and closer to reality. 

@narindaism

The moving-in process would have been much more difficult if I hadn't had Audrey's help with the library of books I brought with me, plus climbing gear, my typewriter, and two months' worth of clothing. It was good to be able to walk around town with a friend. When I dropped her off at Riverton Airport, it really settled in that I was alone in Lander, Wyoming.

And, admittedly, that was something I was sort of looking for. Some distance. Some solitude. Space. Time.

Over the last seven weeks, I've come to deeply appreciate life here. Smaller, less dense, less hectic. Snow-capped mountains unobstructed by buildings. This crisp air. 

@narindasim

"It is better to know one mountain than to climb many."

This is a Native American saying that has popped up in various places in my readings about the outdoors, exploration, and outdoor education. I want to get to know the mountains of California better. There are smaller places there, too, for me to get to know. And I want to get to know more of the United States. There is so much still to learn that the small bit of it I've known up to this point.

For most of my life, I dreamed about visiting countries on other continents and rarely considered traveling to the middle parts of the country that I was born and raised in. Those seemed less for me, and more foreign, than foreign countries. But that's changing. Perhaps this is a part of the continuing process of accepting and owning my Americanness, and wanting to have a fuller conception of what that is, what that means for me.

I'll be in Southern California again in a couple weeks to see family and friends for the holidays. I'm bracing myself for the shift back to traffic and density and cars and billboards. And then it's back to Oakland. Traffic, density, billboards. I haven't even left Lander yet and I'm already considering when I might spend time here again. I feel a pull here that is similar to what I tend to feel in other places, but it has an air of possibility and even practicality around it that other places don't.

But I haven't lived this way in that many different places. Miles to go, yet.

Dispatch from Cambodia, 11 // The End is Near

Three nights left in Cambodia. I'm starting to feel a bit anxious about going home. 
These last three months have been a retreat from my generally unpredictable everyday life. Hang out with family. Read a lot of books. Scribble in my journal. Spend a lot of time in coffee shops. Look at Tumblr a lot. I've kept things simple to the point where most people might get terribly bored, but I'm happy as long as I have books to read and time to write.

What most mornings look like.

All the while, though, I've been thinking about what I'll do with myself when I get back. So perhaps I have not been as present with my experience here as I could have been. A part of that was due to worrying about being a tourist here or gravitating into the largely-white expat scene. I worked some of that out in the last few weeks. I didn't do everything I considered doing here, like go on climbing trips or volunteer or work or check out the arts scene, but other things happened that I hadn't considered: I started learning to read and write Khmer, had long talks with family members, had some good email exchanges, and remembered how much I like listening to music obsessively (especially while writing poetry).

Khmer consonants. I almost remember them all.

I got to experience two New Years in Cambodia: the Western one and the Lunar New Year. My relatives have been urging me to stay and ring in the Khmer new year, too, in April. I was tempted, but there's too much waiting for me (too much that I'm looking forward to) in California. 

Lunar New Year promo from Brown, where I've spent a lot of time recently.

I have a fluttery feeling about going home. Moreso than I did when I was getting ready to leave.

I remind myself that it will be good. It will be good to spend 22 hours in transit, and step out of the airport into the cool Los Angeles air. It will be good to remember how to drive my car. It will be good to see the people I've been missing. It will be good to move forward on some of the things I've been marinating on during the last three months of being sort of a hermit/recluse. It will be good to be reunited with my coffee grinder and french press. It will be good to step out of this relaxed life, and back into the lovely chaos.

Spring is coming.

(I read four of the Game of Thrones books in January. Yup.)

Dispatch from Cambodia, 3

Mom & Dad on a boat on Tonlé Sap

Over the last month, I’ve spent more time with my parents and with my family than I have in the last few years combined. Eight years have passed since I moved out, which was soon after we returned from our first trip to Cambodia. The last time I went on a family vacation was probably 2005. There always school or work to use as an excuse to cover up my painful inability to reconcile my Khmer and American identities... and my preference to remain at a distance rather than confront our difficulties and find middle ground. 

In writing this, I realized a pattern in my search for middle ground: I do it by myself. Hm. 

I spend copious amounts of time agonizing about what the middle ground looks like and how to fit myself into it-- instead of sharing the process with the people I’m trying to find the middle ground with (though I often share it with the internet). 

Now that I see that, I have to muster the courage to change my behavior accordingly. We'll see how that goes. 

On Wednesday, my parents returned to California. I waved goodbye to them through the glass at the airport along with the sisters, cousins, and other relatives they left behind. It was a strange feeling, being there with those who were staying, riding home with them as things returned to normalcy. 

That's what I want out of this stay in Cambodia: not an adventure, but to have a glimpse of what "normal" feels like here. And to create my own version in the brief time I have. 

From Car-Free to Car-Dweller

Four years ago, I celebrated becoming car-free in Los Angeles. Now, I'm writing from the Bay Area various places and am very, very attached to my car. When I was living in Downtown LA and spending most of my time there, it was easy to ditch the car and use public transit and bicycles. I still use public transit and my bicycle, when I can. But I've found that I really like camping out of my car on BLM land. And it's lovely being able to wake up to scenes like this after pulling over to sleep among eighteen-wheelers:

Vista Point, Highway 101, Santa Barbara.

I've driven between Los Angeles, Bishop, and the Bay Area many times over the last few months. It's hard for me to think about how much gas I've consumed in such a short period of time. Hundreds of gallons, I'm sure, though I get good mileage and drive conservatively. My current lifestyle includes a lot of driving, which I once tried so hard to get away from, and now, I don't really see myself getting away from it any time soon. It's harder to interact with the outdoors, be car-free, and still be very mobile. But it's possible.

If I were planning to live in one place for a long time, and commute to only a few specific places on a regular basis, it would be easier to imagine working out a way to avoid using a car for outdoors excursions. The truth is that right now, I'm not so willing to try that hard. I'm still hauling around quite a few belongings, I like being able to tuck into my home like a turtle, and I like the feeling of independence I get hurtling down highways between cities, where it can seem so desolate.

Sagebrush Campsite, Owens River Gorge, Eastern Sierra.

For now, the best course I see is in staying in places for longer stretches of time than the weeklong trips I've been taking. Where those places might be, and how far I'll have to drive to get there, are all up in the air. A few days ago I plotted out a dozen different climbing areas to visit around the western US. I've met quite a few people traveling around for a month or more (or indefinitely) for climbing. That doesn't feel like long enough, not at all. I want to take more time than that. And I want to make it sustainable for that time, both financially and environmentally, as much as possible. It's hard to imagine how that is going to work. But I'm trying.

Where I Am // Driving, Stopping, Wondering

I'm sitting in a friend's studio apartment in East Oakland while she's out of town for the next few days. I feel incredibly lucky to be here. I arrived in the Bay Area last week, via a long drive up from Santa Barbara along CA-1. 

The drive from Santa Barbara can take as little as four hours, depending on the driver. I took about ten. I pulled over often, but not nearly as often as I wanted. I passed through rolling hills that reminded me of Antelope Valley, farming towns I didn't know existed along the 1, and would slowly around the turns through Los Padres National Forest and Big Sur. Ocean to my left, verdant forest hills to my right, I had to force myself not to be distracted from the winding road. I maneuvered anxiously at first. Had to turn off my music so I could be present with the sharp turns while being distracted by the beautiful scenery around me. I kept stopping every thirty or forty minutes even after telling myself to drive for at least two hours before stopping again; it was hard to resist taking time to take things in. And I had to stop for California poppies:

I've decided I have to look up climbing and camping in San Luis Obispo, visit Pie Ranch for a workday, and figure out what this place is:

There were pretty white & brown cows grazing on the other side where I stopped. I want to visit.

There is so much to see. And this was just in a 300-ish mile stretch of coast. The world is so vast, with so much to experience. I spend a lot of my time trying to strategize ways to see as much of it as possible. 

I'm entering my time in the Bay Area torn between wanting to build a life here intentionally, without the internal struggle that I felt in Los Angeles, and considering this a rest stop on the way to somewhere else. I'm seeking a middle ground between thinking in terms of permanence versus transience. There can be an in-between. A good friend told me I ought to stay here at least a year. And I can imagine that, and more; I like it here in the East Bay. There is sun, cool wind, trees, the air is clear and the tap water is tasty. Today I took a walk and ate a blackberry off a vine (which is apparently an invasive species 'round these parts and northward). There are so many wonderful people to connect with, old friends and new, and new-old and old-new. People I haven't shared a city with in years. And there are still projects in Los Angles to work on.

Then there's the part of me that is hungry for more exploration. For unfamiliar earth that is more unfamiliar, that is farther away. There is the very hungry part of me that wants to seek and be open to and create(!) opportunities to go abroad. 

It's an interesting place to be-- this state of trying to remain open to everything, and at the same time understand that my intention is not simply to be a drifter. Intentionality has been brought up a lot over the last year, and as I try to articulate my own intentions for my time on this planet, I find that the truth is not a statement that fits very well on a resume or in a cover letter-- to be a human being. 

So I have to think about what I want to do as a human being. How do I want to affect the world around me? How do I want to contribute to it? Is it through writing and publishing? Is it through community organizing? Through tending a fantastic garden? Becoming a certified guide and taking youth of color rock climbing and camping? There's so much to consider-- I was told that I need to make decisions so that I can spend less time deciding and more time accomplishing things. Now, I'm not exactly all about just accomplishing things, but maybe I need to take some of that (and this) advice to heart. 

Maybe I'm supposed to do everything I have vaguely considered doing? Imagine that. Life is long, right? 

Time for a Change

It's been 4 years since I changed the header on this blog. Actually, I haven't changed the header since my very first year blogging. (At the time, I think the word "blog" made me cringe a bit.)

The first header was a photo of a woman wheat-pasted on one of the 10 freeway's pillars:

The next one came just a few months later, and it was a photo of a sculpture at the San Pedro Blue Line Station:

I became very familiar with in 2008 from many trips to Long Beach to hang out with One Imagination folks.

This new image is one taken by my friend Kevin while we took a long walk around Gardena, down Vermont Avenue and eastward along train tracks last July. In it, my head has a few weeks' worth of growth of hair after I shaved off my longer-than-shoulder-length locks for the first time, ever:

It's a fitting moment for this change; I've been living in Gardena for over a year now. And the original URL of this blog makes for a much more sensible title now than "South of Downtown," as my writing here (as well as my life) continues to shift and change and transition. 

I am embracing the arrival of a time of change as I scoot within a month of my 27th birthday. Let's go. And let's keep it simple.