The hike back to the car was quick--a mere three hours when the trek in took 6+. We stopped, resting and snacking while sitting on the old redwood bench that was deep enough to fit us and our packs. The view was the quintessential north coast on a mostly clear day.

Most of the conversation is still lost to me--I remember attempting to go slow down the steep ravines, but found myself almost trotting, passing up my hike mates. I worked to practice mindfulness--opening my senses to capture the sights, smells, and sensations in the body--but it was a fierce competition with the thoughts roiling around my brain.

Generosity, like compassion and kindness, is a natural tendency of humans. Just as we can strengthen our mindfulness muscle by practicing present moment awareness, we can strengthen our generosity muscle by consciously practicing acts of giving. Whether it is in word (complements, kind words, etc.), deed (spending time with a loved one, helping someone who can't do for themselves, etc.)  or resource (money, objects, etc.), generosity is generative--it helps create a spacious, loving, prosperity consciousness for ourselves and others.

This month's Facebook challenge was to commit to a generous act each day through June. We debated about the wholesomeness of posting our generous deeds. (cont.)

I recently questioned whether I wanted to live in my beautiful home on Cobb. Whether I wanted to live in Lake County. Whether my work as a mindfulness teacher and mindfulness-based coach was working. Whether...uh oh...these questions alone may seem like good inquiries, but when they all started coming together, I recognized a pattern that showed itself after Shyla passed. Depression--a time when I question everything!

My recent work with the California H.O.P.E. team has taught me these can be expected reactions to the disaster of the Valley Fire. Overeating, depression, and, maybe, questioning everything.

Leaving the crisis counseling position was the best choice for my health and well being...

While hiking the Lost Coast in Northern California, my friends and I received word that the #ValleyFire had started in Cobb, California--the area I live. It was my first overnight backpack trip and four of us trekked into the remote redwood region north of Redway.

I trained for weeks for this event in the neighboring forest (Boggs Demonstration Forest) some 5 minutes from my home. I carried increasingly more weight over a period of a few weeks to ready for the 30 pounds of necessary accouterments I would need for our two night adventure.

Also during that time, my friend and I poured over the map of the area, checking distances and elevation gains. Our second day hiking, though, was more than each of us had foresaw and far more than I intended for my first time out overnight.

The sites were stunning as we crossed rushing creeks and walked painstaking switchbacks up steep embankments. At about six hours in, we crested a hill giving me first time access to cell phone coverage. I read a text from my longtime friend, Vicki Crystal, "How close is the fire to you?  Praying big time."

Curious, I texted back, "Huh? Where? I'm hiking Lost Coast."

She responded, "Fire on Cobb evacuating town of Cobb extreme winds.  50 acres & growing fast.started a 1:30.  Probably won't have official update until tonight later will keep u posted."

[Note: This entry was drafted on the Saturday evening of the breakout of the #ValleyFire when I was camping the Lost Coast with some girlfriends. We heard about the fire through a text received when cresting the 2,000 ft. elevation gain on our grueling 6 hour hike. Out of concern, my friend, Vicki Crystal, texted: "How close is the fire to you? Praying big time."

Each of us on the hike had something in harms way of the fire, whether it was our home or our vehicle or both. We each exhaustedly tossed and turned that night from our remote campsite with no reception.

A hot dry wind blew through the camp around 1:00AM. We were some 150 miles northwest of the fire, but the eeriness didn't go unnoticed.]

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Of course! Of course this sacred spot was spared.

I suddenly felt closer to Walter and Shyla as I exerted myself up the steep hill back to the trail. Each step seemed to carry with it hundreds of memories. How many times had I walked this path? Ten years, though, not every day. The first few years, maybe three or four times a week. The latter years, five to seven.

I don't usually subscribe to the "5 Things You Can Do To ____<insert some great outcome here>____" format of writing, or the use of an astonishing headline that boasts powerful transformation devised to pull in a reader. Oh, I know these are the trend for writers and marketers in our fast-paced, information-overloaded culture, but it seems somewhat deceiving and belittling to think that my audience's needs and happiness can be reduced to a bullet pointed list that they can read over breakfast. (I have to say, though, when I do get pulled in by this style, I do glean some great benefits from the information shared.)

That said, I have discovered one simple (but not always easy!) thing to help me in the current wrestling match I'm involved in with binging and weight gain.

Significant progress was made when I began looking at the deeper issues of what was happening in my life--what was causing me to go numb at night when I was home alone and when I was out and about with friends or traveling, but I unearthed another contributor that has made a huge difference...