{I recently completed an eleven month project, the Lake Family Resource Center's California HOPE project,  leading a team working with fire survivors of the Mendocino Complex fire in Northern California. As part of my closure for this project, as well as my growing interest in solo backpacking, I hiked a small, iconic, portion of the John Muir Trail. This series is a reflection and a taste of insights I received from that journey.}

In 2018 my planned John Muir Trail hike in Yosemite National Park was hijacked by smoke from the Fergusen Fire. I took an alternate trek in the park to Vogelsang (read more about that adventure here), but within three days, Yosemite Valley was shut down and I found my way back to base camp.

As I drove home to Lake County, the Mendocino Complex Fire, now known as California's largest wildfire in recorded history, had just broken out. I was hearing reports via phone never imagining what the next year would hold for me as I drove from one set of smokey mountains to another. By October, I was invited to lead the FEMA funded project.

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This year in Lake County a few small fires have broken out throughout the summer. Residents here, triggered again and again as each golden-green patch burns, have been living with catastrophic fire since the summer of 2015 when three devastating fires, including the Valley Fire, consumed nearly a third of the county.

It was in July, the beginning of fire season in Lake County and about a month away from completion of the project, that my self care and wellness started slipping. The project itself had a strong self-care component for the team--a team that would meet directly with survivors, help them navigate resources, common reactions to disasters, and learn to set priorities and take small steps toward their recovery.

But, between this project and completing a year long mindfulness teacher training (along with all the usual busyness of life!) I started to slip. I was staying up late watching movies or shopping online. I was eating bigger portions and lots of sugar--things I usually resort to when I'm tired and need to push through what's on my plate, rather than glide with joy through the day's adventure. I was distancing in my intimate relationship, but most importantly, though, I was losing touch with the sacredness of the moment.

By a  few weeks before the end of the project, fatigue took over and I had to rest. I intended to be hiking 3+ miles with full weight (35 pounds) at least two times per week by this time. But instead, I had to set it all aside, only doing the very minimum to get through the day.

It's amazing how quickly the mind can forget profound truths. Particularly those that are discovered in exhaustion and under stress. Like the wind that blew through our camp, this attitude and outlook upon the situation drifted out of my mind upon waking in the morning. My mind resorted to trying to figure out all the differing scenarios of possibility.

I had been homeless before upon the ending of a 13 year relationship. Shyla and I spent a year in a tent on a friend's property--it was one of the best experiences of healing and perfect opportunity for connecting more deeply to the Tao of existence. It also was the stepping stone to my living in the cabin for all those years. Was this a bad thing? Quite the contrary! Not anything that I would have specifically chosen for myself, but so deeply grateful the situation presented itself and circumstances were as they were where I had to live there long enough to find the depth of beauty and aliveness that held me there for over 10 years.

Is this the fate that was in store for me again? After three years of setting up home on Cobb, was it all to be gone?