Surprised by Presence

I was nervous after the massive storms that passed through the Mojave in 2023 about traveling the back roads alone; however, that was the assignment I accepted. As the terrain got more difficult, my grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Many bad ass folks who love rock crawling, etc. maybe rolling their eyes, but doing this alone for the first time was scary to me. There was no water out here and no cell service. You aren't calling AAA if you have a flat or get stuck. In the spirit of transparency, I did have a satellite button I could push in an emergency. Still, help would be hours away.

I respect and admire and admire the woman who asked me to handle this assignment. I trusted that she would not have asked me to do it if she didn't think I could. So, I said, "Yes." I think I hid my trepidation while I was silencing the voice in my head shouting, "Really, you don't do this kinda thing alone, what are you thinking?"

I went. Let me ask you, have you ever turned down the radio to 'see better?' Me too. Maybe it's an old-person thing —I don't know. 

Anyway, I had some favorite tunes going, probably the Eagles or Doobie Brothers, and I was singing to make sure I breathed as I tootled along. One road I encountered, which I ultimately recommended we close until we could fix it, climbed up a mountain. (I felt relieved when a second opinion was given on the condition of the road; it confirmed my assessment.) Whew, I wasn't just being a baby. The washes were deep; huge rocks, moved like pebbles by the storm, were scattered across the road. It was rugged and a bit of a challenge, but within an hour, I worked my way up the mile or so to the top. As I turned around to begin my descent, I felt a catch in my throat, and something stir in my heart. I had to turn off the radio to see it better.

I had so much further to go that day I could not linger long, but I put the truck in park, eased out, and stood in a moment of total presence. The vastness of the desert below me, the rise of the rock cliffs to my sides, the mountains in the distance, the deep ravine to the east of the road I just climbed, the Yucca, the Joshua trees, the desert flowers, the rocks, and all the evidence of the storm's power, OMG.  

I wish moments like this could be manufactured by simply scheduling them as a planned appointment in my calendar or by entering coordinates into my GPS. But I have discovered it is often a surprise. Most of the time, it is my senses that alert me to it. Yes, like Spidey senses, I feel it. It's like when you're going to sneeze, —you feel it, it's right there, it's in your nose, and your eyes, it catches in your lungs, and then hatchoo. For me, it feels like a little bit of anxiety, acute awareness of nature's chaos, power, and order, and awe. Accompanied by a catch, a whisper within to pause. And when I pause to observe, there is inevitably a flood of overwhelming presence and being.

As I am writing this and recalling it again, I get that same physical feeling: my heart slows, my breathing relaxes, the stressful energy in my body floods out of my arms and legs, right through my hands and feet, and is replaced with calm as I breathe in, and I just am. I am present and being.

I could ramble for hours about the volunteer opportunities we've been given and that resulted in surprise moments of presence: Climbing down a hole in the earth and witnessing a fish that continues to exists because it's been protected, climbing a mountain to help set up water collection for big horn sheep, working on trails, witnessing visitors,  especially kids, engage with the wild renewing my hope there will be generations to come who will care for the earth and resources, the list goes on and on.

I have never felt this feeling of presence from a purchase, an award, or a job. It comes when I turn down the 'noise' to see better, when I push out of my comfort zone, and give my effort and respect to nature and the natural elements around us. And as if a gift from presence itself, I am refreshed and blessed with more curiosity, confidence, and joy. I don't know why my eyes have gotten moist while writing this, but these experiences remind me that we belong and that we are part of something so much larger than ourselves. With immense gratitude, thank you.

www.volunteer.gov is the resource I use to find opportunities