Thanks to Bryan and Maggie, I had a car this weekend. Having not had a car for several years, it took a moment for me to realize the magnitude of this. I could go anywhere I wanted. By myself. I wasn’t bound by public transportation or the generosity of friends.

I immediately searched the internet for Bay Area trails I had yet to explore. After reading several descriptions on Bay Area Hiker, I chose the Estero Trailhead because this sentence was included in the description “Estero is one of the loneliest trailheads at Point Reyes.” A day, by myself, in the wilderness? Heaven.

Mine was the only car in the parking lot at the trailhead. Yes, it was 8:30 on a Saturday morning, but still. Eager with anticipation, I ventured onto the trail. The first bit was gentle, an easily sloped grassy trail, narrowly winding this way and that. I walked along, relishing the quietness of the morning, basking in the chill of the fog. Lizards scurried on the trail in front of me, their sudden movements first startling me, then not. Birds hopped out from bushes. A small bunny ran across the path in front of me, unsure of the safest route. Pine tree boughs laden with opening cones lurked towards the ground. Tantalizingly beautiful purple thistles pricked my legs as I drew near.

I came to the first estuary. As I crossed the bridge, I was mesmerized by the swirl of fresh water meeting salt, whisking round and round.

I continued up a hill, avoiding the brush on the overgrown trail, thankful for my long sleeves. I stopped to catch my breath and looked back down the hill. Riverlets snaked across the landscape, coming together, drifting apart.

I continued on, walking through pastures of curious cows. Having learned from my last hike they are indeed not predatory creatures, I walked with confidence. Up and over another hill. In the distance was another group of cows. Or was it? As I drew closer I noticed the animals stiffen and stare at me. The group of eight were not cows, but deer. Graceful, lithe, multi shades of brownness deer. All except for one. One solitary pure white deer. I stopped, not wanting to frighten the animals. I felt as though I had entered a storybook and a magical creature stood before me. The white deer, on the edge of the group, lifted its head and slowly, gracefully turned back towards me. I stared. It stared. I held my breath, not wanting to upset the balance of the fascination of me with it and it with me. After what seemed like an eternity, but could only have been seconds, the white dream bounded up and over the hill, the other seven sprinting after it. I stood still for a moment, thankful for such fortune.

I continued on, finally reaching my destination, Sunset Beach. I walked along the rocky shore, hearing nothing but the roar of waves in the distance coupled with the easy lapping of the tide on the sand. On a flat rock I enjoyed my sandwich, still in disbelief that I had hiked over four miles and not seen another human. After a brief respite, I began my return to the trailhead. A couple of miles in, I reached a split in the trail. Not quite ready for my day to be over, I ventured off towards another destination, Drakes’ Head. More cows greeted me as I passed by their watering hole. They stopped chewing their cuds, stared at me and with a switch of their tail returned to the grass under foot.

Not long thereafter I reached Drakes’ Head, a bluff overlooking the expansive ocean. I sat down, content to listen to the wind blowing while soaking up warm rays of sunshine. Something to the left caught my eye. More wildlife? I started down the hill, hugging the edge of the bluff. Curious as to how high I was, and how steep the bluff was, I sneaked closer to the edge. And closer. I peered over the edge. There, in the water below, massive manta rays glided near the shore, skinny tails following the smooth movements of perfectly symmetrical fins. What were those other shapes? Sharks, too many to count, wove in and out, back and forth. Dark, ominous forms swam in the crystalline water. I watched, fascinated, until the creatures were mere dots.

I began my trek back to the trailhead, benignly content with my day in the wilderness. The day had warmed, the grasshoppers were out in full force. As I walked the trail, hoppers hopped and hit my chest, my face, my backpack. I laughed, to myself, to the skies, to the fields, and continued on. On the trail back I encountered a few groups of hikers. As I greeted them, I wondered what surprises they would encounter on their journey.

I handed the clerk a ten dollar bill. He accepted it, looked at me earnestly, and said, “Credit?” I thought for a moment, puzzled, then answered, “No, cash.”

The founder of the nonprofit where I now work (Room to Read), John Wood, was featured in the NYTimes Magazine today. Check it out!

At what point do you tell someone that you don’t know them? Or that you’re not who they think you are? I must have a twin in this city; the number of instances where people assume they know me is increasing at an alarming rate.

Today, as I was in a clothing store, the woman helping me began the conversation with, “Good to see you – it’s been a while since you’ve been in here.” Which was true. I thought she was merely being friendly. So I responded, “Yeah, it has been a while.” As she sorted through my items, she said, “You’re not working today?” Again, thinking she was being friendly, I responded, “No, I have the day off.” It was at that moment that I thought, “Hmmm. She thinks I’m someone else. I haven’t worked Sundays since I was in college.” The conversation continued, getting progressively more friendly, more familiar, until I realized it would be incredibly awkward to admit, “We’ve never met.” So I continued the intimate banter, giving her a hug as I left.

Which probably will create an awkward moment when the woman she *does* know comes into the store. Because she now thinks the person she knows grew up in North Carolina and wilts in the humidity.

Mark Twain was credited saying, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” Or, as a tourist leaving his hotel this morning claimed, “Bloody hell, mate, I didn’t know you was bringing me to Siberia…”

One of our employees, stationed in Botswana, needed money right away. A bank transfer, touted as “money in minutes” took 5 – 7 business days to access. Instantly accessible? Not so much. Another option was Western Union. Having never sent a Western Union money transfer before, I wasn’t really sure what information was needed. Before heading to one of the offices, I called the toll free service center.

“Hi. I need to send money to someone in Botswana. I’ve never sent a Western Union money transfer before; can you tell me what information I’ll need, as well as what the recipient will need?”

There was a pregnant pause. A nasaly mid-Western voice filled the line. “Young lady, are you purchasing something off the Internet?”

Birthday card text received from my aunt and uncle who I rarely see:

“Press the snooze two extra times,
Cruise slowly down the street,
Stay out of the gym today,
and don’t watch what you eat!
Cross off all your “things to do.”
Leave dishes in the sink,
Open cards instead of bills. . . “

I paused. This, too precisely, described my everyday routine…

I decided to try a Pilates mat class at my gym. I’ve never been one for group exercise but the recent camping trip convinced me there were some muscles that weren’t being used as much as they should be. So Saturday morning I headed over to the gym.

There were only 5 of us in the class, so there would be no hiding. The teacher ambled in and I was concerned. She walked as if several of the discs in her back had fused together, somewhat hunched over, head down. Most of the women I’ve seen who practice yoga or Pilates have lithe, slim bodies, and seem to float their existence, one of the reasons that compelled me to try it. Never one to be accused of being graceful, I thought a few lessons couldn’t hurt me.

She immediately spotted me. “You. What’s your name?” Ignoring her brusqueness, I answered. “Ever done Pilates?” No, I answered. “Just follow these two,” and she pointed to the two women in front of me. “I’m not feeling so great, so I won’t be demonstrating today.”

The class started. She called out commands and did not hold back on criticism of any of us. I’m all for feedback, but this was ridiculous.

“You! Yeah, you! You’re doing it wrong. Wrong, I said. Did you hear me? You’re leading with your arms. Yeah, it’s a natural reaction, but it’s wrong. WRONG! You don’t want to use your arms. That’s right – no arms. No arms, people. In World War II thousands of men had their arms and legs blown off. NO ARMS! No arms at all. Pretend you’re one of them…”

I snuck a glance at the clock. Ten minutes had passed. This was going to be a long one….