Desert Trail

Respecting limits, staying on the path, and keeping my wits about me

Welcome, new readers!

Dream Big is about my writing journey. Approximately every two weeks, I post about: finding writing in my 40s, embracing a creative life, writing my first novel, and the everyday moments that inspire me as I juggle family life and my dreams of becoming a published author.

I’m so glad you’re here, and beyond grateful for your company on my writing journey. I love hearing from you, so please hit reply or comment below if you connect with this post in any way. As always, please share this publication with anyone you think may enjoy it.

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At the end of November, my boys had a week off school for Thanksgiving. Instead of staying home and cooking, our family has a quasi tradition of getting away for a few days. We don’t go far, just a few hours east, and we mark the holiday with swimming, hiking, puzzles, and generally catching our breath before the holiday season. This version of Thanksgiving doesn’t sync with harvest colors, pumpkins and cornucopias, but it still includes turkey and pie. Most importantly, we love it.

On our first day away, I woke early and slipped out to explore some trails close to where we were staying at the base of the San Jacinto and Santa Rosa Mountains. Unlike hiking through a forested area, the landscape was completely exposed, mostly flat sand, surrounded by the rocky mountains that line the desert communities. These mountains are breathtaking, with their stark jagged outlines, deep purple and vibrant pink depending on how the sun hits them. Trails snaked in all directions, walkers dotting the paths at various distances. With a full 360 degree view, it seemed impossible to get lost.

My sneakers crunched in the rocky sand as I set out. The path was mostly flat and the air cool, but without trees, even a winter sun is unrelenting. I broke a light sweat and said a silent prayer of thanks for the thick layer of sunscreen I’d applied and my full bottle of water.

The parking lot and the trailhead grew smaller behind me; at a certain point, they disappeared. There must have been a decline so slight I didn’t notice. While a significant gap in the mountains marked the direction of my car, the desert surrounded me in all directions. I was still on the trail. I wasn’t lost. But even a mile or so out from the tiny houses nestled between the hills, I sensed a shift in my vulnerability. I needed to take care.

And yet, the landscape dazzled me, reminding me of the different, faraway desert of my youth. It was stunning, laid dry and bare under a spectacular and unforgiving cobalt sky. In a place where we have plumbed water and created green spaces and very comfortable lives, we would do well to remember our place. Just a few missteps and this delicate arrangement could crumble.

It made me think about where I am with my novel. I am close to the end, but not as close as I’d like to be. And I’m tired. I want to be done. This may be the most extreme exercise in self-discipline I’ve ever taken on. In a recent writing group, a fellow writer pointed out how she understands why Stephen King says to write a novel quickly or you’ll get bored.

For a moment, I thought: Oh dear.

I’ve never been bored with my story, but I know what she’s describing: momentum. When it wanes, a writer finds herself in a space where the landscape becomes less forgiving. The trail you set out on will lead to where you want to go, but you need to keep your wits about you. A single misstep could have you wandering far off your path, making it harder and harder to get back to where you need to be.

Like that stunning desert landscape with its mystical color-changing mountains, life is full of distractions. I am constantly honing my writing practice to evolve with the ever-changing and constant needs of our busy household; at times it feels like a delicate balance of energy levels. It’s a season, I know—yet one where my writing practice is fragile, like the balance between the oases carved between the desert mountains and their parched surroundings. But I am understanding it more and learning how to guard it better.

As I took in my magnificent surroundings, that desert moment reminded me that limits demand respect. I needed to stay on the trail, and now I’m at a point in this novel-writing process where I need to take a direct route to the end of this manuscript. I know where I’m headed. No more stopping to check out the view. Hydrate and go.

Speaking of limits, as the holidays approach, I’ve learned that this is a time of year when I need my wits about me. I need to finish this manuscript. That may mean fewer Dream Big posts through the holiday season, but perhaps not. Let’s see how it unfolds. In any case, I am always present on Substack, reading and commenting, and I am ever grateful for your presence here and the time you take to read my posts, comment, and support my journey.

On that morning in the desert, I realized I’d gone far enough. I noted the gap in the mountains, eyed the trail ahead, and turned towards home.

Thanks, as always, for being here.