Ed Batista

A Long Weekend in Point Reyes

I've made a concerted effort this past month to unplug, disconnect and de-blog.  (Hey, I've barely even tweeted.)  I haven't been idle, but I've given myself plenty of leeway to just do whatever I felt like doing--which has included a lot of exercise but not much writing.

As part of that strategy, Amy and I just spent a long weekend in Point Reyes.  It wasn't exactly restful--I returned to SF slightly worse for wear, having pushed it a little too hard on the trails and at the dinner table.  (Yes, you can eat too much Marin Sun Farms steak.)  But it was still deeply satisfying to be there, exploring new corners while returning to some old haunts.

One change from past trips was staying in a cottage right on Tomales Bay.  The distant hill lit by the setting sun above is Barnabe Peak, which I climbed 3 years ago.

This was the first time we've been all the way out to Limantour Beach--the point at the far left in the background is Chimney Rock.  Layers of "monsoonal moisture" resulted in some unusually dramatic clouds rather than the typical Summer fog (for a night, at least.)

We didn't make it to the end of the 3.5 mile Limantour Spit, but we got far enough to look across the estero at Drake's Head (on the right).  That's the hill we climbed in June, the end of an amazing, desolate ranchland hike.

Tule Elk on Tomales Point, with Mt. Saint Helena in the background.  These two males are from the "bachelors herd," a somewhat sad group of adolescent and declining males who've been ousted from the main herd by the dominant male (whose reign can last just a single mating season, apparently.)

The tip of Tomales Point, draped with sea lions and cormorants.

The walkway behind our cottage, leading out into Tomales Bay.  At the end you can just make out a loveseat where we enjoyed a warm and starry evening under the monsoonal moisture before the fog rolled in.

A final, solitary view from Limantour Beach.  I've said it before: Thank you, Phil Burton.

I suspect the urge to write'll return once Summer's over and classes at Stanford have begun.  See you here again soon.

Happy Birthday To Me

I'm 42 today.  Yay me!  As I wrote in March, 42 is "too young to feel truly old, but old enough to no longer feel young."  Forty was just a number--I really didn't feel much different as a result.  But 41 was a quite a bit heavier because Amy and I lost several family members that year, and that process has continued this year, leading to thoughts about mortality while laid up or caring for Amy after surgery.

Andy Chan, the former Director of Stanford's Career Management Center, once provided me with a great framework for thinking about where we are in a given journey or experience by asking, "Are you in the first half or the second half?"  And it's safe to assume that I'm in the second half of this existence.  (Although hopefully it's still the third quarter.)

As a result of my reflections over the past few months, I'm comfortable with this.  Being sick and helping Amy recover made me realize how little I know about aging and infirmity, but, paradoxically, learning how unprepared I truly am has helped me prepare.  Funny how growing old (up?) works that way.

So a sense of my mortality doesn't leave me feeling gloomy--but it does cause me to take stock, to look around and assess where I am and what I'm doing.  And last night I wrote to a friend that "I've been feeling down lately, wondering whether I'm making enough of a difference, feeling a little frustrated and envious as I get glimpses down other paths."

This is largely a result of the absence of our students over the Summer, those from the Class of 2009, who have graduated and left the GSB behind, and those from the Class of 2010, who are in the midst of their internships all over the world.  I have more time to see private coaching clients when classes aren't in session, but on balance I spend less time coaching and more time on administrative work and other projects at Stanford over the Summer.  Coaching is my vocation, it sustains and feeds me--but the rest is just stuff that needs to get done.  It's not drudgery, but it's not my passion, either.

So knowing that expressing gratitude is one of the keys to my happiness, I've been reflecting on what I'm grateful for, what I appreciate--which is to say who I'm grateful for, who I appreciate:

• Amy, first and always.  I'm so grateful for the chance that brought us together and all the hard work we've put in over the last 23 years to stay together.  More than anything else, my love for you and your love for me give my life meaning and purpose.
• My Mom and Dad.  In some ways I was a really easy kid to raise; in other ways I know I was unbelievably difficult.  Thank you for putting up with me through the difficulties.  I don't tell you enough how much I love and appreciate you.
• My brothers David and Matthew.  See above--in some ways I think I've been a pretty good older brother; in other ways I know I could do better.  Time with you is one of the rarest treasures in my life, and I wish there was more of it.
• My friends.  The friend I mentioned above emailed me just to say how much she was appreciating my writing here, which was incredibly powerful and uplifting to hear.  I have a lot of people in my life like that, and I am truly lucky to call you my friends.
• My clients and students.  Second only to my marriage, my work with you fulfills me and gives me a purpose in life.  I'm deeply grateful for every opportunity to talk with you, to share your challenges and your joys, to be a part of your journey.  Thank you.
• All the little moments that remind me what a privilege it is to be here, like the one captured above, atop Drake's Head in Point Reyes with Amy in June.  Lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky.  That's me.

A Week in Point Reyes

Every year Amy and I try to get up to Point Reyes, and at the end of June we spent a week at a cottage up on the ridge in Inverness.  We'd hike all day, pick up some amazing local produce (like Marin Sun Farms steaks), grill dinner on our back porch, and collapse, exhausted.  And then do it all over again the following day.

One of our favorite hikes up there is the Tomales Point Trail.  This stand of cypress is all that remains of the Lower Pierce Point Ranch, about 2/3 of the way from the trailhead to Tomales Bluff.  I always wonder what it was like to live here 120 years ago:

We made it all the way to the end (9.4 miles out and back), and it was so satisfying to rest on the hillside, eat a simple lunch of Molinari salami, bread and water, and watch the loons and pelicans and an occasional seal.  (Or sea lion--I never really know.) The yellow lupine that looks so charming in the background was out of control this year.  Chest-high and occasionally over our heads and sprawling across the last mile of the trail.

Later in the week we went out to Tomales Point again to hike down to McClure's Beach:

A great discovery this trip was the Estero Trail to Drake's Head (coincidentally, also 9.4 miles out and back.)  We saw 4 people in a full day of hiking, and 2 of them were in the last 1/4 mile.  (In addition to the cows scattered across this section of the park, we saw 2 coyotes, 2 mother deer with their fawns, scores of bat rays swimming in Drakes Estero, and a red dragonfly.)  From the top of Drake's Head, 150 feet above the Limantour Estero:

Another new destination was Marshall Beach.  You have to drive 2.5 miles of gravel road to reach the trailhead, and from there it's only a 1.5 mile hike down to the beach, but here's the view of Tomales Bay (the beach is nestled in among the pines at right):

As I learned last year, the four best happiness strategies for me are Increasing Flow Experiences, Taking Care of My Body, Practicing Acts of Kindness, and Expressing Gratitude.  Although hiking isn't always challenging enough to be a flow experience, there were certainly stretches on the longer days where I felt a sense of meditative peace.  It was a gloriously physical week, from the daily exertion to the deeply satisfying food.  And although we were kind only to ourselves, I am profoundly grateful for the experience.  (Thank you, Phil Burton.)

Today in San Francisco

Nearly as many boats in the Golden Gate as sunbathers on Ocean Beach, thanks to an unusually warm and cloudless day.  Not a bad day to be alive, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to be here.

Looking Back On 2008

I spent this last day of 2008 tromping around Briones Regional Park with Amy.  It was our first visit to this spectacular corner of the Bay Area, and we couldn't have picked a better day for it.  The weather was perfect, but there was almost no one on the trails.

If you climb the Old Briones Road from the park's western entrance, as you approach Mott Peak (just over my shoulder in the shot above) there's a crude plank bench where you can sit and look back on the ground you just covered.  Here's the view:

It was an apt moment to do a little reflecting, and one thing I thought about was how little I've written this Fall and why.  My last post was nearly three months ago, on October 9th.  The following day three of our students--Viet Nguyen, Chris Sahm and Micah Springer--were killed in an accident when their car went over a cliff on Highway One near Big Sur.  I didn't know them personally, but the GSB is a small, tight-knit place, and their deaths affected me in a number of ways.  The accident also followed a 14-month period in which both my wife and I lost family members and had colleagues who did as well.

In the first few days after the accident, I didn't even have time to think about writing, but as the logistical burden and emotional intensity eased, I found that I still didn't feel like it.  My sphere of reference shrank and I was much more focused on the people I saw each day and my immediate experiences, and I was much less focused on interpreting my experiences or reaching out to others through my writing.  I continued to file away ideas for posts and made occasional notes, but I was hibernating and conserving energy, not expending it.

I see now that in keeping with William Bridges' model of transition, I've experienced a number of endings over the past two years, and I needed to go through a "neutral zone," a fallow and unproductive period, before anything new could begin.

But that view of the valley today has me moving again.  There's the symbolic renewal of December 31st, of course, but it's not simply the calendar turning over.  The personal losses that Amy and I experienced in 2007 followed shortly after my 40th birthday, and that period prompted a lot of thinking about mortality.  I emerged with a deep appreciation for my continued existence--that sounds trite, but it's the only way I can say it--and now I particularly value physical experiences that heighten my awareness of the preciousness of life.

And today was just that.  See you in 2009.

Six-Word Memoir

Tagged by Paul Hebert, I'll play along--although I'll take the liberty of adding a 7th word, courtesy of Dennis Hopper and the Golden Palominos:

A little older, a little more confused.

As proof, here's me over the past two days in Point Reyes National Seashore:

Driving out to Tomales Point on Sunday.

At the very tip of Tomales Point, which we only reached thanks to Amy's determination.  (Serious wind that day.)

Today on top of Arch Rock at the end of Bear Valley Creek--I'm smiling because I'm just 6 miles in and don't realize that the remaining 4.5 miles out (on top of yesterday's 9) will hurt.

Point Bonita Lighthouse

We visited the Point Bonita Lighthouse in the Marin Headlands today.  It's always beautiful, but Saturday, Sunday and Monday from 12:30 to 3:30pm you can actually walk out to the lighthouse itself.  Incredible views, even on an gloomy overcast day like today.  There are a few more shots in my San Francisco album, and here's some audio of the Bonita Cove Surf (MP3, 35 seconds).

Quail in Strybing Arboretum

After years of decline at the hands of Golden Gate Park's feral cat population, the local quail seem to be making a comeback.  I have no idea why, but it's heartwarming--they're just so damn cute.   (Here's another view.)  And I know that Strybing's new name is the San Francisco Botanical Garden, but I'm just old skool that way.
 

Golden Gate Park

Crystal Springs

Crystal Springs Reservoir is about 20 miles south of San Francisco, a bucolic gem right in the heart of the Bay Area.  Although the 23,000 acre watershed operated by the S.F. Water Department and Public Utilities Commission contains miles and miles of trails that remain off-limits to the public (an outrage that the S.F. Chronicle's Tom Stienstra has covered on a regular basis), you can access the Sawyer Camp Trail at its southern terminus near the middle of the reservoir, just north of Hwy. 92.  (Apparently it runs all the way up to San Bruno, but we just took a brief stroll today.)  If you squint at the lower left corner of the pic above, you can see a faint telephone pole.

It's a strange, lonely thing, long since stripped of any wires it once carried.  I love relics like this, artifacts of the Bay Area's historical transition from outpost to demi-metropolis. You see it in rundown fences and isolated posts on mountaintops, you see it enshrined in monuments, you see it everywhere once you start to look for it.