Ed Batista

Appreciating Life at Point Reyes

While thinking about a student who's seriously ill and sending good thoughts his way, I'm finding it comforting to recall a trip Amy and I took up to Pt. Reyes this past December, during the week between Christmas and New Year's.  Amy's dad Rich had recently been diagnosed with cancer, and Amy had spent the two weeks prior to Christmas back in New Jersey, helping her parents navigate the medical system and begin his treatment.

Amy was glad she could be there for her parents, but it was a stressful time for everyone, and we knew that her ability to be a source of support depended on both of us taking some time out along the way.  So she came home to San Francisco for the holidays, and we put up a Christmas tree for a few days before heading up to Marin.

On our first hike that week we took Sky Trail to Woodward Valley, and then we wound our way down to the coast.  Fog was creeping up from Bear Valley, but the coast was clear enough to see the Farallons.

We made our usual trek out to Tomales Point, and the tule elk were incredibly active.  One male chased another for several hundred yards, just off the trail, stirring the rest of the herd into movement.  (No, not here, but trust me, they were running wild.)

I took a solo hike up to the top of Point Reyes Hill, down to the coast via the Bucklin Trail, and back up via the Bayview. The view of Point Reyes from the summit was spectacular:

I'd never been down Bucklin before, and it was so isolated it was spooky. I came across a relatively recent deer skeleton right on the trail, as well as an endless variety of mushrooms:

A challenging day, as these "Half-Way" and "Almost Done" shots make clear:

Our last day we went to Kehoe Beach for the first time. I love the pastures that roll right up to the dunes:

There was a minus tide that day, making the beach hundreds of yards wider than usual and exposing huge rock formations that are usually covered in surf. A stunning way to end our trip:

The reality of Rich's illness was always on our minds, and we knew that Amy would be returning to New Jersey shortly, but it was helpful to spend just a little time in this most beautiful place, not to shut out the reality of death, but to appreciate life even more.  So as my student R. is locked in a tough battle with cerebral malaria, I'm not surprised to feel a keen sense of appreciation for every aspect of life, particularly as it's expressed in a place like Pt. Reyes.

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 Little Perspective

My day was going badly--traffic jams and missed phone calls and rescheduled meetings. I wasn't blaming anyone but myself (and the unknown forces behind all that traffic), but I was feeling increasingly annoyed with the world, and I still had another 40 minutes to go in the car. I could tell that things were only going to get worse from here.

And then, in a moment of inspiration, I had a little dialogue with myself:

Do I need to continue down this path?  Do I need to push on?

No.

Could I turn around and go home?

Yes.

OK, then.  New plan for the day.

I was on 280 in San Bruno, and I took the next exit to turn around and return to San Francisco. As I pulled off I saw signs for Golden Gate National Cemetery, a huge facility that I've driven past more than a thousand times but have never visited--until today.

I took a short detour, passed through the gates and drove slowly up to the summit of a huge mound at the center of the cemetery.  The view today was almost identical to the photo above (thank you, Pargon), although the Memorial Day flags were gone.

Looking out over the graves of 139,000 veterans was sobering, and it put my "bad day" in perspective very quickly. It was blustery and sunny, weather that makes me feel very much alive. Being surrounded by the memories of so many people who had sacrificed their lives while I could stand there and enjoy the sun and the wind helped me see just how meaningless and insubstantial my problems were and how much I have to be grateful for.

So the first lesson I learned today was how easy it can be to stop and reverse course when things are not going well.  Sometimes persistence is called for, and sometimes it's a failure to consider all your options.

And the second lesson was that even when things seem not to be going well, they really are. Really, they are.

Photo by Pargon.

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.

Some Day You Will

Some day you will

I saw this plank nailed to a telephone pole in my neighborhood this afternoon, and I found its cryptic message both reassuring and daunting.  It offered encouragement, but it also challenged me to step up and make something happen.  It made me pause and think about all the things I'm not doing now but that I will do...some day.  What things?  And when?  And is some day... tomorrow?

Steve Young on Readiness, Confidence and Humility

The photo on the right by the late Mickey Pfleger is one of my favorite sports images.  It's a shot of San Francisco 49er quarterback Steve Young in an exhibition game on August 14, 1995. Having lost his helmet, Young still scrambled for an 8-yard gain--and this happened after Young had led the 49ers to victory in the Super Bowl earlier that year, making his eventual selection to the NFL's Hall of Fame inevitable. He had nothing to prove, but in a meaningless exhibition game, he still couldn't help but go all-out. I fully agree with Charles Barkley--athletes and rock stars aren't role models--but Young's a thoughtful guy, and I do find his dedication inspiring.

I'm thinking about football because the NFC and AFC Championships to be held in Phoenix and Pittsburgh tomorrow mark the conclusion of the 2008-09 NFL season. (The Super Bowl's of interest to marketing execs and fans of the two teams involved, but it's more pop-culture festival than football game.) So here's a quote from an interview with Young last September 3rd on KNBR that has stuck with me:

Don't waste a snap, don't waste a moment. Every time that you get in practice, scout team, I don't care, if there's a moment that you're...working on your craft, you act like you're going to be the greatest player ever, and you take every opportunity to learn from it and make sure you're ready. Because if you don't waste this time, and you prepare like you're going to start every day, then when your chance comes, your window opens and you'll go right through it. If you don't, and you wait for it to kind of come around and complain and moan...then the window opens, sooner or later a window will open, and you'll have wasted your time, and you won't make it happen.

I appreciate Young's primary point about readiness--the longer I live, the more I want to make the most of every every experience.  But he's also making a deeper point about attitude and approach:

If there's a moment that you're working on your craft, act like you're going to be the greatest ever, and take every opportunity to learn from it.

The paradox embodied in that sentence jumps out at me: Act as though you're the greatest ever and take every opportunity to learn. Exude confidence and embody humility.

We're constantly encouraged to do one or the other, but it's striking to realize how much more powerful it is to do both at the same time.

Photo by Mickey Pfleger. © All rights reserved.

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.

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.