I’m in Los Angeles for a week, and this morning, I decided to explore hiking near where I am staying in Laurel Canyon. I settled on Franklin Canyon, which sounded nice because it was described as lush with incredible views, and had two lakes. It was possibly too hot for hiking on this 100 degree day in the center of L.A., but I headed out there anyway. It was indeed a nice oasis in the city, with miles of trails and lakes with abundant wildlife, all tucked away in the hills behind the Beverly Hills Hotel. Before heading onto the trail, I snapped pictures with my cell phone of several turtles sunning themselves on the banks of the lake, and saw baby birds in their nests, fish, water fowl, lizards, all kinds of birds, etc. It was a Monday, and hot as Hades, so there was nobody else as crazy as me out there, but I wanted to check this area out, so I continued my way down a series of trails toward the head of the trail I had planned to take, a trail that promised to ascend to the top of the mountain with a view of the city all the way to the ocean.
When I got to that trail, I encountered a large number of California Department of Corrections prisoners in orange jumpsuits, clearing brush from the trail. About 10 of them blocked the way onto the trail, and another 20 lined the trail. Their supervisor was chatting with a ranger at the bottom of the trail, barely paying attention. I considered turning back as they all sort of stopped doing what they were doing and turned their attention to me. I was nervous as I saw that I would literally have to walk through the middle of them to go where I wanted to go, but turning back would be an overt sign that I was afraid of them, and I had come all this way…So I proceeded. Alas, the cliché I imagined in my head came to fruition, as they really did start whistling and muttering lewd things under their breath as I passed. They didn’t look like very nice guys. Some had prison tattoos on their faces, which can’t be a sign of wholesomeness.
I kept my eyes fixed and tried to ignore their leering, but after I had successfully made my way past all of them, my imagination took over. The supervisor was just one guy, and he hadn’t really seemed to be on the ball. One of the prisoners could easily slip out of sight and up the trail. These guys had clearly not seen a woman for some time, judging by their behavior, and they were already identified as unsavory men by the mere fact of their incarceration. I began to imagine that one or more had quietly headed up the trail after me. I imagined it quite vividly until it practically became a fact.
I started to walk faster. Mind you, this is up a steep incline in 100 degree weather. I saw pretty blurs of colorful flowers as I passed, but didn’t want to stop, because the bad guys would gain ground. I needed to drink water, and I actually had a water bottle with me, but didn’t think slowing down to get it and drink would be worth getting raped and murdered for. Like a crazy speedwalker, I hurried up the trail, red-faced and sweaty, glancing over my shoulder every few moments. When I came to a fork, I didn’t consult my map, but zoomed to the left, the general direction of my car.
Eventually, I got back to my car, parched, heart pounding, drenched in sweat. I had missed all of the scenery of that part of the hike that I worked hard to get to. I had missed the turnoff that would have taken me to the pinnacle that looked over the city to the sea. And that’s the lesson I took. When we move forward out of fear instead of a desire or want, we miss a lot of joy. And we cannot reach the same heights. When we move away from something instead of toward something, we are looking backward, and not at the new journey ahead. We can’t be open to the beauty that we encounter if we are motivated by fear, because we are working too hard to get away from our demons. And sometimes our demons are imagined, those stories we tell ourselves, the things we believe are going to kill us, like prisoners in orange jumpsuits pursuing us up the trail of our lives. And how can we climb and stop to smell the flowers or look at the wonder of life if we are on the run from our demons? They may as well have put me in an orange jumpsuit myself.
