One Road, Different Story

The first four months of this year, my husband and I were living in the Coachella Valley in California.

We stayed near Desert Hot Springs, tucked between the San Bernardino and San Jacinto Mountains, just north of Palm Springs. The area sits on the San Andreas Fault line. This fault activity helps heat the groundwater and creates the naturally occurring hot mineral springs the area is famous for. That’s why it’s known for its spa resorts and wellness spots. We were also really close to Joshua Tree National Park. And fun fact: like Joshua Tree, this place actually sits in two deserts—the Colorado and the Sonoran.

There’s a stark contrast between the cold, wet, gray winters of the Pacific Northwest and the warm, dry, sunny days of the California desert. You could say both places are dormant in winter, but I feel so alive in the desert. I’m a lizard in my natural habitat—I feel an energy there.

This was our longest stay in the desert, and it confirmed what my husband declared upon returning to Oregon: “We’re desert people.”

Looking back on my time in the desert, I have no regrets—and that feels like something good. I spent my time well—with my husband and with friends who came to visit. One friend I hadn’t seen in ten years came for two nights, and there’s been so much wisdom continuing to bubble up from our brief time together.

This dear friend and I have several parallels in our lives. We’re both living sober lifestyles—she’s celebrating fourteen years, and I’m at three. We’ve been on a similar health and fitness path. We met during yoga teacher training in Berkeley, CA. I was new to California and desperate to make friends. Our first hang was brunch in San Francisco. I declared I’d be ordering my usual mimosa, and she said she had recently quit drinking. I thought to myself, Well, this will never work. I’m grateful that the story I had—I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t drink—didn’t stop our friendship from unfolding.

Our reunion in the desert led to an unforgettable walk for me. My friend has a daily practice of waking early and going for long, fast walks—an hour or two every day. It’s part of how she stays mentally and physically well. She just knows everything is better when she does it. I also have a daily walking practice. I also know everything is better when I do it. In fact, I’ve been trying to hit 10,000 steps a day since 2020—five years now. And guess what? I thought I’d be there by now. I walk every day, sometimes twice, and my average is just over 7,000 steps a day.

I have so many well-rehearsed stories about why I can’t get to 10,000 steps. One is that there’s “nowhere for me to walk.” I get that it sounds ridiculous—but when it’s repeated in my head, it feels like a fact. Another story is that I “can’t walk in a repeated pattern.” I can’t loop twice, or walk back and forth. I need a route that doesn’t repeat. These aren’t facts, but they feel like unshakable truths in my head.

One morning, as she was coming in from her sunrise walk and I was heading out for my usual 40-minute stroll with my dog Zoey, we crossed paths. I asked where she had walked. She pointed down a desert path I’d never bothered to try, and toward a road she called 22.

“Where’s 22?” I asked.

“It’s that road right there,” she said, pointing not far from where we were standing—right near where I walk every day, usually twice a day. She said she’d walked back and forth on it that morning.

I had no idea that road even existed. I never bothered to try a different route. I walked the same path every day and wondered, Why can’t I get to 10,000 steps?

I want to point out: after she told me this, I didn’t think, Awesome, I’m going to try that now. Nope. I walked my usual route. Logged my usual time. Got my usual number of steps.

It was a few weeks later—on the second-to-last day I’d be in the desert—when I finally decided to take that other route. I headed down the desert path, away from my usual track, and onto the mysterious Road 22 that had been there the whole time.

As I walked, I was thinking, Of course there’s plenty of space for me to walk. Of course I can repeat a route, walk in a circle, go out and back and out and back again.

I was also thinking, I’m so grateful for this friendship—for this spark. I’m so lucky.

I was walking down Road 22 when I looked down and saw a horseshoe.

Now, I don’t know how many horseshoes you’ve found while walking, but I’ve never—ever—come across one in my life.

I picked it up and put it in my pocket.

“Thank you,” I said out loud to the universe. I felt like it was a sign, and I felt deeply grateful for it.

Then, as I continued walking—I found another freaking horseshoe!

“No way!” I shouted. I picked it up and put it in my other pocket. I mean, how could I ignore this? I wasn’t about to strip the magic from the moment.

I mailed one of the horseshoes—along with the story—to my friend for her birthday.

I’m reminded:
Take a different path.
Try another way.
Stay open to options.
Ask a friend.
Question the story you’re telling yourself.

Thank you for reading this. I hope you'll come back. I'll be over here.