The Distance Between Me and Myself

On Grief, Growth and Moving Across the Country

Last summer, in the candy colored twilight of a June morning, I whispered “thank you” to my empty apartment in Leimert Park. I packed the last of my things into my little Toyota, picked up my best friend and together we made the 2,682 mile drive to the east coast.

Me at the University of Southern California (2000)

Before this journey, I lived in Los Angeles for 29 years. Because I was born and raised there, I was able to meticulously craft a life for myself that I believed would result in me having everything I ever wanted. I understood that living in Los Angeles was more akin to a dream than most people’s realities and I was determined to die in the paradise that I’d always known.

At the time, I struggled to allow two truths to coexist. If I loved Los Angeles that meant I should stay there and it wasn’t up for debate. I had convinced myself that it was more logical to choose the illusion of stability than my insatiable desire for adventure. But I quickly learned that just because something is logical doesn’t mean it makes sense.

Like clockwork, all the illusions began to fall away. I could no longer pretend that I was satisfied and I didn’t have any desire to fight to keep up with my life. I had overstayed my welcome but I didn’t understand that yet. I just knew I was in pain and in desperate need of answers. So, I started hiking.

Portuguese Bend Trail, Palos Verdes (2024)

It makes sense on a lot of levels, if you think about it. In the vast expanses of mountains and valleys, my problems didn’t feel so overwhelming. I needed to be nourished and being immersed in nature’s beauty filled me with euphoria. Little by little, my pain was being alleviated by the same lands that had cared for me since birth. Coupled with the positive effects of exercise, I started feeling like myself again.

I stopped lingering in spaces that made me miserable. Instead, I spent my time hiking to hot springs and admiring flowers. I began to understand that the things I’d perceived as obligations for years—weren't. Los Angeles raised me and like a loving mother, she wanted me to leave home and experience myself apart from who I’d always been.

Stocker Corridor Trail, Los Angeles (2024)

The more I hiked, the more adventure became my standard of living. Every time I set out for a longer or steeper trek, challenged myself and endured, it reinforced my belief that I could do hard things and succeed. My cup was full and it poured over into other areas of my life. I decided to apply to my dream seminary and I got in.

It’s been a year since I journeyed across the country with hopes of getting closer to who I am. I’m no longer trapped in a prison of my own making, so I’ve had a lot of time to enjoy life and reflect. The solution seemed complicated when I was in it but it really came down to three changes.

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Tuna Canyon Trail, Malibu (2024)

Become enamored with the unknown. You don’t have to travel out-of-state or move to honor your need for adventure. Make decisions everyday that reflect your willingness to step into the unknown. Try different foods, learn a new language, switch up the genres you listen to. These experiences will stack up and your reality will begin to reflect your openness to explore. All of this increases the chances that you’ll take the opportunities to embark on bigger adventures as they’re presented.

Don’t be afraid of disappointment. When you’re transitioning out of ways of being that you no longer resonate with, it makes sense to feel guilt and grief about letting go. While it’s not inevitable, shifting into different interests and spaces might mean friendships and preferences change. It’s already disappointing enough that things didn’t go the way you expected. Be gentle with yourself. There’s a lot of disappointment involved, so it’s best to make space for it.

Be who you believe you are. What I’m describing is a metamorphosis of sorts. You’re entering a cocoon phase, dissolving to your essence and allowing yourself to miraculously be born anew. You have to commit to the process and believe that what’s calling to you is worth it. It was obviously difficult to go from mostly sedentary to hiking three to four times a week but I did it because I really loved who I was on and because of the trail. Take the leap, you’re worth the risk.