Desert 365
Today marks one full year since we took a leap of faith and moved our whole ass lives down south to Joshua Tree.
There was no way for Spencer and I to have known that a pandemic, explosion of racism, dismantling of the prison industrial complex, economic depression, lack of job security, and more would follow. We just thought a change of scenery from San Francisco was needed.
I have been reminiscing on lessons I have picked up in the past 12 months since trading in city hustle for desert life. Here is what I’ve learned so far.
1) The desert will suck you dry. I booked a massage the week after we moved down to the high desert to treat myself, and lamented about this to the therapist. She immediately put me in the mindset that to look and feel parched was certain death - maybe not the softest of introductions into my new environment, but one that has stuck with me. I changed my beauty regime to make sure my skin didn’t dry out, acquired accessories to help stay refreshed (tank tops and cooling towels FTW), and purchased bottles to take with me shopping, hiking, and driving so that I always had water (these are all different for a reason, trust me) (and double insulation is required, non-negotiable). If anything, it has been a valuable lesson in self care and precaution in order to stay hydrated.
2) There’s actual seasons in the desert. The biggest lie I believed was that it was always a balmy 75-80F in this neck of the California desert, peaking around 90F in the summer. Sounds dreamy, no? Well, because we’re at elevation, and in combination with dry heat with low humidity, it turns out it fucking snows here in the winter. We were blessed to have a white Thanksgiving and white Christmas in 2019, wherein I learned that 15F degree chill is painful when you are not wearing a bra. Thankfully the snowfall is limited to a handful of days and we’re not really ever at risk to being snowed in. Yet, I am so grateful we did not sell any of our thick, industrial snow gear. And the summers? Having now experienced highs of 115 during my first summer as a Joshua Tree resident, I have to say it’s not as bad because of that low humidity and constantly getting a breeze. Palm Springs doesn’t fare as well, since all their heat gets trapped in a canyon. But I have always been one to favor warmth, plus, the nights more than make up for dealing with scorching temperatures during the daytime. Sitting on my patio in a sundress at 9pm with no jacket is pretty baller. And the fall/spring time seasons are a true balance of hot and cold, making it the peak time to visit.
3) The desert is always actively trying to kill you. We have an inside joke that living in the desert is one of the most metal things in the world - the landscape is gorgeous, but there is also always the possibility of death. And it’s true. Humans were not really designed to live in such harsh conditions, and there’s a certain level of adaptability you have to embrace in order to endure the climate. The majority of plants down here have at least two layers of protection so that you don’t fuck with them, and much of the wildlife is always on the prowl to bite or sting you. Faced with injury and possibility of fatality, the desert has taught me more about my position in the food chain, and my place in relation to nature, way more than when I lived in a major city. And that appreciation and desire for wildlife to flourish has also helped oddly instill a sense of conservation I wish came sooner. I’ve picked up tactics to not only survive and be comfortable, but also hopefully to benefit the habitat I am lucky to be apart of.
4) The desert will make you face some real fears and truths about yourself. This weirdly relates to the previous point. When you are left alone in an expansive, quiet space with no large visual distractions, it leads to some pretty deep contemplations about understanding who you are as a person. You are often left to your own reflection that may not have been possible amongst the noise and maelstrom of a busy city. I began to critically look at what my priorities where, what I was thankful for, and when COVID-19 hit, having the physical and emotional capacity to determine my next steps was integral for my sanity. Yet, this also had the opposite effect at moments. If you have too much time on your hands, letting your mind pounce on your previous failures, on the uncertainty of your talents can weigh deeply and feel devastating to personal growth. It wasn’t until I realized that I’d never sat down and addressed this despair and sorrow in a healthy way, at my own pace, that I could use this as leverage to cultivate change. There’s an old saying that people escape to the desert to run away from something, or to start anew. I like to think I did a bit of both.
Other micro lessons include:
Map where you’re going before driving out to your destination to make sure your car can handle soft shoulders, lest you get stuck and require someone to pull you out
Take your time finding friends, whether it’s through MeetUp, social events, or online; the older we get, the harder it is to find people, so spend the time to invest
Keep a pair of tweezers and tape nearby when you’re gardening, as you are sure to acquire a glochid in your skin
How a whole town collectively decided they were going to really only operate between 7am-12pm is hard for a night owl like me, but I am slowly getting there
Truth be told, I don’t know how long we’ll be down here. The coronavirus has introduced a lot of uncertainty in regards to long-term plans. But, I do know the time I’ve bided so far has been some of the best months of my life, and I am grateful that we had the chance to experience the desert in all her glory.













