por Dani Reyes-Acosta
Lo alcanzamos? Loaded with meanings, this word stays with me, constantly. At every stage of my life, I’ve discovered different aspects of its significance, complexities unfolding as I ascend deeper and higher into the mountains. For this child of the sun, descendant of Filipino-Mexican immigrants and Spanish-Mexican settlers, alcanzar brings expectation and fear, together with possibility and reaching. Together, these meanings define me. Alcanzo lo que puedo. Sueño en posibilidades.
Expectation and Fear
Born in Santa Monica, California, I spent the first fifteen years of my life near the ocean. Surfing, biking, and swimming ruled my childhood in Playa del Rey, nearly as much as piano practice and extra homework. As my Tata reminded me once: “My little Danielle will be a great doctor or lawyer.” My father would have added “…or concert pianist.”
I’m not quite sure if the expectations on my young shoulders weighed heavier from the memory of recent immigration or our history as Californios. But expectation drove me to achieve in a way that I never questioned and appreciated only later in life. Expectation meant doing well, because no other option existed. It was for this reason that my mother had worked her summer breaks from UCSB in the grape fields. Inasmuch my father seemed to be established in Los Angelino culture, in our church, in our neighborhood, I sensed, deeply, the work he put in. Success wasn’t given: it was earned.
I remember the togetherness of our family’s experiences: annual trips to Mammoth or Big Bear showed me that car trips in the Cadillac could take us to wonderful places. Camping in the mountains of Southern California or gazing out the windows of Yosemite’s Awhawnee gave me a glimpse into a future I never expected I’d embrace.
When life took me to Fresno, in California’s Central Valley, I found adolescent solace in distance runs under the baking sun. I paddled for inner peace in the surf while attending the University of California, Santa Barbara (UCSB). I worked, tirelessly, to make lemonade from the lemons that life had given me.
When my maternal grandmother, who grew up in El Centro, CA, mocked the Castellano accent I’d picked up from studying abroad in Spain after my father’s death, I gazed at the palm trees rustling against an electric blue sky. I belonged out there, with the wind.
“The mountains have my heart, but the ocean owns my soul”.
Possibilities and Reaching
When I moved to Oregon for a competitive corporate job, I had two choices for recreation: volver al mar, a place I knew, or turn to the mountains. Nostalgia me llamó: the mountains held the secrets of my childhood, a happiness I hadn’t known for years. I bought a ski pass. I taught myself to snowboard. It was like surfing, a sport I’d known since 14. My employer had an indoor rock climbing gym; intimidated by the high-tech machines and former Olympic athletes found throughout the rest of the building, I went there to explore. The vertical realm intrigued me.
Six years and six countries later, an urge to explore the upper realm of lo posible has taken me to mountains like the Andes, Cascades, Coast Range, Rockies, Sierra Nevada, and Tetons. I’ve ticked off notable ascents (climbing) and descents (splitboarding aka backcountry snowboarding) not just for the sake of achievement, but often for something simpler. Joy and healing couple nicely with personal growth and empowerment.
My journey to climbing, together with hiking, camping, and snowboarding, didn’t just teach me that recreation could be a declaration of freedom. It was also an act of dissent, a rejection of a broader system and society that often tore me down and betrayed me. It was an assertion to my right for self-care and self-determination. Climbing and snowboarding didn’t just provide the happiness or empowerment many of us seek; they also gave me hope.
“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”
Audre Lorde
The tiny spark of hope I found hiking on the trail, climbing at the crag, or snowboarding down steep snowy faces turned into something bigger. The fire inside me began to burn brighter, stronger. Si alcancé subir this mountain all by myself, what else could I do? Could I hike by myself, lead climb up a tower, or build a community that supported me, unequivocally, in all I do? Could I put my energy and time into things that really mattered to me, and build a career and life I love?
Mountains give me a lens to see the role choice plays in my life, every single day. From the results yielded by the hours put into training or the support I receive from the community I’ve cultivated, intention guides where my energy goes.
Out here, up here, life looks different, feels newer. I can see that we are just individual musical notes in a symphony beyond our comprehension. So I risk things: playing my own tune, finding my own key. I step out of my comfort zone, often, and find rewards I never thought possible. I risk failure, too, because I know there will always be a lesson.
My experiences in the backcountry have helped me find my truest self and start to realize my greatest potential—whether as an individual or member of a bigger community. This is the joy of embracing that I am part of this ecosystem; this is why I go outside.
En búsqueda de los límites de lo posible o ser parte de la vida que nos rodea: por eso, me voy afuera.
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Dani Reyes-Acosta is a freelance brand strategist, educator, writer, and advocate redefining who plays outside and how we build community with others on this planet. She is also a splitboarder, climber, runner, and waterwoman partnering with several organizations to build a better future. Her work explores regenerative economies in the American West, how heritage and adversity inform identity, how inclusive marketing can pave the way to the future, and more. Learn more at DaniReyesAcosta.com.
