A few months ago, I saved Andy Goldsworthy’s Wood Line on my “want to go spots.” It’s an art sculpture of eucalyptus branches laid down in a 1,200 zigzag on the southwest corner of the Presidio.
This morning, my friend Ariana and I walked the Wood Line. Ariana had visited SF before, but mostly for work & I was excited to show her a new nature spot here. She remarked the eucalyptus grove reminded her of the bamboo forests in Japan.
We first walked down a paved path, which had some incredible peekaboo views of the Golden Gate Bridge, then turned up into the eucalyptus grove.
I was telling her about a framework called “Homework for Life” I’d read about in Stories Sell by Matthew Dicks. The premise is you take a few minutes each day to reflect on small stories that happened that day, and over time your story lens would become sharper. It resonated with me, as I’ve always kept a notebook of just random things I notice & find there are often patterns I can draw backwards.
As I was explaining to Ariana this “Homework for Life” framework, we discovered a cutoff stump whose hollowed out insides revealed a green leaf held in place by a smooth stone.
“Where did the leaf come from?”
“Who put this there?”
“Where did the stone come from?”
We peppered each other with questions. I was trying hard to think of a meaning or answer for how this little column would connect when we came upon another stump, hollowed out with a leaf held in place by a smooth stone.
“It’s a pattern!” We excitedly began to look for other leaves held in place by stones.
We stopped to admire a plump little bird Ariana pointed out. Behind the bird, I pointed out a Barbie, missing clothes and certainly a hairbrush and covered in leaves. Ariana then said “Look, there’s a pikachu” Upon further inspection, there were tiny baby toys scattered all around a tree. Then Ariana discovered the tree was adorned by car air freshener ornaments with Sharpie-d greetings of “Merry XMas.”
What had appeared to be a normal tree, upon further inspection, was a story cloaked in mystery. Ariana remarked we could have totally walked right by and never known, unless we were paying attention.
We walked once more back up the trail, and I noticed a family taking photos, a daughter and son dressed in coordinating outfits, the mother & father holding a tiny dog. The photographer’s massive camera lens swung back and forth as they suggested a tilt of the head.
On the next zag, a father was trying desperately to get a sweatered boy to stop digging into one of the nearby trees with a large stick. Again, another photographer’s lens swung heavy as she turned to direct the mother to a solo shot.
And on the next bend, I saw a cream-colored golden retriever, two little girls in matching pigtails, and a man & woman joking with a photographer. A tell tale massive lens jostled against the photographer’s legs.
I wondered what their families’ Saturday mornings were like, getting their little ones ready for the photos, how the photos would look on fridges across the country in Christmas cards. I wondered how their lives had changed as they went from pets to kids, and Ariana mentioned how quickly their kids would grow up.
Walking through places with a writer’s lens makes every detail—a stray leaf, a forgotten Barbie, family photos—hold a hint of story. It’s interesting how noticing patterns, like the stone and leaf combination, almost feels like stumbling onto a secret language or inside joke of the place itself. The Homework for Life approach helps amplifies this, gradually layering meaning onto small moments until they become parts of bigger, evolving stories.
In addition to my own introspection, sharing this memory with Ariana was unique because the practice of looking back for meaning and patterns was unfolding right in front of both of us. By picking up on these little mysteries, we created our own shared story within Wood Line, a story others might walk past without a second glance.
This shared lens brought out surprises in a way that might have felt entirely different if I was alone. By voicing questions, bouncing ideas back and forth, and diving into small mysteries together, it allowed a deeper experience. Ariana’s perspective acted like a prism, splitting each moment into multiple angles, and in doing so, she helped build a memory we could both “own” and revisit.
“We had totally different experiences!” I still laugh when I think of my friend Gaby’s response to the piece “a postcard from sea ranch” I wrote on Sea Ranch after a trip with her & two of our closest friends. It’s amazing how shared experiences can branch into entirely different perspectives when we capture them in words.
Stories are never static; they shift and expand depending on who experiences or tells them. Writing this one made me think of how stories are layered by multiple observers, each seeing a different angle, much like Gaby’s response to my Sea Ranch piece.
It’s a reminder of the depth and richness that comes from sharing experiences with others who notice and reflect in ways that sometimes contrast, sometimes complement our own.