Through hardship to the stars: Per Aspera ad Astra

Editor’s Note: It feels somewhere between callous and cowardly to not address the escalation of racism-triggered anguish and action in the US from the last few days. Yet we recognize that AWExpeditions is made up of white folks, and that it is not our place to try and tell stories at this point in time - there are other voices that need to be heard. With that: meet Viviana.

Viviana Serrano - Summit Scholarship Recipient 2020 supported by AWE and the Cairn Project

“I know smiles in this world are worth fighting for, and that is exactly what I plan to do.” 

People are time capsules. Traveling between a psychedelic dream and their own reality---adventuring to capture and collect moments that contain a time, place, and emotion. Placing value in a wide variety of moments, making every capsule one of their own. Although we reserve more space for life defining moments, whether good or bad, I like to call these moments, L.P’s.

Little Peeks: moments in life where, as they’re happening, you know you will remember them for the rest of your life.

In the summer of 2010, a week before my 12th birthday, I went on my first camping trip to Sequoia National Park. I remember the crisp morning air as it swept against my nose as I stared out the window upon the Giant Sequoia Trees. Of course, at the time I had no idea they were called Great Sequoia trees; they were just REALLY. BIG. TREES. It was unbelievable how large these trees were in comparison to myself, and it wasn’t until the car had stopped and I planted my two feet on the ground that I realized just how great these trees were. I had always been the shortest in my class since Kindergarten, so feeling small wasn’t an entirely new experience. Growing up in the middle of Los Angeles, I had no idea how small I really was until I was face to face with a Giant Sequoia Tree. 

Of course, no great story exists without the context of another. Six months prior, I was finishing up my fourth grade year of Elementary School. At this time, it had been six months since last seeing my birth mother, let alone speaking to her. We had an on and off relationship that mainly took place on the phone for the last 8 years, excluding brief weekly visits. Many phone calls of “I Love You’s”, “I’ll see you soon, I promise” or “I’m on my way,” that never led to anything more than disappointment as I waited patiently by the door for her arrival. Eventually those visits became less frequent until she stopped coming altogether. It was difficult to determine what love actually meant beyond false promises, especially from a person that had promised to take care of me, but never put any effort into it. It made me wonder, “What was possibly more important than seeing your own daughter?” Later in life, I found out my mother was an amphetamine user struggling with her own addictions. I realized she was not capable of loving anyone else more than her own internal demons. I knew that she wasn’t the person I wanted to become, but I was simultaneously at a point in my life where I needed guidance. That space that I had left for her to fill diminished, and I began connecting more with my Dad and the people around me.   

I therefore had spent most of my childhood with my Dad. He told me that one day he would want me to succeed without the help of any “Man.” To him, that meant being able to take care of myself, feed myself, and build shelter. My Dad was born in El Salvador during their Civil War. He immigrated to America at the age of 7, so his idea of independence had been ingrained in his way of living from a very young age. I’ll never forget the first time I learned to build a tent with my Dad. We were in the heart of Sequoia, seeing wild cubs scamper behind their mothers. I also remembered the feeling of leaving Sequoia as bittersweet since I didn’t want to leave, but I knew I’d be back someday. Shortly after this camping trip, my Dad had a heart attack and was diagnosed with Kidney Failure. This meant no more camping trips, at least for the foreseeable future. We needed to be near doctors, have conversations about finding a kidney donor, and start on Dialysis treatments three times a week. It took a while to process what was happening to the person I cared about, especially because this was the person I came to care about the most in my life. 

As I was processing the health conditions of my Father, I turned to the place that I felt closest to him: Sequoia. Enjoying the place that he had so much joy showing me, the place we had connected with each other; the sacred space that held so much solitude, a place that held so many secrets of mine, and so many emotions. The more time I spent outdoors — on the local hiking trails like Sunset Peak in the San Gabriel Mountains — the more I began to notice that I didn’t see people like me. I didn’t see other people with braided ethnic curly hair tied back, I didn’t see people with a golden glow to their skin. I just didn’t see people like me. I had wondered if other people had used the outdoors for the same reasons I had, let alone shared similar experiences. It bothered me that I felt like I didn’t belong. I felt that my experiences didn’t feel accepted, partly because I did not accept myself for who I was. As I have written before, my time in the mountains had been a collection of self reflections. Mountain climbing has become an important component in the aspect of my life. I wanted to create my own image of a Woman with my own learnings. 

“A month into the program, my crew leader had a talk with me and said “Wy not lean into your experiences rather than being ashamed and hiding them.”

Fast forward to 2019, I was in my second to last year of college at the University of California, Irvine studying Microbiology and Comparative Literature with an emphasis in Russian. Working two jobs to be able to afford my necessities and commuting 5 hours a day by train to school and back. It was tiring. I remember I had seen this ad on Conservation Legacy to work with AmeriCorps at the Southwest Conservation Corps in Colorado. I thought maybe it was time to rekindle my relationship with the outdoors. I had always wanted to get involved in nonprofit work, so I signed up for a 14er backcountry crew before I even knew what a 14er was, saved up all I had and left. I faced multiple barriers, many of which I had seen before. Emotionally and financially of course, but also encountering other ethnic people in the outdoors simply wasn't a regularity. I was one of only the three other ethnic people in the entire program, yet the only Female of Color. I had come from a background that did not revolve around going backpacking once a year like many other people had done. I wasn’t sure if anyone in the group could relate to my experiences in the outdoors. I felt really inexperienced and unprepared. On our first hitch, my crew hiked up with their 50lb bags in 2 hours. It took me 5. It was absolutely embarrassing. A month into the program, my crew lead had a talk with me and said “Why not lean into your experiences rather than being ashamed and hiding them.” I had never heard of that before. I had always tried to hide from my experiences but ultimately those experiences are what has made me, me. For most of my life, my story has ONLY been my story. Sharing my story meant fitting into the molds of criteria of others, but that is not who I want to be anymore. I want to share my story so that other women can believe that regardless of their background, they too can experience the sweets of the outdoors. I met some of the most extraordinary people in Colorado, people that, to this day, are the reason I continue to move forward. I do it for my Dad. I do it because that is the place that he showed me, and every step is just another step towards me accepting who I am. That includes me, my story, and my hardships. 

“Every step is just another step towards me accepting who I am.”

Currently, I work at Kaiser Permanente in the Nutrition department and I’m also a Barista at Philz Coffee. I hope to continue my work in nonprofit work. Traveling outside the US by myself for the first time is absolutely terrifying. I had never considered it as an option, let alone climbing Kilimanjaro. It still feels unreal. I am most excited to share an experience with other people and to push my own mental limits that I have placed for myself. I plan on training for Kilimanjaro by running with weighted packs, jumping rope, and utilizing local hiking trails. In the middle of the quarantine in Los Angeles as things are changing daily, it is difficult to say for certain. My parents were shocked when I had told them about the scholarship. They of course questioned the legitimacy of the program and asked why this was an all-female expedition. I know for a fact, that if my birth mother had known I was climbing Kilimanjaro, she’d ask why. The answer to that “why” is because I want to define what a Woman means to me. I want to be able to see more Women out there to realize their strength. There is, of course, more details that are glazed over, so if anyone has any further questions about anything, I would be more than happy to talk to you. You can reach me on Instagram, @Viviautumn18. My family and I are currently still optimistically awaiting a Kidney Transplant and I am extremely excited to see where this takes me. I also discontinued the relationship with my birth mother to pursue my own understanding of what it means to be a Woman of Color without her. 

“I know for a fact, that if my birth mother had known I was climbing Kilimanjaro, she’d ask why. The answer to that “why” is because I want to define what a Woman means to me. I want to be able to see more Women out there to realize their strength.”

I think if I were to give advice to my past self, it would be to place myself in more uncomfortable situations. It really tests natural reactions and encourages learning experiences. I know I have learned the most about my capability by throwing myself in positions that I didn't think were a possibility. I know smiles in this world are worth fighting for, and that is exactly what I plan to do. 

Per Aspera Ad Astra - Latin meaning “Through Hardships to the Stars”.