Outdoor Reflections Vol. 1

Stewardship in a Time of Fire Pt. 1

Lately, I’ve been struggling with whether what I’m doing with my life actually matters. I know I’m not the only one feeling this way—especially with everything going on in the world right now. The weight of it all feels even heavier knowing how deeply these events are affecting global Indigenous communities. For context, when I use the word “Indigenous,” I’m talking about all peoples of the Global South—those who’ve suffered under colonialism and still carry its weight in their everyday lives.

It’s made me question the value of my own work. What is it that I even do?

The original reason I founded Warpaint Outdoors was to bring content into the world through a BIPOC lens—something I felt was missing. Over time, through small event planning and hosting BIPOC rides and clinics, we grew into something bigger: a platform telling stories that reflect the real, lived experiences of BIPOC folks in outdoor spaces. We show what it’s like to step into these white-dominated environments and carve out space that feels authentic and safe.

These days, we still host events and rides, and I’m also working to refocus energy into our digital magazine and collaborate with local Indigenous organizations to offer bike education and youth activities. That part feels especially needed right now.

Still—back to the bigger question—does it really matter? Is it making a dent in this messy world?

I try not to let these questions wear me down. I remind myself that work rooted in justice, community, and healing doesn’t always yield visible outcomes. Warpaint has opened space not only for BIPOC communities but also for members of the dominant (Western) culture to listen, reflect, and grow. And trust me, I’ve had plenty of conversations—some supportive, some exhausting—with folks who question the value of BIPOC-only events:

“Don’t you think that’s divisive?”
“Isn’t that excluding white people?”
“Aren’t you trying to diversify the outdoors?”

It gets tiring, but it never feels like wasted energy. Whether I’m too burned out to do more than recommend a book, or I’m deep in a two-hour conversation about equity and space-making, there’s always a sense of moral satisfaction. That feeling—that what I’m doing contributes to something bigger—keeps me going.

But it’s harder lately. The ongoing ICE raids—including in my hometown of Los Angeles—the genocide in Palestine, and other acts of violence, displacement, and social injustice across the world, especially in Africa and the Middle East… It’s a lot to carry. It makes me question if what I’m doing is enough. If it’s worth it. If my drop in the bucket even ripples.

Over the last year, I’ve been influenced by Indigenous scholars and friends who’ve helped me reconnect and reframe my own journey. The more I read and engage in conversation, the more I see the common threads—shared values, shared histories, shared trauma. And I see clearly how so many of our global struggles are rooted in colonialism and the continued dominance of Western systems and values.

It feels like the world is out of balance. Like the collective energy is off, and something deep is trying to course-correct.

I want to believe that what I’m doing is part of that rebalancing. That thought helps me keep moving.

Helping my local BIPOC community connect—or reconnect—with nature through recreation matters. So does educating those who don’t yet understand why that’s so important. Many people don’t realize (because they’ve never been taught) that there have been real, traumatic efforts to sever our ties to land, culture, and joy.

As Indigenous people—or descendants of Indigenous peoples—our spirits are deeply tied to the land. Whether you describe it as blood, DNA, or simply soul, the truth is the same: we don’t see nature as a resource to be owned or exploited. We see it as something we’re part of, something sacred and reciprocal.

We are stewards of the land because the land is a part of nature, as we are a part of nature, and in taking care of nature we are caring for ourselves.

The sooner more of us return to that way of being, the sooner we can begin to heal—not just ourselves, but the earth too. And healing the earth includes healing people.

I wrote this hoping it would be cathartic for me in some way. Thanks for taking the time to read it. I hope you find something in it that speaks to you.

Here’s to returning to harmony—with nature, with each other, and with ourselves.

— Ruandy