Monday, February 9, 2015

Lying Under Trees: Wasting Time in the Great Outdoors



I spend a lot of time in my head these day. Anyone who follows this blog or who knows me personally knows I've recently been through divorce, the circumstances of which left behind many unanswered (and more than a few unanswerable) questions. Some months ago, I posted an arrogant column boldly declaring my quest for reason amid the storm, over. -- It's funny now to think I ever thought that was true.


Yes, since that column, I have continued to pad the pockets of Jeff Bezos & co., buying self-help book after self-help book. I realized a couple days ago, the book I'm currently studying -- because that's what I do, I study these books; they aren't entertainment, they're the Rosetta stone to the demise of my marriage -- 




-- was written by two comedians. No psychology training whatsoever. 




Nevertheless, I must confess even their layman's approach offered a few viewpoints I'd not previously considered.

And currently, I'm considering a lot of different viewpoints. A lot. The view from inside my head looks a little bit like this:



So sometimes it's a good idea to get out of my head. (Many would argue -- and some brave souls already have -- that the frequency with which that's a "good idea" far exceeds "sometimes.") 

Fortunately, I have dogs. And, though tolerant, they willingly admit they haven't gotten much out of my endless days spent poring through books with titles like, "It's Called a Break-Up Because It's Broken" and "Coming Apart: Why Relationships End." They much prefer my reading Amy Poehler's "Yes, Please." I laugh a lot more and the chapters are short, which means more snacks for them and me, both.




Nevertheless, I try to get out every day for a walk or a run with them. Some years ago, a respected runners' magazine featured an article advising me (as a master's [old] runner) to run only every other day to avoid longterm joint damage. I don't even know if that's still the prevailing theory, but I heard it once and that's good enough excuse for me to take every other day off. I mean, I enjoy running but let's not be ridiculous. (By the way, if that's no longer the prevailing theory, I'll pay you ten bucks to keep it to yourself.)




So on days I don't run, I mostly hike through the woods. All the little nooks & crannies give the dogs the opportunity to feel like the big bad hunters their ancestors were, so they can feel all righteous and supreme when their lying on their double-decker dog beds back in front of the fireplace at home.


"Only double-decker?"


I've also discovered a new indulgence while hiking. It's called "resting."

I've always fancied myself a bit of an athlete, so for me hiking is frequently equated with working out. In general, I prefer to just do my workout straight through, no breaks. In fact, it could be argued I vaguely resent taking fitness classes and being advised by the instructor to take a break & go get a drink of water. Breaks are for wimps! And who needs water? This isn't the Gobi desert!

So, while hiking, I typically only stop long enough to "refuel" (eat), then onward (and, usually around here, upward).




But here's the thing. I enjoy being outdoors. I like the trees -- actually, I love the trees. I tell them so all the time. 


A tree I had a crush on, in Corvallis, Oregon


And the earth. And the snow. And the grass and leaves and mud and streams and wind…. Yeah, I really dig the wind.




So then why don't I just hang out more when I'm hiking? Well, currently, it's because I've got this little professor in my head nagging at me to get back home to my homework. I've got some Very Important Questions that still need answering! And, let's face it, a warm fireplace on a cushy sofa with a warm mug of tea. Well, that's not a bad trade for a little more reading now, is it?

But lately I've been forcing myself to stop and smell the roses. OK, not roses -- maybe hemlock. Or pine. Or clean Alaskan air. Whatever. -- Be Where You Are. My mantra. And currently, my mantra involves me lying under trees, for however long I need to do that.




So, at some point in the hike (usually after I've been out a while), I'll come to a spot that seems especially lovely. A good place for a rest. And I'll do my best to rearrange my gear so I'm less likely to get snow down my neck or in my pants, and I'll just lie back on the snow. And look up.




I prepare to endure the inevitable dog-panic for those first few seconds as the greyhound mix, in particular, simply cannot understand why I would choose to stop moving for even a moment unless I'm injured, so she pounces around my head in some vague CPR-like movements. The husky mix also saunters over just to see if there are snacks involved. When both have satisfied themselves that I am neither dying/dead nor noshing, they quickly find some tiny woodland creatures (real or imaginary) to unleash their Inner Predators upon.




And … I just …. lie there.



I look up at the branches and marvel on their beauty, watching them sway in the breeze. I enjoy the soughing of the wind. I enjoy remembering there is such a word as "soughing." I quietly appreciate not hearing humans or human sound, other than the occasional jingle of one of my dogs' collars.

I let my entire weight press into the earth -- it's solid, it supports me no matter how heavy I try to make myself. -- In Life, I feel sometimes as if I'm always holding my body ready to flee at a moment's notice, never quite entirely relaxing into rest. But the earth has my back, literally in this case, and I can settle down into her with confidence.

Of course, in time, something almost inevitably interrupts the reverie. Usually, it's other humans coming up or down the trail -- I could let them go by & resume my meditation but usually by then the moment has passed; I'm not yet so Zen as to be able to recall it quickly or with grace. -- Sometimes it's the cold of the winter earth creeping up to remind me how vulnerable I am as a human out here in the big bad world and maybe I should just scurry back to my little den in the big city. -- Come to think of it, I may be getting a bit peckish.

So I gather up my belongings, desecrating the moment just long enough to snap a few photos with my phone, and head back to the car, dogs dashing ahead, having been glad for the quiet time at the playground but happy to be once more back on the move.




Meanwhile, I'm learning to embrace a new meaning of being out on the earth -- these days, less treadmill, more chapel.


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