reconnecting with outside

I have a porn stash, but it's not what you think. I have subscriptions to Outside Magazine, Backpacker and always pick up the new, thick and lavishly photographed edition of SUP Journal. I pour over their glossy photos, read articles about far away places and draw my own conclusions about which gear is truly "essential". I then indulge in lengthy fantasies about adventures somewhere else.

This is all done from the comfort of my soft chair as I gaze into my own back yard. No camping trips on the books or other adventures. The reservoir I was going for my paddleboard fix is nearly dry--Summer solstice has arrived and I am suffering a huge outdoors deficiency. I make this lament nearly every year but this year is particularly poignant. I spend time in my garden every day and take frequent walks but if anything it makes me more keenly aware of how precious and fleeting this time of year is. I'm just as much of a freak about summer as I am about spring--every peach, every flower, every fresh ripening thing seduces me on multiple levels. Everything is alive right now--as alive as it will be before it starts receding towards the darkness of autumn and winter. I starve for it.

But like anything else, a grand gesture will not soothe my desire to connect. Small things, small things.

I noticed just the other day how I work against smelling things too much. I'm not sure why except I suppose I'm guarding against exhaust or other unpleasant industrial smells. So much so that in an unguarded moment I was shocked to realize how fragrant my lavender bushes are--enough to notice without trying.

Some things have come up in my personal life that are really hurting my heart and literally making me feel tired. I was asking for help but I couldn't escape the feeling that I was the only one who could fix a certain thing that had come up. For a full week I buzzed from one high priority emergency to the next, not really focusing and not knowing what I should be doing. The mountain of things I "should" do loomed ahead of me but both the outline was unclear and what steps I should take evaded me. I felt my ability to "lead" my situation had tapped out and the only way forward was a direction I really didn't want to take. The whole matter made my heart and stomach clench with anxiety.

I came home from a particularly difficult day, droopy and defeated. I flopped in a chair feeling somewhat helpless. I looked at the disorder surrounding me but had no energy to even clear off the kitchen table. The house was stuffy and hot. I got up and opened the sliding glass doors to my backyard wide and stepped onto the cool concrete patio. At first I fretted that I needed to check on what needed watering and rescue from the heat but I stopped. Crickets were singing and my sun caressed sacred white sage was giving off a heady, resinous perfume. I sat down on the aging redwood bench and remained still. It felt good to just stop. I opened my senses to the moment--my hearing, my sense of smell and all the finer feelings that I mute out during the course of the day.

The sky shifted from rose to lavender and one by one the fairy lights winked on. I noticed the cool feeling the evening had as the outlines of the plants in my yard faded darker. My cat Miso came and curled up in my lap and I sat there for several more long moments noticing the shift all around me--none of it my own doing. I continued to do nothing. I was ok.

I felt much better the next day. The mountain was still there but I could see some small things to do. Miss Keri took a large burden from me by doing some important research that I couldn't manage on my own. Later that day my sister called with some extremely good news. For the first time in days I started feeling hopeful.

When I started writing this I wanted to actually exhort you all to try to find time outside as a daily practice but something didn't feel right about that. The sweet power of going outside and seeking stillness was always there for me even in the middle of my chaos. Even though I didn't have enough time and the thought of another practice made me droop, the healing and regeneration of a few quiet moments outside were waiting for me to accept them. Slowing down, noticing, breathing, sensing--these are the things that help me refill on the inside. Not manic doing. Not another list. Not another "thing" to accomplish.

We all do things daily. Some are rejuvenating and some are not. And some habits, even well intentioned ones, won't help if I'm not present for them.

Before rushing off to plan an adventure, a doing or even another practice, try sitting outside for a few moments. Even in the heart of an urban environment life abounds--birds, plants pushing up through cracks, patches of dirt. Find the life around you and allow yourself to experience it on as many levels as you can. Open your hearing to all sounds, your nose to all smells, your eyes to unnoticed things, your skin to feel the warmth or coolness or the stirring of air. Just be with it. Notice what happens inside yourself. That is where the adventure happens.