Keep Your Eyes Open!

Mindfulness isn't a word that many people use these days. It seems to have roots in Eastern religion; and colloquially means something like "focusing your attention on the present moment and the things happening immediately around you." I learned the word in Boston while I was traveling last year; I was telling a woman I'd just met that the reason I run without headphones is that I want to be fully present to my run; not trying to distract myself from it. She replied simply: "so it's about mindfulness for you." Mindfulness, I thought. That's a word I need to remember.

Of course, I'm terrible at practicing mindfulness. Some combination of my personality and my surroundings conspire to keep my attention drifting far away from me. Interest rates, internal rates of return, income-to-cost ratios, lease contracts, and a thousand other distant tiny details swirl around in my head and blind me to the thousand tiny details right here in front of my eyes.

My happiest moments are always when I'm present to the close details - a moonrise over the water on an island beach, a field of wildflowers in the high Rockies. This is why I hike: to surround myself with wide spaces that irresistibly draw my mind from my investment portfolio. This is why I run: I find speed brings an immediacy to my attention; I can't be bothered with interest rates when I'm seconds from tripping over that boulder.

Rhythms of Green

One of my favorite things about living at home this year has been watching how my mom's windowsills turn green in springtime. My mom is an avid vegetable gardener, and she starts her seeds indoors in February, then moves them outside into her raised beds and greenhouse over the next several months. So throughout the spring, even on snowy days, her house is awash in new plant life.

This annual rhythm of brown to green has always enthralled me. I love the concept of rhythm and applying it to common phenomena, whether it be the rhythm of the earth's orbit around the sun (we call this "summer and winter"), the earth's rotation about its axis (we call this "day and night"), the alternating compression and rarefaction of air in our ears (we call this "sound"), or the superfast vibrations of electric and magnetic fields interacting with our retinas (we call this "light").

Is that fair? Can I take a concept I normally associate with drums and dancing and say it's essentially the same thing as the planets orbiting the sun? I've always assumed the answer is "yes" - because I find that sort of analogy to be a compelling way of dealing with the world.

So, mom, thanks for dancing to the green drumbeat of the earth with your tomatoes and peppers - and I can't wait to join the dance with a tasty stir-fry come harvest time.

The Boulders Rush By

The cotton-ball clouds lazily drift over my head; brilliant blue sky peeks out from between the cumulus. The sun, when he shows his face, is blinding and warm - a wonderful complement to the gusty wind. The earth passes by under my feet. Gravel, boulders, shrubs, these are my ground. Cliffs rise around me, indifferent (or perhaps intentionally aloof? I can never tell) to my presence.

The rhythm of my running shoes on the coarse sand mingles with the scrub oaks' breezy rustling. Moments like these make me jealous of the boy in August Rush - not jealous of his hands, but jealous of his ears - could I hear symphony in the wind if I listened hard enough? I am out here on the bluffs for just that - I hope that the subtle sounds of nature may calm the spinning cacophony in my own head.

Hills, roads, paths, and dry creekbeds conspire to take me far from my car, and I don't much complain. Getting lost is one of the risks (some might say one of the thrilling benefits) of exploration, and I embrace my new unexpected location. On the second half of my run, my companions are cars and apartment buildings rather than shrubs and rock; I'll take it. Could be worse.

The ground never seems to tire of rushing under my feet! I, on the other hand, have not yet conquered my limits, so my time in the sun and wind eventually comes to an end. Like so many other times of seeking, I can't say with great clarity that I've found anything in particular. But at least the noisy chaos in my head has slowed; and for that I give thanks.

Something Beautiful

Foreboding wall of mountains

Beckoning me onwards

Towering through the clouds

Peaks alight in the sunrise

Draped with whisps of mist

Bejeweled with flecks of snow

Daring me to enter

To test my mettle against theirs

And find myself utterly lacking

Yet still I lift up my eyes

For the danger diminishes not the beauty