Sometimes Joy is the part that I skip over on the way to “getting to the next thing.” If Joy is in the details, I realize I am often glossing over the delightful minutiae of a walk in the woods. I am worrying about my knee, or if my daughter is smiling enough, or if I’m carrying enough weight in my pack to make the walk “worth it” or when we’ll be taking our next walk because we’ve committed to more walks in the woods this year, damnit!
Oftentimes I’m rushing, rushing, rushing. I am giving lip service to Joy and am glad I have made it out into the woods (win!) but now that I am here I am planning the next.
I try to notice these times when they arise, I try to remind myself there is no success or failure in such a visit to the trails and the trees. I am here, here is all I can be. There is an opportunity for detail in every step, every breath, every pause – even if the branches far away are a little fuzzy, or I have to pee, or the sound of my own uncaught breath is drowning out the bird sounds I crave. I try to JUST BE, just as I am.
What I notice when I allow the most insignificant moments to be inspected by my rusty curiosity: ferns still green in December; shrubbery twigs as a monotone kaleidoscope – I let my eyes water (because they are anyway) and see what happens when I allow my experience of nature to blend with the limitations of my body. My eyes are not perfect 20/20. They squint and blur and the twigs blur as well, blooming into quiet smears of gray and white until I realize my breath has slowed and my thoughts are quiet.
Is this moment any better or worse, superior or inferior? I don’t have my daughter’s eagle eyes or my husband’s wolf ears and sometimes I miss the hawk in the distant trees or the owl call in Night’s backyard. Sometimes I get out the binoculars, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I don’t because I am rushing onto the next thing. Sometimes I don’t because I am watching for shiny stones on the ground. I find flat ones and throw them into the reservoir even though I can’t get them to skip. I listen for the plunk and watch for the ripples.