The morning sunlight glistens in the frost on the roof of the house next door. Two planes race across the sky, one trailing the other, both leaving short white streaks in their wake. It’s barely 9am and already the day has been full of modest desires, lots of “I shoulds,” and anticipating the mild disappointments I’ll face later when I reckon with my decisions.
It’s sunny. The sun hasn’t made this strong a showing in about week – though it feels even longer than that. It’ll get into the low 50s today. My first “I should” disappointment comes from deciding not to hike. I should take advantage of this day and hike. I went on a hike yesterday and had decided I would do a longer hike today. I was up early enough to get out the door, but I quickly started stacking up reasons not to. I’m tired, it’s hunting season. it’s cold, I feel like writing, maybe sitting in a coffee shop would be nice, a walk downtown could be just as good (it really can’t), I should get some stuff done to prep for the week, etc. etc. BUT…. this might be one of the last nice days for a while – I might not get the chance to hike later…. It’s the type of day when I’d love to cede my decision making to someone else – “what do you want to do today?” I could enjoy any of the choices – a hike, a coffee shop, or just bumming around. I’d cite Frost and his “two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” but then I’d be reminding myself of the fact that I chose to avoid the woods altogether.
Yesterday’s hike started out cold, damp, and gray. The sun struggled to brake through, but at least the light mist of rain was brief. It was a short hike, a few miles and a little over two hours. There were great views, a challenging climb, and lots of quite time to think. In that hush when all I could hear were my steps on the leaves, I became hyper aware of my thinking. I became mindful of which thoughts were “intruding” and which ones were inspired by the moment. I liked the long-term forward thinking – contemplating how the young pines will eventually replace the old and dying oaks. Geological time has a way of putting things into perspective. I cared less for my practical forward thinking – today would be a good day to have soup for lunch, what meetings do I have this week. Walking and thinking was a type of meditation. There was an awareness of process. When certain thoughts crept in, I simply acknowledged them and told them this is not their place nor their time.
I paused a few different times to take pictures and type notes on my phone – a habit I picked up on my long walks in Memphis. For a while, I walked around the top of the mountain with views of the valley peaking through the trees to the left of the trail. When my eyes drifted, it was always to the left to catch a glimpse of a view…. This made me sad for whatever splendor I might be missing on the right side of the trail. I personified those trees and imagined how lonely they might feel… how they might put on the most spectacular display in the fall, and everyone who walks by focuses their gaze in the other direction. I walked on some moss and had expected a softer carpet feeling, and then felt a little guilty knowing I just walked on a living thing. I imagined at the molecular level a type of Armageddon with cells bending and bursting under the weight of my foot. These are the things I would write down.
I don’t think this way during a normal day. This seems to be the benefit of quite solitude (and maybe a walk in the woods). My mind feels more active and alive when I give it some space – when I turn off the music and the noise of social media and personal conversations. The effect typically lasts well beyond the moment. After my hike I came home and showered and thought about chemistry. I wondered how there could be pollution if everything that exists in the world had already existed. Matter can neither be created nor destroyed. Chemistry. We take oil (something natural) and turn it into plastics (something less natural). I imagined that the first chemists were a lot like carpenters and builders – combining two things to make something new. Fire turns the logs to ash and smoke. This process, combination, is at the heart of so many things in life. Relationships have a chemistry to them. Two people that existed separately combine to form something, a we, that didn’t exist before. It feels like there’s a poem in there. The chemistry of fire and synthetics and the spark of eye contact over drinks on a warm June evening.
Not that these thoughts are profound or unique or even all that interesting. But for me, these are spaces worth exploring. This is how I assimilate the outside world with the world within. It’s so easy to not go down these paths. It’s so easy to not pause. It so easy to dismiss or simply look in the other direction.
I’m not going on a hike today. I’ll have regrets about that on and off. It’s part of the self-imposed conflict I face as someone who likes to create. Stimulus vs. reflection, experience vs. creation.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
…
And both that morning equally lay
…
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.