Goofing Off

I met up with my dog-walking neighbour on the forest trail a while back. He had a guest visiting from Europe, who asked me where my dog was. 

I could have explained my dog-less walk by saying that I'm walking for exercise, or for fresh air, or to clear my mind. But I walk the trails because I feel good in the trees. Pure and simple. 

In our grind culture, walking for pleasure may look like a waste of time. Unproductive. Lacking purpose. And maybe it is. But do I need a purpose to walk the forest trails? Do I need my walk to be productive? Can't I just be goofing off?

By focusing more on the walk and less on the purpose, I can take in the scents, and the sounds, and the changes in temperature. I can linger to look at a flower. I can veer off in another direction if something catches my eye. I can pause and listen to the creak of the trees. Walking for pleasure calls to the kid in me who may have whiled away an afternoon in exploration and sensation. 

This is meaningful. 

Maybe we need to goof off more often.

Cats can be assholes

Cats can be assholes.

But they also sense when we are sore or sad or sick and they come close to bring comfort. My sister’s cat wouldn’t come near me until that one day when I was feeling awful. It hopped up beside me on the sofa.

I thought it odd at the time, but now I see it as a form of love. The cat came close out of the goodness of its heart.

The goodness of its heart.

The stuff out of which we are all made. 

We are all composed of goodness. The cat. Even an asshole cat. Even an asshole person. Or a tricky awful situation. All composed of goodness. 

Can I relax my heart and meet these things with the same goodness? Can I meet that stupid, unsolvable problem with tenderness?

Why not? Cats do.

People do stuff for good reasons

A friend with diabetes turns to sweets when she needs comfort. A schizophrenic turns to cigarettes because the nicotine eases his symptoms. I may know that these things are harmful, but there is a logic to their choices.

Some years ago, a new neighbour had a 'getting-to-know-you' thing planned. When she invited me, I told her I'd be delighted to come if I was feeling up to it. Rather than saying something like, "I hope you come," she said "You need to push yourself to do things outside your comfort zone." She caught me on a cranky day; I had no tolerance for even mild bullying. Rather than letting this slide, I asked her "What makes you think you are qualified to tell me what I am up to and what I am not?" Her mouth closed with a snap. She blinked a few times. And said no more. I realize she had pretty good intentions. In her mind it was a form of encouragement. She's a pretty nice person overall. But, no. Not today.

People do stuff for good reasons. Stuff we don't like. Stuff we don't think they should do. Stuff that we know will likely lead to a bad end. Yet it's theirs to do. When we don't recognize the intelligence that's already there, our intervention changes from helpful advice to bullying.

People do stuff for good reasons.

A nice place to sit and have a picnic

When I walk through the woods, my favourite spots are the ones with heavy tree cover but a view to the world outside. 

When I came across one of them in the forest, I thought, "This would be a nice place to sit and have a picnic." It was surrounded by trees and shrubs, making the spot all but invisible to those looking in, yet I could see what was going on in the meadows next door.

I came across another today as I walked through the cedars. The second I stepped out from under their cover, the energy felt different. I stepped back into the trees. It felt better. Not just to the senses, but my body felt more at ease.

In the light of turbulent world events, I'm not surprised that this kind of place is where I feel the best - tucked away fairly safely but still aware of the broader picture. 

And I wonder how much of that is biological.

Bambi and Thumper and Flower

It occurred to me as I went through the forest trails and caught the scent of skunk that my childhood Disney-like fantasy of being in the forest and having deer and mice and chipmunks and bunnies and squirrels and birds around me has come true.

Not the way I imagined. But great anyhow.

A doe gives birth in this area each spring. If I'm really lucky in early June, I can catch a glimpse of the fawn. A cottontail doe nests under the cedar trees at the bottom of our yard. They've produced bunnies every year there for the last 48. The local skunks have been seen to parade through my backyard sometimes with four youngsters trailing behind, sometimes digging for grubs. Bird feeders attract birds today that I didn't see 40 years ago. I see coyotes and foxes and owls now and then. I saw a mouse in the woods in the dark the other night. I have fed chipmunks out of my hand.

Bambi and Thumper and Flower are within arms reach. For a kid that was raised in a treeless subdivision, it's a dream come true.

One day I'll need to move away from the forest, but the magic will always be with me.

Spicy Autumn Scents

When I walk at this time of year through the woods certain scents rise. The forest is just full of feral apple trees; the fallen apples bring a scent of sweet apple. Other plants set off a faint hint of vanilla that stops me in my tracks when I catch a whiff. Trees like cedars smell faintly of spices like cinnamon.

It's no surprise that people lean into pumpkin pie type foods and spices. It's natural.

Memory Can Not Be Trusted

I love chatting with my twin about our memories. What we found: 

• We remember events differently. This makes sense because we were different people with different feelings and experiences and personalities.
• We have forgotten events that the other remembers. "Don't you remember when Dad said …?" "Uh, no. What was that about?"
• And when we do remember, we realized that half the time we got the memory wrong.

This isn't just about age. Memory can not be trusted.