My friends realize that I am about to give them advice when I start a conversation with, “I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV, but …” And the advice, often unsolicited, follows. Generally, my advice takes the form of saying get away from the routine. Get outside. Do something else for a little while.
This being my favorite prescription I had to chuckle when I saw a similar statement from a real doctor. When I looked up the quote attributed to her before writing this Post, I realized that I was on a well worn path. But words of wisdom have no expiration date, and they cannot be passed on too often. It’s a form of distributed intelligence (more on that in a coming post). When several doctors were asked about heart healthy habits they use themselves, Dr. Monya De was quoted as responding, “’Recently I realized I had been indoors too long so I ‘prescribed’ myself a hike!”
I am following that path just as have other writers who have echoed those words and added their own thoughts. And I say, YES! Get up. Get away from your desk. Get outside. Get Away!
When Herman Melville was writing Moby Dick, he would often walk the paths of the Berkshire Mountains near his farm in Pittsfield, MA. These escapes are reflected in his opening paragraph of Moby Dick; “Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; … then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.”
Even in modern music (yes, the 1960s are still modern) The Drifters, in their hit song Up on the Roof, speak to escape from the world and to find the re-creation of the soul.
“When this old world starts getting me down
And people are just too much for me to face,
I climb way up to the top of the stairs
And all my cares just drift right into space.
On the roof, it’s peaceful as can be,
And there the world below can’t bother me.”
Whether it’s a forest path, or the sea, or a roof deep in the heart of a bustling city, we are sometimes called to go there. Whatever the place may be the call is a clear, clarion call, to shift your body, to shift your eyes, to shift your mind, and to go to a place that affords you peace. And when you are there, to reflect and to prepare yourself for your return to your work, or to your relationship, or to your home in a better state of mind.
In his essay True Nature, Gary Snyder reminds us of the journey out – and the return.
“The wilderness pilgrim’s step-by-step breath-by-breath walk up a trail, into those snowfields, carrying all on the back, is so ancient a set of gestures as to bring a profound sense of body-mind joy. … The same happens to those who sail in the ocean, kayak fjords or rivers, tend a garden, peel garlic, even sit on a meditation cushion. The point is to make intimate contact with the real world, real self. … The best purpose of such studies and hikes is to be able to come back to the lowlands and see all the land about us, agricultural, suburban, urban, as part of the same territory — never totally ruined, never completely unnatural. It can be restored, and humans could live in considerable numbers on much of it. Great Brown Bear is walking with us, Salmon swimming upstream with us, as we stroll a city street.” (Snyder, G. (1990). The Practice of the Wild. Berkeley, CA: North Point Press.) (The underlining for emphasis is mine.)
None of these are to imply the best place for you to go. They all imply the relocation of body and soul to a place of re-creation – and a return, renewed, to your life. Your renewal can help you improve your life, your work, your home, and the lives of those around you. The strength of the bear is with you. The courage of the salmon is yours.