Nature has its own distinct pace. It is not devoid of a schedule, but it never rushes.
The sun rises and sets at the appointed time like clockwork. The greens of Summer shift into the golds of Autumn with a slow and methodical start, until one day you wake up and Autumn is in all her glory.
Fully entering into the wilderness experience requires us to set aside our urgent itineraries and deadlines.
We can not inhale the beauty surrounding us if we are out of breath.
I’ve never seen a bear run with a planner under his arm and briefcase in his hand. I’ve never seen an elk run because he was late for an appointment. I have however seen a bear methodically and slowly pick up one gigantic paw and then another as he made his way across a valley on route to the lake searching for his next meal. The times I’ve enjoyed elk the most was when I watched them graze in the sunlight or as they bedded down under a shimmering moon. They are always majestic and beautiful stately creatures with their calm steady gaze and stance.
There’s beauty in this slower pace and the minimalism of life spent in nature. Very few things are required to move to this rhythm. A fire and sleeping bag for warmth. Perhaps a meal and water. These are the things that are truly essential. Although I’m sure some would argue toilet paper is an essential item. I would agree with them if the forest were bare of leaves.
Camping allows me to transition into this alternative rhythm of my daily life.
Everything takes longer when you’re camping. No longer can I quickly run to my Keurig and grab a cup of coffee on my way to my next appointment. Rather here in the Grand Tetons my pace is slower. I have to set aside time to make coffee. I pull out a small camping table near a rushing stream, reach for my JetBoil and wait patiently for it to begin heating the water. It doesn’t take long. It’s a remarkable tool. Once boiling, I allow the grounds to swirl into the water before carefully pressing them to the bottom of the mug. It’s a methodical slow process. After you do it more than once, it becomes a precious and enjoyable ritual.
If I’m not camping in a campground, finding locations for dispersed camping becomes my priority. I set aside time to scout places that are safe and within cell coverage in case there is danger. When you don’t have a hot shower and room key, things look different while traveling.
As I’m writing this a curious chipmunk races close to my toes while his friend is watching me from a safer distance perched on a low hanging limb at the base of a tree. They are the welcome party and I’m eager to meet them.
Today I moved to a new campsite and was feeling particularly lonely. As I began to settle my simple camping chair and tiny table behind my Jeep, I turned with a start. Several large cows stared at me from the top of the hill. I had invaded their path to the watering hole. Slowly they moved within feet from me, one by one. I whispered soothing sounds to them and thanked them for coming to greet me. Both the chipmunk and my new cow friends are gentle reminders that there’s an invitation to a slower pace if I’ll agree. I never say no to new friends, two or four legged.
When I’m at home in Charleston and in my office, I have a large piece of glass cut into 2’ x 3’. Keith hung it in my Shedquarters where I can write down the next 3 months and list out the projects I want to see accomplished by a specific deadline. Armed with a dry erase marker I can narrow down just how effective and intentional I’ll make each day during the week as I work to mark off each goal. There’s something so satisfying about scratching a line through a project.
I enjoy tackling these one by one as quickly and efficiently as possible. While at home, this is my rhythm and my days are driven by my achieving personality.
Things are much different here in nature and I have to enter into an agreement to drastically shift my perspective and behavior or I find I miss out on hidden gems waiting for me. While scouting new locations in the forest I have to regularly come into the slower movement around me.
I’ll confess, I’m not always willing to shed my “can do/ will do” agenda. However, I’ll quickly realize I’m forced to by my surroundings. Daily I will set aside time for the slower movements of self care. Brushing teeth is a slower process, as is selecting and changing clothes while grabbing them from saddle bags stored on the roll bars of my Jeep. I also make time to daily organize and clean the contents in my Jeep so my space is livable. These intentional actions of self care cause me to slow down and process my own needs rather than rushing from location to location like a woman on a hunt for a new workshop.
The experience of agreeing with the rhythms around us requires that we be intentional, to give ourselves grace, to slow down and align, to absorb the beauty, sounds and smells happening all around us
When I slow down, I can hear the changing songs of the birds above my head and the lilt of their conversations with each other. Stillness gives permission to my elk friends to pass by without giving me much notice. More importantly by shifting my posture from productivity to peace, I am positioning myself to hear the Whispers I’m longing and needing to hear. It’s the reason I return year after year. Because it’s not until I become still am I able to clearly hear.
End Note: A huge thanks goes to my dearest friend Kathi Scanlon for encouraging me to write again…
What do you think?