Yesterday, tropical storm Hermine was supposed to arrive. I spent
a great deal of the day glaring out my window at the dull drizzle that
splattered down the panes. I had been hoping for torrents of rain, furious gusts
of wind, and the low grumble of thunder. A sky full of heavy grey clouds and
the occasional spatter of raindrops- that was what the heavens decided to
provide. I spent the day feeling anxious and claustrophobic. Trapped. I promised
myself, after trying to bury my pesky feelings in mind-numbing hours of
Netflix, that I would go out as soon as I could. So this morning I packed a
sandwich, water bottle, and my roommate’s headphones, and drove to a nearby
nature reserve. I was hoping for a release of whatever had been clenching my
stomach. For a breath or two that carried peace, not the usually sharp intake
of oxygen. The sky was still layered with a thick haze, but beginning my hike,
it felt soft instead of confining. Comforting, diluting the harsh sunlight that
usually accompanies the last trails of summer. The wind smelled of pine and
lake water and the slightest beginnings of autumn. I started off on the path,
my mouth curved upwards but my mind still in full gear. The woods around me
were stunning, but my phone oozing Drake’s “One Dance” through the headphones
seemed to cheapen the view. I turned off the music, closed my eyes, and tried
to breathe. Now all I could hear was the roar of traffic, the rush of hungry
metal machines. I felt like I couldn’t escape the breathless pace and
suffocation that I was so used to succumbing to. I turned back toward the lake
and it sparkled despite the sunless sky. Green, sapphire, and misty grey- like
an opal. A turtle was basking on a log, a tiny red mushroom was sprouting on a
tree root. The path was strewn with soggy brown pine needles, and they felt
gentle and springy underfoot. Painstakingly slowly, I began to shed myself. I swallowed
visual details like they were bites of chocolate cake, each revelation waking
me up and soothing me at the same time. I passed the nature reserve portion of
the hike, where injured animals were sheltered behind a fence. A large owl
regarded me with sharp onyx eyes, and I spontaneously dropped a curtsy and
started up a conversation. I spoke to him for a good few minutes, feeling
lighter with each word I passed on to my feathery listener. I wished him well
when I left, and thanked him for his time. The rumble of cars did not lessen,
but it was like background music- present but not noted. I knew I had homework,
had a meeting at four pm and had to cook the shrimp before it went bad and to
water the plants and straighten my room and do the dishes and read one book and
two articles for class- but breathing in the scent of the woods, my
responsibilities were placed gently and quietly on the backburner. It took me
over an hour and a half to fully release the feeling of being on edge, and to
feel grounded again. Life is so messy and full of distractions that it’s easy
to forget how to breathe in the good stuff, instead of the smog of stress that
constantly hangs overhead. 90 minutes for me to feel empowered and healthy
again, not some quivering version of myself staring out at a lack of tropical
storm. My point is, remember to take time to breathe. Re-center yourself. Being
anxious and relentlessly busy is not a sign of success. Well-being is. After my
hike around the lake, I sat on a slotted wooden bench, inhaling the sight of
the glittering water and emerald lining of trees. I listened to rustling,
snapping of twigs, and that ceaseless thunder of traffic. “I am here. I am
grounded. I belong.” My thoughts sang, turning the refrain over and over to see
how it tasted on my tongue. (It tasted wonderful.) Of course now I am back in “normal
life,” tackling my to-do list and stressing over classes. But for a brief
moment, I was completely whole, and it was enormously relieving and empowering.
I challenge you to do the same. Find your breath again and allow yourself the
time you need. You are here. You are grounded. You belong.
