3 tips for getting out of your own way
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Have you ever found yourself wallowing so deeply in disappointment, frustration or even anger about a situation you have no control over as you spend your days caring for others, that you catch yourself missing out on the good things right in front of you?
July seemed like one never-ending rainstorm in Southern Vermont. After a long stretch of drought-like conditions, we hung up our hoses at the end of June and haven’t had them out since. I found myself staring mournfully out rain-splattered windows as weeds grew taller than the seeds we had planted in our newly expanded veggie gardens, and a slimy fungus wiped out our entire crop of Jack Ice lettuce. I rescheduled a couple of trips to see my dad based on forecasted downpours. The second-wettest month since 1895 according to the National Centers for Environmental Information, July came to a close with a storm dropping 5 inches of rain in 24 hours. Roads crumbled to impassability, trees toppled, and a young couple down the street nearly lost their house to a landslide.
When the sun finally came out to stay on the last day of the month, we were left with washouts in both gardens and a month’s worth of weeding, spraying and re-mulching to get things back on track. I had already made plans with my neighbor to hike Mount Monadnock in New Hampshire (followed by our usual afternoon of lunch and shopping), but as the day approached all I could think about was the hours of work I could be doing instead.
As I gathered items for my hydration backpack my mind wandered: If this weather wasn’t indicative of climate change happening right under our noses, what was? It’s summer in the middle of a pandemic—I was trapped inside for a whole month when I could have been playing, eating and even working outside! Our harvests will be way off this year—so much for filling the root cellar with carrots and freezing enough tomatoes to keep us in sauce until next season. Everything was setting me off, and mentally … I just gave up.
So my mood was a little dark by the time I laced up my hiking boots. But I knew that by the time we arrived to the parking area I could forget about everything for a little while. I was right, and one by one, I felt my concerns drop away. Looking back, here’s how it worked:
I got moving. I hadn’t hiked in at least a decade, but the meditative movement on the early, easy part of the trail—over bog bridges and decaying logs—felt familar and soothing, especially because I was with my daily walking buddy. I had made this commitment, so (as Nike reminds us) I Just Did It.
I changed my perspective. I didn’t forget completely about the July rain—we had to circumvent lots of temporary ponds, or hop across them stone-to-stone without sliding into surrounding mud. And as we got close to the barren summit we helped each other—well, Jenn is younger and fitter so she mostly helped me—scramble over slippery rocks. But there was no way I could be thinking about anything else but how to navigate our path using the least amount of effort. Most of the time I had nothing else on my mind but the very step I was taking.
I took a digital break. I had every intention to share Instagram-worthy pics of sweeping summits, and to drop a video moment-of-joy to my Canadian colleague and entrepreneurial accountability partner. But instead I just took everything in. I did snap a few shots to look back on later, but rather than documenting everything from behind my iPhone, I gazed in all directions (even behind me and down, so I didn’t miss finding wild blueberries), listened to birdsong, and thoroughly enjoyed my breezy, 3,165-foot reward—a juicy orange and a handful of baru nuts.
I know now that had I been ruminating about past weather conditions I would have missed out on a day full of physical, mental and spiritual stimulation. It would have been like drawing a shade down over the majesty, challenge and fun that this day provided … and I no doubt would have been cogitating about that blown opportunity on Sunday.
Here’s an idea: why not try to live in the present for every experience that we can—even the difficult ones—so we don’t ever miss the moments of connection, joy and even sorrow that a full life offers us?
