I have been trying to find new ways to manage my mental health.
“But Nora, you’ve been doing that for years!” I hear you say, dear reader. You’re right, I have been desperate in my constant efforts to deal with this mortal coil. But I am also a human, and the ways I find I forget, stop doing and rediscover. And so it goes.
And I know this sounds SO BASIC because everyone goes on about how good nature is for you but honestly, have you tried going out in nature recently? It’s so much cheaper than therapy!!!! Did you know???? This is obviously not at all a new way for me to attempt to manage my mental health, but I do have to consistently rediscover exercise as a way to manage myself. I get into a rhythm, then I fall off. I exercise 6 days a week during a pandemic, then I fall off my bicycle and do three yoga classes in a year. It’s called being an extremist; look it up.
This weekend I went for a hike. My life has recently got a lot busier than it already was (which was already pretty busy), and my exhausted lil body was desperate to find a way to feel more at ease, less overwhelmed, and more joyful.
I don’t seem to do things by halves which is something I’d like to shake off in this lifetime (see extremist ref above). So naturally, I found a 5-mile hike with steep inclines. I drove to the site of the hike like a dope fiend ready for a hit - eyes wide, bloodshot - give me what you got, baby!
Besides being completely out of breath for most of it, I was (once again) reminded that in the forest, most things fall away.
Sure, I was still worrying about the kettle that I could not locate in my stuffed to the brims storage unit, where I had spent the better part of the afternoon, perched atop boxes, sweating - hoping the creepy mccreepster who mans the office would not come around to say hello and … linger … as he has done previously (he didn’t, it was the weekend).
Sure, I obsessed about where my bike helmet was because who am I if I do not get back on the literal and proverbial bike?
Sure, my neuroses were ever-present, ticking away in the background.
I wondered about the direction I’m going in and whether it’s right for me. I wondered about the state of the world. About climate change. The images of Puerto Rico destroyed by flooding danced through my mind.
Still, I couldn’t help but take in what lay before me. The rich bio-diversity. The deep greens, yellows, browns, oranges, and whites. A view of the mountains peeked through the canopy of rustling trees. A river otter scurried beneath my feet. The sound of a babbling brook passed through my ear drums multiple times. I was alone in the forest but also not at all.
I asked the trees to please, for the love of goddess, take my neuroses, sadness, and grief. Take it and transmute it. Help me to be less insane, please, trees. The trees laughed at me, silly human that I am.
The weight did not lift completely because, obviously, it's 2022, and I’m a Scorpio, but the walk did create some space for me. So I can face into another week and approach the week with more of a light touch and less of a sledgehammer.
I downloaded the app All Trails, a suggestion from the chef and wellness advocate Sophia Roe. I’ve obviously now created a plan for myself for the next 16 weekends that I’ll be hiking for my life. It really does feel that way, though. TBD on whether I follow through — best-laid plans and all that.
Oh boy, I love the title and how you didn't underline the pun, just left it gently rummaging through the trash. I have not realized, yea, after all this time we have been acquainted, that you are quite as nuts as you have confessed to being in a number of essays. I do feel, and think, and act very much the same (so many of us do) but since I have so little bandwidth left in my brain, and also I've have been-there-done-that for 30 more years than you that I don't make as many plans for self improvement, and thus don't beat myself up for not sticking to the trails, the bike, the yoga, the morning smoothie, even the once-obsessive need for neatness all around me. Used to be that if there was chaos in the house, it was mirrored in my head. Intensely. Painfully. Now I can go a lot longer ignoring the piled up papers or mail or scattered shoes--for a while. Still, an unmade bed is an invitation to look into the abyss, maybe fall into it, or make reservations for the lock-up--any lock-up will do, as long as it inspires me to get that bed made. And I'm too old to plan a new me, so that's one less thing. But I sure do remember the punishing persistence of the thoughts and feelings you describe here. I don't want to go down that path so maybe I should get out on some torture trail, and be healed by Mother Earth. But god, WHAT a hassle! Best to lie down until the urge passes. Great work, love you.