These days, I am mostly an evening walker. I do some yoga in the morning after my meditations and then sit… way too much… at my computer, working on one of the many projects I seem to always have going on.

In the wintertime, it was a constant struggle to get as much done as I could while leaving enough time for a nice long walk before dark. (Those were more like mid-afternoon walks, as darkness descends early amongst steep mountains.) And when I finally break free from the unreasonably tight embrace of my computer chair, I scamper over to put on my typically already-existing pile of clean-ish hiking clothes as if I’m late to the prom.

They are always in the same place. There’s already a clean bandanna folded in the pocket of my hiking pants, the other pocket filled with the usual walking accoutrements. I dash out the door in a jiffy, like a woman who just remembered she left something important outside. Which, in a way, I did.

There is a slight ascent that begins only a short distance from the door, and by the time I reach the end of my quarter-mile driveway, my heart is racing from the pace I’ve set for absolutely no reason. This is where the real walk begins… not with my feet, but with my mind.

I must continually remind myself that I am not in a hurry… that I have the perfect amount of time… and I am already in the perfect place, at the perfect time.

I stop. I reset. My breathing slows. I straighten and align my posture with intention and slowly begin to unplug from the rabbit hole of thoughts I was, just a moment ago, deeply immersed in.

Aaaahhhhh… all is well.

And then, as if someone turned up the volume on a world that had been playing all along, the sounds of nature rush in. No longer background noise to my busy bee brain, but the main event. My footsteps on the earth become the rhythm of my peace. The very same winged ones, every single day, sing from the trees around me wishing me a good afternoon. I startle a ruffed grouse… again. Don’t you know by now that I’m just walking by and never mean you harm? What is ruffling your feathers so?

(I have asked this bird the same question roughly 389 times. We are not making progress.)

While each and every walk is completely different, this daily practice requires no skill, no gear list, no grand plan. It only requires me to show up. Consistently. To remind myself of all the magic nature has waiting for me to see, if I only take the time to go outside and find it.

By the time the early minutes of my walk have passed, the work is done for me. All I must do is be present.

The path doesn’t care what was on my to-do list. It never asks if I’ve been productive enough to deserve this. It just says, welcome back, and means it every single time.

If you’re sitting in your own chair right now, staring at your own screen, wondering when you’ll find the time… you already know the answer. It’s right outside your door.

xoxCollin