A Long Walk on a Blustery Day
I went on a long walk Wednesday afternoon alone. I have been trying uitwaaien, the Dutch practice of walking on blustery days for the sole purpose of clearing the mind. The weather is just beginning to have that uncomfortable edge, a good time to build a new habit before the chill becomes bitter.
On Wednesday, I found myself experiencing writer’s block. Instead of sitting at home frustrated, I allowed the bright leaves, steel-gray sky, and brisk breeze to pull me outside.
I walk a lot, but this is different from my normal daily strolls with the dogs. For one thing, I allow my feet to wander. I make no plans about how far or how long the walk needs to be. The purpose is to allow the wind to blow the cobwebs off my brain, and although I do get exercise, that isn’t the point.
Intentional practices like this aren’t easy. At first my mind was racing with thoughts so fast that I couldn’t grasp them. But I allowed myself to settle in slowly. I started by noticing what my eyes could see. Halloween decor. Autumn trees and plants. An occasional neighbor daring the cold. I paid attention to shape, color, and texture. Then I shifted my focus to what I could hear. The various birds and distant traffic. Finally, I closed my eyes and inhaled the crisp air, noting the hints of wood smoke.
Sensory meditations quiet the thinking mind and draw us into the wonderful world of our senses. Normally our brains process what we see, hear, taste, smell, and feel so quickly that we don’t even notice. Concentrating on each sense individually slows us down and pulls us into the present moment.
Now that my brain had settled, I was able to focus on the wind. The strong wind at my back urged me forward, and I felt like I was floating. Then I was hit with a 30mph gust in my face. I leaned forward into the resistance with such intensity that when it stopped, I stumbled forward. I imagined the gusts lifting the anxious buzz from my mind as it was lifting the fallen leaves into a swirling tornado and blowing them away.
By the time I opened the back gate to my yard, my mind was still. The wind had done what I had asked it to do, and my brain was the better for it.
In our achievement driven culture, we often treat downtime like a moral failing. We get anxious when we aren’t being productive, because our sense of self-worth hinges on it. It’s wild to me that other cultures so prioritize quieting the busy mind that they have an intentional practice and a special word for it. We have no such vocabulary.
But when I ask myself if it is better for the human spirit to be constantly doing or to enjoy being, the answer is obvious. So why is it so hard?
