It took about 2 hours this past Tuesday for my mind to just shut up. The 90-minute hike up the mountain was full of internal chatter, despite my best efforts to soak up the views and enjoy the brisk solo hike.
It was snowing. I was absolutely alone. No one parked at the trail head. No human prints in the recent snowfall. A dear track, a fox track, a fresh bear track. Great.
Quiet and still. Except for my mind.
Stressing about taking time off mid-week with the to-do list in full panic mode. Wanting to be purposeful during my intentional solo recharge. Frustrated at an out-of-control thought life that I couldn’t just switch off on a dime.
And then it happened. I arrived at the lake. I made a bed of pine tree branches. With a full on blizzard dumping snow on me, I put my beanie over my face, laid down, and shut my eyes.
You know what I heard? Snowflakes melting on top of a still lake. Peace. I woke up 30 minutes later, thankful, and a bit surprised, I didn’t become lunch for a bear.
It was just a moment. 1/48th of my Tuesday. Well earned and fought for. Memorable. And totally fleeting. Peace always is. Which is why you have to fight and claw for it, and drag it across as much time as you can until you’re able to weave together another grasp at stillness. It’s out there to find, but rarely does it come right to us.