It's time to try forest-bathing

In a recent push toward expanding my comfort zone, I decided to start taking no-tech walks. If you are like me, the idea of doing anything without a tech distraction might trigger a feeling of painful awkwardness. When I first wrote "No-tech walks" in my list of things to try, it caused a mini-panic. "What will I do? That will feel weird! What if I get bored?" All of this was a reaction to the idea of being alone with my thoughts. Just that reaction alone told me it was time to take this on.

I steered into the parking lot at the Mass Audubon property where I had been taking daily hikes. I pulled on my rucksack, after carefully placing my phone in the zippered compartment -- I decided it was wiser to bring it for safety purposes, but to make sure it was out of my immediate reach. I instinctually grabbed by earphones from my purse... and then realized I wouldn't need them and reluctantly put them back.

I started out on the trail and felt very awkward -- sort of like when you are posing for a picture and don't know what to do with your hands. There was a discomfort with my mind being idle. I decided to overcome that discomfort by focusing on the sounds of the birds, the rustling of the leaves and pine needles on the ground, and the breezes causing the maple and oak leaves to quietly applaud.

"Is the highway traffic really that close?" I was surprised I could hear the sound of the nearby highways, like the constant roar of an arena crowd. I was far more aware of all of the animals scurrying, of the chipmunks and squirrels signaling my proximity with chirping alerts. The forest was alive!

This is what it sounded like every day? All the times I had music or something else piped directly into my ears... this is what I was missing? I began to notice all of the different types of birds. "Is that a blue jay? I have never seen one so large! Are those wrens? What is that thing that sounds like a chorus of pump organs? They must be frogs!"

Without me noticing, the awkwardness was gone. It took about 15 minutes, but the many sounds and sights of the forest filled my ears, my eyes, and my mind. Suddenly I felt far more alert than I could ever remember. I felt truly alive, like a charged battery with sparks arcing toward every source of stimulation. "This must be what it is like to be present," I thought and I decided this would be my new habit. No more entertainment during walks.

But, then something unexpected happened: I would be 20 minutes into my daily commute to work before I realized there was no music, podcast, or audiobook coming through the speakers of my car. I would be sitting on the porch or in the yard for awhile before I realized I was just sitting and enjoying the silence.

I had found a new level of peace I didn't know existed. I had become more contemplative. I would ponder ideas I had learned from friends and colleagues. I would think about how to solve challenges at work. I would reflect on my instinctual reactions to different scenarios and consider new, better ways of reacting. Sometimes I would just watch the house wrens who had taken up residency in the birdhouse I had built. This was a break from the rapid pace of my daily life.

I started to occasionally bring my son on these walks. I couldn't always convince him to come. But, when he would, we would agree to spend some of the time just listening and looking around. Then we would end the silence and talk about what we heard. He is eight years old and even more in need of learning how to just be.

The Japanese call it "forest bathing". According to National Geographic, the term emerged in Japan in the 1980s as a physiological and psychological exercise called shinrin-yoku. In the article, the author says it was an antidote to the tech-boom burnout... in the 1980s! Whether or not that was the reason, the Japanese were clearly onto something. As more people move to urban environments, it is harder to find daily peace. Being in nature allows you to do that.

Perhaps part of the mental health crisis that we are facing in this country is the result of never spending moments of quiet contemplation; never feeling truly at peace with ourselves. If we could practice this, maybe we could all be more present and patient with one another... something desperately needed in these tense times.