Just Keep Moving

Fourteen years ago, I took myself off for a solo weekend retreat a few hours from home. It was the morning of my first full day. I was on my second bowl of granola, and my third cup of coffee, rocking, as I gazed out the front window of the cottage to a stand of birch and sugar maples. I was stretching out breakfast as long as I could, with no rules for the day, no expectations--and reveling in the time alone. I was desperate for a break from mothering my hyperactive 4-year-old son, from the terse and angry exchanges between myself and my husband.

I’d already read for several hours first thing in the morning, still in bed. So when I finally glanced up at the clock—close to noon—I felt a surge of energy. I got up, rinsed out the bowl and mug, and pulled on my down vest over a thick sweater. On the way out the door I grabbed a rain poncho and a ring of bells--to avoid finding myself face to face with a bear.

Outside, the air was cold. There were still patches of snow and the ground was muddy in spots, but the sky was sunny and blue. I walked down the gravel driveway to a paved country road. It was only about a quarter mile to where a snowmobile track would peel off to the right, the turn marked by a dead tree filled with sleeping opossums.

I’d gone in only a few miles when I came upon a small white wooden house with several ramshackle out-buildings, a cropped lawn. A rusty set of railroad tracks had been running in parallel with the snowmobile trail. I glanced further down the trail; would it be more of the same? I wanted the opposite of civilization. I felt my energy flag, my mood sink. I sighed deeply and turned back.

Soon I settled into a rhythm. The chatter in my head had finally eased. I kept my eyes on my feet, hyper-alert to what surrounded me—birds calling, leaves rustling, the fresh scent of cold air.

Suddenly, I left my body in a whoosh of energy. I expanded to encompass everything I could see. I saw my body below, just one participant in a perfect whole. The trees and bushes and grasses were not static but alive with a pure crackling energy; they bent toward me and flowed through me as I walked.

I received a message: all was well, all would remain well, as long as I kept moving.