Scrolling through my walking and hiking data on my Garmin app, 110 miles over the last month pop up. That’s an increase! 110 miles in a month is above my average for the last year. I’ve been carrying weight in my pack to train for longer distances this coming summer. My body complains every so often. But I won’t get stronger unless I work at my edges. I won’t be able to go backpacking unless I put in the training miles. Am I asking too much of my body?
In between hikes, I work in the garden. Spring is here, the garden beds need to be readied for planting. During a few hours of bending, crouching, and lifting, I straighten with a stiff, sore back. To decrease the strain, I shift from kneeling to sitting on the ground when I pull weeds. Weeds are endless; so I take a break, and bask in the sun on a bench, thinking of what I will plant where. Rested, I bend to make a furrow and drop in the seeds. I dip the watering can into the water trough and my arms strain with the weight of the water the planted rows need. I have a drip-system, but the tiny carrot seeds in their shallow furrow dry out quickly in the desert sun. They need to be kept wet until they show their feathery first leaves and their roots form. Daily caring for the seedlings works my muscles. Am I asking too much of my body?
Sunday is my day of physical rest. No hard hikes, no workouts in the gym, no back-breaking work in the garden. I do what my body and mind gravitate toward. I socialize, I meditate, reflect and volunteer in a food kitchen, take a short walk. On other days of the week, I meditate for two short periods a day. My mind is full of fleeting thoughts. The goal of the practice is to let these thoughts go, and develop a state of deep concentration. Concerted effort pays off. Am I practicing enough? My mind tires of concerted effort. I look for distraction and ease.
Our lives are full of distractions and easy entertainment. Before I know it, I’ve been dooms-day scrolling for half an hour. Scrolling occupies my breaks from other activities. Too much of it cuts into productiveness; too much scrolling takes away from being still. Scrolling fills my mind with many useless and not so useless thoughts. Scrolling is addictive. Contemplation is not.
When I hike long-distances, I let go of daily life. The trees and rocks become my companions, the open sky and stillness make me breathe deeper; my heart expands. The plants I nurture in the garden become animate. I talk to them and thank them when I harvest. I sigh with pleasure when I bite into fresh spinach in the spring, or munch on sweet dried apples from last year’s harvest. During these expensive times, home-grown food is a bonus. When I meditate, I am aware of spaciousness between my thoughts; mentally I offer kindness to people and creatures who need it. You can never have too much of these things.
However, I can do too much. So much, my body aches and my mind rebels. Then it’s time for sleep. Thank God for sleep; it balances body and mind and gives me a new start every day. Too much sleep is impossible at my age. Not enough sleep reduces my energy.
Since the launch of Body and Grace - my newest book-, I’ve been watching the sales numbers that tell me something of how the book is doing. Of course, I want to sell more books. I want readers to discover the Pacific Crest Trail through my eyes. I want them to reconsider, try hiking, and discover what it can do for them. Is that too much to ask?
I sit sorting titles among the thousands of books in the shadowy secondhand bookstore where I volunteer. We haven’t turned the lights on; opening time is still 15 minutes away. Piles and piles of books that once excited readers have lost the tart chemical smell of newly printed paper. They are turning musty. Perfectly good books that deserve to be read. The books are like fruits falling from the trees in summer because no-one bothers to pick and process them. The vast quantity of intellectual fruits found in books is unmanageable. I ask clients who come and browse about their reading habits. Younger folk report difficulty finding time plus investing effort. Scrolling on a screen is easier. Elder patrons retain their capacity and leisure for reading. Not enough reading for those whose brains need it. Do old brains need reading?
Despite an abundance of Substack offerings and books in the world, I still write. My sore back rest while I engage my mind. I concentrate on the topic at hand and I discover more complete thoughts. My mind expands as I type my thoughts on the screen. Writing is a win-win. Not enough writing keeps me hungry for more. I haven’t yet experienced too much writing. I can’t will myself into writing. When I have nothing to say I rest my pen. Writing a book is like long-distance hiking. You dedicate yourself to it daily. Editing is like harvesting from the garden; it is the delightful process of picking over the fruit of thoughts and keeping the best ones.
Books given to me once felt like treasures, a feeling I sometimes crave. Life’s slower moments, anticipating book readings, potlucks, or art show openings, are gone. I long for a slower and less crowded life. A life with fewer choices.
I recently read a book about a trek in Western Nepal in the mid-eighties. The story took me back to my trekking days in the Himalayas. The emptiness, the simplicity of life I encountered. To arrive unknown in the small village constituted an event. Children and adults came out, stared and asked for pencils. They didn’t have books to read or screens to scroll. I don’t wish the hardship of life in remote Himalayan villages on anybody. But I long for the simplicity and spaciousness of that life.
Outside a desert quail is chirping. The air is still; the neighborhood quiet. The quail chirps just enough that I turn my ear; I can hear him or her and enjoy the sound; it pauses in making sound so that the sound doesn’t turn into noise.
I can’t solve the problems of surplus of so many easy stimuli in our world, the lack of spaciousness. I hear my peers saying they don’t carry their phones with them everywhere. Limiting use is a solution, but we know access is at our fingertips. Just ask my grandsons, whose screen time is still restricted, so they’ll play outside more. The planet races toward an era of unsustainable production. Too much stuff and not enough of what exists between the stuff. I use walking, gardening, meditating, and writing to create a life pattern that is harmonious. As long as I don’t do too much of one, or not enough of the other.
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