The Earth Is Happy to Remind You to Be Mindful

Once, years ago, I was working in Death Valley doing vegetation surveys. It was summer, and it was hot. I’m not talking regular summer hot, but LAVA HOT. In our research team, I was the one with the job of crawling around on hands and knees measuring each individual little plant and relaying the data up to the others. In a quirk of how heating works in the desert, the air temperature was around 110 degrees Fahrenheit, but the ground temperature was WAY hotter. It was so hot that even with the thick Vibram soles of our work boots, it was still uncomfortable to walk on. It was way too hot to touch for any length of time. I had a thick foam pad that I knelt on to protect my knees, and I used a folded towel to keep my hands off the ground. To keep hydrated, we drank gallons of Gatorade. Gatorade which, even when kept in the shade, was the same 110 degrees as the air. It was like drinking hot sweet soup to attempt to cool off. Nasty.

These days, if I tried all that, it would likely kill me. But back then, it was just a way for me to prove to myself how tough I was. I thought I was invincible and would test my limits beyond what was smart. After one long session of measurements, it was late afternoon and I was dehydrated, overheated, generally angry at the world, and hating pretty much everything—especially the desert. As we walked back to the truck, I was galumphing along, taking great pleasure in essentially kicking the earth with every step as I drove my feet into the sand. But even in my self-indulgent haze, a sense of danger managed to flash in my subconscious mind.

In those days, even as a busy graduate student, I was a serious karate practitioner, practicing six days a week for four-plus hours a day. All that karate might not have been much good for a desert scientist, but I’m telling you I could pick my foot up off the ground really fast! Something primal caused me to jerk my right foot up, just as a sidewinder rattlesnake struck at my leg. It was my own fault—it is not wise to go stomping through the desert lost in your head and taking out your frustrations on the land.

I felt the thump of the rattlesnake hit the bottom of my boot. The thick soles, while not protecting me all that well from the heat, did save me from a venomous snake bite that day. Everything happened so fast that I didn’t feel any fear, and by the time I fully realized what had happened, my forward momentum had carried me well past the danger. I paused and watched the poetry-in-motion of the sidewinder floating off across the desert sand. That beautiful snake gave me a great gift that day. I found myself laughing all the rest of the way back to the truck, appreciating the beauty of the desert, thankful to be out of my head and to be healthy and alive.

Try: Imagine that you will have ten minutes to chat with one of your greatest intellectual heroes. Picture the attention you would bring to the conversation. Imagine the excitement you would undoubtedly have and the intention to fully soak in the experience. Now, go outside for a walk and let nature be this intellectual hero. Give her the attention you would bring to any great teacher. Ask questions, listen closely, and soak it all in. And remember, the questions you ask and the observations you make can be as powerful as any answer you receive.