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Mindful by Nature: Go a Different Way

Mindful by Nature
Go a Different Way
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Notes

table of contents
  1. Acknowledgments
  2. Note from the Authors
  3. Part I. Grounding
    1. Baseline
    2. Seeing the Unseen
    3. Perspective
    4. The Essential Question
    5. Blind Spots
    6. Listening to the Birds
    7. Fox Walking
  4. Part II. Deep Listening
    1. Matches in the Dark
    2. Uncertainty
    3. Pause and Presence
    4. Snow in Spring
    5. On Birch Bark Peeling
    6. Tracking Self
    7. The Earth Is Happy to Remind You to Be Mindful
  5. Part III. Leaning In
    1. Lost in Thought
    2. Concentric Rings
    3. Natural Navigation
    4. Is It True?
    5. Footprints of the Sun
    6. Go a Different Way
  6. Part IV. Wise Action
    1. Intention
    2. Walking with Coyotes
    3. Connection, Intention, and Attention
    4. Being Sensible
    5. I Looked
    6. The Curse and Blessing of the Tracker
    7. Going the Right Speed
  7. Part V. Coming Home
    1. Remembering the Sacred
    2. Tracking and Stories
    3. Exploring the Edges
    4. Harvesting Stories
    5. Mourning
  8. Afterword
  9. Notes
  10. Further Reading

Go a Different Way

I have a particular walk in the woods that I take when I want things simply to be easy. The path is a town recreation way that was created through an old rails-to-trails conversion program. It’s flat, wide, and not muddy because the surface is hardened with crushed rock. Moreover, it goes through an area with some beautiful patches of older forest with lots of species diversity and some grand old trees. Just the place when I am mentally or physically tired.

As a professional tracker, ecologist, and naturalist, most of the time when I go out into the natural world, my mind and body are anything but relaxed. I’m paying attention to my bodily movements to try to create as little sound and disturbance as possible. My senses are at their peak while I continually scan the area for animals, animal tracks and signs, identifying every tree and looking for indications of land use from two hundred years ago, one hundred years ago, and last week. I’m actively listening to every bird sound for potential alarm calls alerting me to some predator and every rustle in the understory that might alert me to some mammal or bird. My eyes are constantly shifting focus from tiny marks in the soil to scanning the area for the slightest movement that might indicate a hiding animal.

Don’t get me wrong, this hyper-awareness is wonderful. I’m in the “flow,” yet it can also be exhausting. Sometimes I just need a break. And, in these times, I like to go to my recreation way. The path is easy, straight, regular, and familiar. I typically don’t spend much time on actual trails, preferring uncharted wild spaces, but this one is the outside equivalent of comfort food.

The other day, I knew a storm was moving in, but my fancy weather app told me that I had just enough time to engage my tracking students in an outdoor activity. I decided it would be a perfect opportunity to introduce the students to the Rec Way. We would be able to see some new tree species, discuss different forest community types, maybe see an amphibian or two, and perhaps analyze a few deer and domestic dog tracks before it started to rain. A couple hundred yards in, I did something I had never done before in this area: I went off the path. It wasn’t my intention to do anything special or particularly radical, I simply wanted to get off the crushed rock and look for some mud to see tracks. But in the moment, to my surprise, it felt like we emerged out of a tunnel into the real world.

In this simple act of going a different way, I realized that my Rec Way path was a consciously constructed tunnel of familiarity. In retrospect, what else would a human path be? Isn’t that why we humans make paths—both literally and metaphorically? I discovered that just twenty feet to the side of my well-traveled path there was a whole, magical area of glacial-carved topography with deep narrow gorges, strange and wonderful landforms, intersecting streams, ancient trees, lush mosses, completely different species of insects, secret animal trails and dens. There was this alternate universe, RIGHT THERE, that I had walked by and not seen dozens of times. Like in the world of Harry Potter, the Rec Way was the Muggle path, and the weird wonderful witching world was all around, yet hidden in plain sight.

I still love to go to my Rec Way and walk down the tunnel of familiarity. Sometimes this is what I need. But I also know that just a few steps to the right I can enter another world of magic and wonder whenever I want.

Try: Next time you go out on a walk, notice when things feel familiar and comfortable. When you are in the right frame of mind, try going a different way. Try stepping off the well-traveled path and taking an excursion into the “witching world” of the animals who live in that area. Depending on where you live this may simply be a lesser-traveled footpath at the edge of a park. For others you may find yourself walking on a deer trail or even crawling down a groundhog run. Look for the signs of animals, as they live their lives in their parallel universe right next to the human trail. How does this change your perspective of the area? How does your perception change even when you are back on the path?

Now do this in your regular life. As you go about your day, be aware of when things feel familiar, and you are on autopilot. Then, make the decision to go a different way. Walk to the bathroom down a different hallway, get coffee from a different place. Take the stairs instead of the elevator. Do you see a new magical world next to your familiar Muggle world?

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