The air was thick as I stepped outside. It wasn’t raining, but it felt like the sky could open up at any moment. It was quiet. The world hadn’t fully awoken to greet the day. On mornings like these – most mornings – I never know which route in my standard rotation of routes I will run. The first decision is to go left or right at the end of my driveway, and the rest just comes naturally based on how I’m feeling. Today I went right.
When I go right, I want hills. The first mile of this route is all uphill. The steady upward incline allows me to take it slow, work into a rhythm and center on my breath. Today I was quickly able to get into a breathing cycle with my cadence. The first step toward a much needed flow state.
I make a point to spend at least one hour outside each day because I need it mentally. It’s my way of getting away from screens, the news, personal and professional commitments, and anything else that vies for my attention. My hour outside is where I go deep into my own mind, rejuvenating it so I can give the rest of the day my all.
Cresting that first hill, I caught a glimpse to my left of two bare feet gently dangling a few feet above wet grass. I followed the feet upward, to a pair of legs that were attached to a young boy sitting in the crux of a tree branch. This sight surprised me because the boy couldn’t have been more than 7 or 8 years old and it was still early. Most of the neighborhood was still sleeping. Except for us.
In the boy’s hand was a phone. His head hung, neck krinked, watching something on the screen.
I thought about this image of this boy in the tree with the phone for the next hour as I finished my run.
Initially, I was overtaken with elder disappointment. “Kids these days,” I thought. “These goddamn phones,” I thought. But the image of this boy in the tree with the phone would not let go of me. Questions began creeping.
Why was he up so early? Why was he outside? Why was he alone? Why climb a tree and not just watch the phone on a couch inside? Did his parents know he was outside? What was he watching in that tree? Does he do this often?
The questions kept coming and as I neared home I had no answers. Maybe the boy in the tree with the phone was outside for the same reason I was. Maybe this was his escape. Maybe he needed this escape the same way I needed mine. That’s the amazing thing about nature and the outdoors. It’s there for us in whatever way we need it. It asks nothing about the way we use it and demands nothing in return.
Today, I needed the hills and breath. He needed the crux of the branch, the feeling of bark on his back and dew on his feet.
We are the same.
