Amy Lu's View

Today is the twenty-first anniversary of my mom’s death. 

I didn’t do anything in particular to observe it. I did frequently think, “DAMN, it’s been TWENTY-ONE years?! I really miss her and can’t believe it’s been so long since she’s been part of my life.* I also can’t believe how old I’m getting.”

I didn’t specifically commemorate my mom today, but I did run a half marathon. It was virtual, which meant I actually ran it in the physical world, but I didn’t run it as part of an event with others. I ran the race today because I needed to get it finished by the end of the month and this was the only day I could take a morning off from work and play rehearsal and church to make it happen. 

Even though there is no direct connection for me between running and my mom, I did stop to reflect a little bit on how fortunate I am that I was able to take some time for myself on this sad day to do something just for me. I did my best to savor the beauty of the fall colors of the trees on a day when the beauty and ephemerality of the natural world was a poignant symbol for how I was experiencing a core human relationship. I also feel really blessed that I am healthy enough to run and was especially aware of this on a day when illness (cancer) ended my mom’s life.

I’ve also been pondering how my mom would react to my running. Overall, I don’t think she would get it. I’m sure she would be very worried about my knees or that I might get mugged. She would probably talk about my “10K Marathons.” I don’t think I could possibly explain a “virtual” race to her. But I’m sure she would still be proud, and would never tire of looking at my latest medal. She would probably tell anyone she could about all the races her daughter had won (just to be clear, this would not be true–all finishers get medals). 

While it’s hard for me to imagine my mom and I bonding over running, we could now bond over alcohol. I could intentionally toast to my mother with a Brandy Alexander (or a Grasshopper). Yes, she held up the traditional Wisconsin love of ice cream based supper club cocktails. If she was alive and it was feasible to do so, I definitely would enjoy one of these magical concoctions with her. But for present day Amy sans mom, making or acquiring such a treat is too much work (and too many calories). 

But I WILL have some straight brandy tonight…and some low-calorie Halo ice cream (in roughly the same time period but not actually together). Which yes, basically makes it a night–it’s not always brandy but I almost always have some hard booze to accompany my nightly Halo. My mom would not understand this but she would be happy if it made me happy (which it does). 

So yeah, my mom’s spirit would now be legally able to go into a Wisconsin supper club (or hipster supper club somewhere else) and buy a Brandy Alexander. And no, I don’t actually believe in ghosts but it was an observation/very on-brand Amy “joke” I didn’t want to resist making. 

*This is an incomplete statement. My mom is NOT part of my life as a living breathing embodied entity I can interact with, and this is a huge void that I don’t want to minimize, but she is still part of my life in that I continue to think about her–both my memories of her and my imaginings of what she would say and how she would react if she was alive. But trying to capture all this in the original paragraph interrupted the flow of my writing.

Sometimes it really does feel like all the world’s a stage, or at least that an audience can pop up at any time. 

Our band Pigeons From Hell played an impromptu concert this weekend–okay, only for two people and only for about twenty minutes–and it was awesome. 

As a literal garage band, we were in the midst of our mostly weekly Friday night rehearsal in our lead guitarist’s garage, when a car stopped in the alley. We all immediately thought “Uh-Oh…” We’re we going to be yelled at for being too loud? We actually had the cops called on us a couple of years ago at the South Minneapolis neighborhood Porch Fest, so have some basis for this fear. 

But no, we weren’t in trouble…the woman driving the car said they had heard music and so were driving around looking for the source, and wanted to know if it was okay if they stopped and listened to us. 

Of course it was okay, and after a song or so we invited them to hang out on the patio so they’d be more comfortable. They listened to a total of three or four songs (including Chad’s original “Naked” and a cover of Lone Justice’s “Shelter”) and said they thought we were great. They even clapped. 

They asked where we played, and we said “here” (as in the garage) but listed a few of our venues from the Before Times (Driftwood Char Bar, Acadia). As they left they said they hoped to catch us again. 

We don’t know for sure how they found us–were they people from the neighborhood? Visiting some friends or in the area for one of the high school sports ball events? (We couldn’t really see them as it was dark). 

It was a random and beautiful moment of connection with strangers–something that probably wouldn’t have happened before we were vaccinated. 

It was also our first performance since Covid (unless we count the cyclists who stopped by a couple of weeks ago), and our first performance of the latest version of our band–Pigeons From Hell 4.0. 

Yes, Pigeons from Hell has yet another lineup, with the biggest change that I’m now on drums, instead of keyboards. Why? Our most recent drummer and drummer #3, Tom, who is an amazing drummer, understandably decided he needed more time for other things. So I finally decided to let go of my career as a Linda McCartney (keyboardist for Wings) and go back to my home instrument of drums. 

And I LOVE it. Yes, I miss the keys, and I definitely appreciate my time playing them and how I had the chance to grow my keyboard mojo, but playing drums now feels so very right. It feels right for me, and right for the times, and the boys of the band are doing an admirable job of adapting to a new drummer and my quirks (I basically have a three grove repertoire and cannot be reliably counted on to end a song the same way twice in a row). 

Pigeons From Hell current lineup:

• Mike Trench: lead guitarist, vocalist, songwriter, garage/rehearsal space owner
• Chad Snyder: guitarist, bassist, lead vocalist, songwriter, mandolinist, provider of witty acerbic remarks
• John Price: guitarist, bassist, lead vocalist, songwriter, provider of witty interstitial banter
• Amy Luedtke: drummer, lead vocalist, consumer of canned wine cocktails

I’ve also discovered that I can regularly drum AND sing lead (for at least three of the songs in our set). Maybe I’m moving from my Linda McCartney phase to aspiring to be Karen Carpenter.

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Whatever version of the band we are or may be, playing for other people is magical (and somewhat terrifying–yes, I was nervous about having an audience of two!). Playing for each other and for ourselves is the heart of making music, but adding the experience for playing others is–well, I can’t think of a good metaphor or analogy or description (which is one of the many reasons I am the only band member who has not written my own song/s) so I just have to settle for saying it’s really cool. 

Speaking of songwriting…not only do we have a pretty different lineup from when we started as a Twin Town Guitars student band covering The Pretenders (as in Chrissie Hynde and the) we now play several original songs and a wide variety of covers. Currently, we only do two covers of The Pretenders songs. (Trivia question: where does our band title come from?)

“Circumstance beyond our control,

The phone, the TV and the news of the world

Got in the house like a pigeon from hell,

Threw sand in our eyes and descended like flies”

“Back on the Chain Gang,” The Pretenders

If you’ve made it this far in this post, you must be wondering how and where you can catch a Pigeons From Hell performance. We actually do have a gig coming up (hopefully for more than two people) but it’s for a private corporate event (thanks to John’s connections). But it’s not too early for you to think about if you, yes you, could host a backyard or garage Pigeons show next year as soon as the weather gets nice (the cops probably won’t get called). And maybe, just maybe, Covid will start getting less scary and we’ll be able to perform indoors somewhere with walls and everything. 

And…maybe, just maybe, we’ll spend some time in the garage this winter when it’s not too cold and might even record an original song or two. Maybe we’ll even come up with an original song about Pigeons.

I don’t want summer to end. 

Yes, there are many delights of fall. And this has been a rather crappy summer–just in terms of weather and environment alone, with the heat wave and the drought and the bad air quality caused by wildfire smoke. 

I’m not even that much of a summer person–I don’t hang out at the beach or by the pool or go up to the cabin or go camping. Even in the before times I rarely did cookouts or summer festivals/fairs or road trips. I don’t go to ball games. I absolutely don’t garden or do yardwork. I hate bugs and thunderstorms.

But I love the long days of summer and the hours and hours of daylight. I’m still amazed that we get almost 16 hours of daylight at the summer solstice. Just the idea of all that light is somewhat intoxicating.  

Actually the very idea of summer is intoxicating, and maybe what I really love. I want to bask in  what summer represents (at least to me)–possibility, freedom, ease, growth, celebration, beauty, relaxation, indulgence.

And I had such high hopes for this summer–as many of us had. I was going to reconnect with so many people that I hadn’t been able to see in person, and do so many things–concerts, dining out–that Covid had squelched. 

Many of my hopes and dreams for this summer did come true, and it was wonderful, and I`m so thankful. But of course, I couldn’t do everything or see everyone I wanted to. Even without Delta, my expectations for what I could reasonably fit in–especially after months of not having a packed schedule and wanting to avoid jumping back into that–were unrealistic. 

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I can’t make summer last no matter how much I try. Clinging to summer will only get messy and sad and a little scary, just like when Toad tries to run with melting ice cream cones in the aptly titled story “Ice Cream.”* 

Toad’s intentions are good–he’s just trying to bring a little joy, in the form of an ice cream cone, to his waiting friend Frog. But not only does the ice cream cone melt before he makes it to Frog, Toad ends up a sticky mess mistaken for a monster by the other animal he encounters. 

Luckily, Frog isn’t phased (no crying over melted ice cream) and just suggests that they go get two more cones together and enjoy them in the shade. 

I can’t just go an order another summer, but I can fondly remember the summer I’ve just had, and do my damndest to appreciate its fading bits (there is still light and this is some of the most gorgeous weather we’ve had) and savor the approaching fall. And I can do my best to enjoy these delights together–with Chad, with StanLee, with friends and family (in 3D and 2D) and blog readers. 

And I can still keep eating too much “low-fat” Halo ice cream. 

*I’m back to writing inspired about “Frog and Toad” stories–I THINK I only have 4 more to go!

I’m amazed by how many letters my friends and I used to write each other in the eighties/early nineties.

Yes, forget emails and don’t even think about texts–these were actual letters handwritten (okay a few were typed) on paper. Not quite papyrus scrolls or stone tablets but almost.

I don’t want to turn this into a rant about the demise of letter writing. I DO think something has been lost as we’ve collectively turned away from letter writing, but I’m not sure what it is. Certainly there is a physicality to handwriting that captures a unique aspect of a person. Seeing the handwriting of someone, especially someone deceased, powerfully and viscerally evokes their presence.

There must also be something special about the timing of the letter writing process: I throw this monologue out into the world with hope that you’ll respond with your own. I just have to wait–days, weeks, months? 

Maybe you’ll answer questions I’ve posed or just write about whatever you feel like. Maybe you’ll take time and write a flowery and eloquent missive worthy of a Ken Burns documentary or just scribble down a few thoughts or an update.

I’m sure letter writing is unique–not necessarily better than all our other current communication methods but definitely different.

I do think letters are surprisingly intimate, even when they’re not necessarily intended to be. I can’t imagine emails or phone calls or face-to-face conversations being as routinely revealing of people’s inner lives. Or maybe the thoughts expressed just seem more weighty because they are more permanent–not just “on the record” (as my friend Mark once advised don’t ever put anything in writing because it can be used against you) but rooted in the physical world. 

Maybe people feel safer or bolder when expressing themselves in a letter, as it is a solitary experience–you can’t see the other person’s reactions and they can’t interrupt you.

So I’m a little thrown by all the letters I uncovered in the midst of another personal possession purge. Even the mundane letters feel a little too intimate. I couldn’t read them all in one sitting due to time and emotional limits.

I also completely forgot how many letters I received (and presumably sent). Not just from close friends or friends who were traveling, but more casual college friends living at home again during the summer.

And maybe I was a little stalky? I definitely got some “okay I’m responding to your letter so relax” vibes.

I even had some pen pals–people I never actually met in person.

I also found a few angsty unsent letters that I wrote that were cringe inducing. Thank heavens I didn’t send them, but it makes me a little nervous about the ones I did send. 

I guess the big takeaways are that I’m amazed by how deep some of my friendships were when I was young. I don’t know if this is attributed to youth or a pre-social media world, but it’s lovely and makes me a little uncomfortable and wistful. I’m also surprised and humbled by the scope of my social connections. People who I haven’t thought about in years– decades really–came back to life in my mind as I held and read their letters.

It almost feels like magic–you unwrap a piece of paper and a person appears. All without a selfie.

Today I finished packing up all my belongings from my onsite work office. 

I may have to go back and do some cleaning and dusting and paper clip redistribution, but this great task of transition is essentially complete. 

Surprisingly, I feel less overwhelmed than after my first session of moving. Yes, I still haven’t touched any of the papers and paraphernalia that I brought home two weeks ago and dumped in my home office, but today I only brought one more box home. I feel like I was quite successful this time in making hard choices and recycling (and sadly, throwing away) stuff I know I’m not ever going to use or need, despite sentimental attachment.  

Today I took a deep dive into the mementos of my tenure as a youth services librarian. From roughly 2001-2005, my professional speciality was the world of childhood literacy–storytime and fingerplays and picture books and book clubs and so forth. Before that, I also was an assistant in the children’s section of the Cedar Rapids Public Library, so I accumulated a LOT of storytime resources. 

I loved being a youth services librarian (although it was not something I wanted to do for my entire working life) and I fondly looked at all my storytime plans and accessories before recycling them. 

Any observant and regular readers of my blog may be asking–”Didn’t you write in your last post about office clean-up that you couldn’t part with your storytime keepsakes?”

Yes, indeed, so I guess I was in a different headspace today–and I may have been inspired by finding my flannel board story pieces. (If you don’t know what a flannel board story is, please Google it or use a time machine to transport you back to the seventies. Actually, surprisingly and charmingly, flannel boards apparently are still a thing and you can even find YouTube videos on how to make and use them).

Finding these goofy artifacts may have been just what I needed to convince me that I could let go of some of my storytime related memorabilia. 

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These clowns are hysterical. And rather frightening. They look drunk and slightly menacing. I hope they didn’t send any children to therapy. 

I may be creative, I may be musical, I may be theatrical, I may even be artistic–but I am not crafty. Maybe I will be someday, but so far in my journey, that has not been me. There is clearly a reason I usually did my storytimes with limited props. (I think to the dismay of my very crafty sister, who was always more than willing to help me up my storytime game).

It was hard to recycle the many handmade thank you cards I received from various children (usually from visiting school groups), but I reminded myself I didn’t actually remember the individual children and they are probably now in their thirties, so I let the cards go. I DID save a card I got from a grandmother who was a regular storytime attendee along with her grandaughter, Bryn. Seeing 3-year-old Bryn every week at storytime sharing the experience with her grandparents always warmed my heart (my grandparents used to take me to Menards).

Who knows, maybe Bryn grew up to be a librarian…or a clown?

As my last post detailed, I recently did a cover of the 1985’s Tears for Fear classic “Head Over Heels.”

Revisiting this song has inspired me to revisit the experience of being “Head Over Heels” — not just in romantic love (which when I was 15 in 1985 pretty much meant dramatically wallowing in unrequited love) but head over heels by the delights and mysteries of life — both big and small.  

“Head Over Heels” is one of those phrases that is so common that it can lose meaning. But think about it…actually, it should probably be “heels over head”* because it’s trying to convey that sense of being completely discombobulated and disoriented by an overpowering emotion or experience. And it’s usually completely unexpected — the sensation invades your ordinary life. 

This experience of being completely untethered and in free fall can be pretty scary — and exhilarating. (The music of the song is definitely ambivalent–hence those dastardly A9 chords — to evoke a little dread). So while it makes sense that we might think being head over heels is (or should be) only for young people or those newly in love, I want to try and open myself up to it. 

Things that make me head over heels:

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• Playing music live again — in 3D — with others, and in front of others — especially getting to drum AND sing at the same time!
• Our church’s weekly storytime via Zoom — getting to know the kids and their families better, and (re)discovering the wonder and wisdom and diversity of children’s picture books 
• Seeing friends in 3D and yes, even hugs in the right circumstances
• Sitting at a bar (although that may not happen again for a while)
• Wildflowers — learning to notice them, especially when they appear in not-so-scenic places
• Our church’s coffeehouse via Zoom — performing and being part of the online audience
• The urban turkeys that terrorize our neighborhood — definitely an example of the jarring, unpleasant, okay, often downright scary Head Over Heels experience that can literally stop me in my tracks when I’m running and I encounter one or several. No, they’ve never been aggressive toward me but I don’t want to give them the opportunity. And seriously, should they be freely roaming in NE Minneapolis?
• And speaking of unexpected birds in the city…the sound of our neighbor chickens. The chickens aren’t irritating or obnoxious (apparently they are rooster-free), and often provide just a pleasant background babble but make me think “Where the hell am I?”
• Realizing it’s dark by 8:30 at night (damn)
• An amazing audiobook that transports me to another world (currently, “The Archive of the Forgotten”) 
• Randomly hearing the perfect, profound, deep, life-altering song on the radio (thank you, the Current!) in this case, “You’ll be bright” by Cloud Cult…maybe a coffeehouse song I could whip up for coffeehouse sometime. (Not exactly a new song — it was released in 2010 — but at least from this century!)
• Realizing there is something that I still don’t know or understand about Chad after almost 32 years (or maybe I’ve had enough time to learn and forget) and to grasp that another person will always be a mystery.
• Appreciating that there is so much I DO know and understand about Chad and that he knows about me (even if it’s our neuroses) and that we could understand even more if we looked at each other without our preconceived notions.
• The unrelenting cuteness of StanLee B. — and how does he frequently look so sad/disappointed/judgmental and letdown?

*according to dictionary.com it WAS “heels over head”

Yesterday I started cleaning out my office–my worksite office from the Before Times. 

I feel overwhelmed. 

I love working at home and feel very fortunate to be able to do so, but the process of getting from “Before” to “After” is daunting. I just don’t feel like I can deal with more stuff in my life. And I mean material, tangible, physical stuff. 

Chad and I have put a lot of time and effort this year into decluttering, and now here I am, with more clutter from work. 

To once again quote my beloved character Claire that I got to play in many versions of the play “Broken Hill”:

“It’s ocean sediment, burying me, I gotta shovel it out, and suddenly all the space I cleared is filled with more stuff than ever.”

–Claire from the play “Broken Hill” by Jim Lundy

Okay, I may be in an overly dramatic mood. I actually didn’t even have that much stuff in my office because I wasn’t there that long before Covid hit and we started working from home. I made a big purge of my work possessions around two and a half years ago when I did the cube to office move and just didn’t have time to accumulate more stuff. (And before that I made a had a big cube excavation chronicled here: Do Fear The Platypus).

I didn’t even find any weird or gross food stashes–although I did throw out a couple of granola bars and individually wrapped pieces of chocolate which I now kind of regret doing because Chad said we would have eventually consumed those. 

And yes, I did try to be ruthless in my recycling and purging. If I had things that I hadn’t looked at or used in a year and a half, I didn’t need it, right?

So what did I find and keep?

• Racing medals–no surprise, I knew that despite having brought several of them home when I got my new laptop, I still had many hanging up on my bulletin board. 
  • I was a little surprised by the “Sweating makes you look hot” sign that my awesome friend Stephanie made and held while cheering me on during my first marathon. I had forgotten about that and left it at my office to try and buy more time to come up with a plan for it.
• Mugs–I love mugs, and I love work-related mugs.
• An afghan my dad won in Nursing Home Bingo
• My Twenty Year Employee Recognition Certificate (this actually was delivered while I was gone) and several miscellaneous certificates for trainings and work awards
• Binders of training. Yes, many of these training materials I did recycle because they were obviously out-of-date, but it seems like I should at least skim the managerial and leadership topics.
  • And speaking of binders–I still could not part with my binder full of storytime fingerplays and songs, which I will probably never ever use again.

I didn’t finish cleaning out my office, but I didn’t expect to. I knew this would be a challenging  task (if not actually that time consuming) so planned for it to take at least two sessions. 

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It’s been weighing on my mind enough that I dreamed about cleaning out my office the other night, only in my dream my office morphed into my dorm room and I had lots of clothes to deal with.

Thankfully no clothes were hidden away in my office, but in addition to all the physical possessions and artifacts I’ve been focused on, there were some emotions, too. As I’ve said, this is a very welcome change for me, but it’s still a significant transition, and it was weird and a little melancholy to make it by myself in a mostly empty environment. Well, at least empty of people–there were lots of boxes and binders and more boxes. 

On the upside, feelings don’t need to be organized and don’t take up any physical space (unless I really lean in to eating mine) and I have a super cute and cuddly furry coworker to help me process them. (Just to avoid any ambiguity, I am referring to StanLee, not Chad). 

I’ve never given a commencement speech–until recently, when I “graduated” from an online leadership development course. I don’t have a recording of my speech (which is a shame because I was wearing a really cute dress) but here is the text of my short (about three minute) speech.

My Graduation Speech

“What shows up when you do?”

This is one of the last questions posed to us in our coursework, and for me it captures the most profound and useful learnings from the Leadership Academy. To answer this question, I have to take a step back and seriously consider if I am actually showing up-not just if I’m there, whether that’s online or in-person, but if I’m truly present. 

Am I focused and attentive, and listening to others with genuine curiosity? Or am I making assumptions about their intent and not really listening because I’m thinking about how I’m going to respond? Am I concentrating on the current situation or problem and utilizing my skills to make things better, or am I worrying needlessly about how things might go or how others might react?

Throughout this course we’ve been encouraged to develop positive relationships and demonstrate sincere appreciation for our employees and colleagues, and being fully present is a powerful way to show we value others and their contributions.

Being present will improve my skills as a communicator, and we’ve definitely explored the many facets of and benefits of positive communication. Yes, before this academy I knew that communication was important, but I’ve been encouraged to think more deeply about what communication is. Communication doesn’t just convey information-it connects people and builds and maintains relationships. Communication creates meaning, and helps people feel inspired.

Being present will also increase my courage-the courage to receive and give honest feedback, and to have crucial conversations.

Another provocative idea from this academy is to take measurement seriously as a way to grow as a leader. I’m a runner, so I love measuring things in that area of my life-how many miles I run a week, what’s my average pace per mile, what’s my heart rate, etc. etc. But I’ve never really considered how I could measure things that can’t be captured by my Garmin sports watch. Now I’ve learned that what we measure, we pay attention to and value. Can I commit to giving each one of my direct reports a sincere and specific compliment each week? How would I grow if I solicited and acted upon 15 minutes of feedback from direct reports and colleagues every month?

This academy has left me with more questions than commitments, but I think that’s positive–questions lead to possibilities. This academy has given me new questions to ask and new tools to answer them so I can be a more effective leader. This academy has also given me a highly supportive and inspiring cohort to take this journey with, so I’d like to end with a shout-out to my discussion breakout group and thank them for all the insights and encouragement.

Cue “Pomp and Circumstance” (or wait, is that the exit or the entrance music for a graduation? Well, you get the idea…)

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I’ve been debating whether or not I should share my speech because I’m a little embarassed by how earnest it is. Afterall, I’m Generation X, the epitome of snark. Didn’t I roll my eyes as I read and viewed much of the course material?

Well, okay, I did, but that was mostly defensiveness and reflexiveness and posturing (if only for myself). Habit. Yes, I am sincerely snarky, but I am also frequently sincerely earnest at the same time, and after 51 years of time on this planet, I should probably start owning that.

Perhaps more importantly, I hesitated to share this because I feel hypocritical extolling the value of being present. I am so often NOT present (including while working through this course material). But I didn’t say that I’ve mastered the art of being present, just that I recognize its importance. Actually, it makes a great deal of sense that the learnings about being present would really stand out to me (and they were also some of the last ones in the course so easiest for me to remember).

So, I’m sharing my speech–I’m very thankful that I was able to take this course and aspire to put at least some of the takeaways I shared in my speech into action. And, I haven’t blogged in quite a while and didn’t want to let some content that I could repurpose go to waste.

Plus, this gives me a reason (like I need one?) to post selfies that show off my cute dress.

I’ve never been a bath person.

I know that taking a bath is supposed to be the epitome of relaxation, and I know for many people it is. But just the thought of taking a bath stresses me out. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had an appropriately comfortable bathtub or bathroom, or because I’m too repressed to enjoy unstructured nudity, or because I’m too uptight to embrace the prospect of just hanging out, but the idea of just lounging around naked doesn’t appeal to me. 

But I may have discovered a type of bathing I can get into: “forest bathing.” (Don’t worry, this does NOT involve being naked in a forest–I can’t even imagine the potential for a bug related disaster). 

The concept is Japanese and basically means spending intentional time in nature. Yes, that’s a pretty simplistic explanation, and my version of forest bathing is quite minimal–I’m mostly just wandering around some area parks.

My outings aren’t strenuous (not the point of forest bathing anyway) and I’m definitely not roughing it–there’s no camping, backpacking, or even hiking involved (unless the line between “hike” and “walk” is very malleable). I do usually end up strolling between 4 and 6 miles.

But my park meandering is a new thing for me, and although I didn’t start the practice with the idea that I was forest bathing, I like applying that lens to it. I like reflecting on how I’ve made a change to my life since COVID lockdown that I think has some merit. 

Not surprisingly, my park practice was inspired by lockdown, when it occurred to me that going to parks would be something to do that was relatively safe and somewhat novel. I also realized that after 20 plus years of living in Minneapolis, it was time to take advantage of some of the many opportunities to experience the great (and medium and small) outdoors in my area. 

In the last year, I’ve been to two State Parks, and several county, regional, and city parks…and once I ended up on a “trail” that was just a path through a neighborhood (yeah, that was a bit of a letdown). My experiences have been beautiful, disappointing, inspiring, confusing, hot, calming, surprising.

There have been lots of bugs. And selfies. And nature photos. And more bugs. 

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I am not very skilled at really being in the moment and appreciating my natural surroundings (which is actually a key aspiration for forest bathing). During my meanderings I’m usually listening to a podcast or an audiobook. I do TRY and listen to the birds and the water and wind too, but I love “reading” while walking and taking in the sights and smells and sensations while getting swept up in a story or a conversation. 

The main thing is that I have been getting outside to new places in a new way. Which means I can use (misuse?) another trendy term here: microadventure. An adventure doesn’t always have to be a big deal. It just needs to be something a little different and unexpected, something that gives you the opportunity to be open to possibilities and really realizing you’re not totally in control of how things are going to go.

My park explorations feel slightly adventurous because I’m never quite sure what will happen: What type of trail or path will I end up on? What flowers or trees or animal life might I see? Will I remember how to find where I’ve parked the car? Will I be able to take a least one moderately cute selfie? Will I be able to find a port-a-potty when I need one? 

I’m not the most attentive nature worshipper, but I have learned to be more observant and appreciative, and better able to see beauty and value when it doesn’t exactly fit my standard definition. Okay, universe, I don’t always have to have a sunny, 72 degree day and a path lined with wildflowers along and a gurgling brook (actually I have never experienced this).

Now that I feel like I safely can go more places and do more things (hallelujah), I still hope to keep forest bathing. Just don’t expect me to learn to appreciate mosquitoes any time soon.