Into the woods I go, to lose my mind and find my soul

Even as I tie my shoes, I can feel a little bit of stress leaving my body. It was a rough week in the hospital. I never imagined that I would be a frontline worker in a worldwide pandemic. Every day I walk into work feeling scared, stressed out, overwhelmed, and emotional. Minute by minute things are changing, and I have to learn my job over and over again. Everyday we are seeing more and more cases and the fear grows deeper in all our hearts. A couple of the other girls I work with quit today. They just could not handle it anymore, physically, or emotionally. The fear of taking this deadly disease home to their children and husbands was more than they could bare.

I am a single mom. I do not have that choice, but I understand the fear. I understand the overwhelm of the job and trying to successfully homeschool a twelve-year-old who does not want to learn. My elderly parents who usually help me with childcare are too scared to be around me because of my job and I was too scared to let them. I could not be the reason my parents contracted this virus, the reason they died… So, I have no one. No back up at work, no help with childcare, no teachers, and no parents. Alone. Scared. Overwhelmed.

Its May now, the second month of the pandemic. I have finally found the thing one that was going to keep me a little more balanced. I finish tying my shoes, grab my bag and jump into my Jeep. My shoulders start to relax as the engine starts and I back out of my driveway. It is still dark out. I want to be home before my son wakes up, I already miss to much time with him, but I need this time. I need this time like I need oxygen.

I used to drive in silence, but it was too busy now, too many thoughts, too many fears, too many “what if” scenarios. I hate silence now, so I crank up my radio and sing at the top my lungs. I smile a bit at myself, glad I was alone and could sing as loudly as I want without judgement.

As I pull onto a gravel road and look in the rear-view mirror, the hospital stands out above everything else. I start to feel the tension crawl back in. As I take a deep breath and count 1,2,3,4 and hold (I have been studying breathwork for the days I can not get out of the house) and look in the mirror again. The dust from the road has completely obliterated the view of the hospital. A sigh escapes and I feel tears welling in my eyes and a lump forming in my throat. I press the gas pedal a little harder.

The sun is starting to rise as I pull up to my favorite spot. I jump out of the Jeep and grab my bag; I do not want to miss a second of this! The sun is peaking out from behind the mountain top, already showing off its amazing ability to transform dark into light and radiating its beauty to every inch of the sky. I stand with my feet planted firmly on the ground, breathe deeply, and raise my arms to the sky. I give gratitude for the beauty, for the lesson that all darkness eventually turns to light and that there is still abundant beauty in the world.

My backpack is heavy, I always carry way too much now. My husband always taught me to be prepared for anything and I teased him mercilessly about his motto, until he was killed in a car accident six months ago. I was not prepared. I was not prepared to be alone, I was not prepared to be a single mom, and I was absolutely not prepared to be a newly single mom and widow at 31 years old in an unprecedented pandemic. Now, I am always prepared. I may even be partially to blame for the toilet paper shortage. I am ALWAYS prepared for anything and everything now.

I took the first few steps on the trail. I try to switch up my hikes, a new one every time but today I craved something familiar. I could feel the tension leaving my eyes, my head and jaw within the first kilometer. By kilometer five my shoulders were relaxing and the tension in my chest had began to ease. I hike fast, still a little nervous to hike on my own, especially in the spring when the bears are hungry and protecting their babies. I stay alert, focusing on my breathing and the sound my footsteps make on the rough path.

I pay attention to all my senses, not wanting to miss one little thing on this magnificent mountain. The smell of the spring is still in air, the crisp freshness of the new grass, the fragrance of the early flowers, the earthy sweet smell of the new leaves and the subtle smell of the water ahead. I reach seven kilometers and let out a sigh of relief. I feel again, I feel me again, I feel like I am going to be okay, the numbness I have forced myself to live in for the last week has faded with each step on the earth, with each breath. The sun is fully out now and the radiant colours have faded and a brilliant blue has taken their place, the new vibrant green leaves are a stunning contrast to the blue. I can still see dew drops on the grass and colourful wildflowers, I take it all in. The beauty of nature, the sounds of the wind whispering through the trees, the birds singing a good morning song, and squirrels chattering at me. My favorite sound is the water, the rushing forcefulness of the water, so powerful that I swear you can feel the sound in your cells.

The last fifty feet are the hardest, almost straight up. I have done it many times before, but it still makes me nervous, I cautiously check my surroundings and start up. I am breathing hard by 25 feet and wonder why I still do this. It feels a little reckless, a little mad and then I reach the top and I pause and stare. The beauty of the waterfall will never cease to amaze me. I scramble the last couple of feet up and feel the cool, fresh mist from the waterfall on my skin.

Sitting on the ground at the base of the waterfall, I feel its tranquility flow through my body, mind, and spirit. I know why I still do this, why I take the risk, why I push myself; I have found my way, my sanctuary to find peace and calm in this hectic ever changing new world.