For me it’s a patchwork of moments stitched together with intention and grit.
Sometimes it’s chasing waterfalls, hiking until my lungs burn and my mind quiets. Other times it’s sitting still with dirt under my fingers. I dig out rocks. I feel the pulse of the earth in my hands. The grounding is real.
I reward myself with little treats. These treats are not just food but include coffee. Sometimes, I get a new stone for my collection. I might even buy something that helps my work move forward. It’s the small acts that remind me I’m worth the care.
Marijuana helps soften the sharp edges when life presses too hard. It’s part of the ritual, a moment to breathe deeper and slow down.
Face masks sneak in when I want to slow the world for a bit. They give my skin and spirit a break, sometimes I even get a manicure or pedicure. Thanks Stink!
Kayaking isn’t just exercise. It’s a ways I reclaim my body. I feel strong and say, “I am here, I am whole.” Losing weight is part of that journey because I want it to be.
My kitty boys? Those cuddles are medicine. So is time with my dog, the quiet companionship and sunlit walks keep me tethered.
Reading fills my mind with stories. These feed my soul. Spells, rituals, crystals, and oils wrap around me like armor. They also serve as a healing balm.
This isn’t neat or perfect. It’s my survival, my love letter to myself messy, real, and sacred.
Yesterday, I took a trip to Cedarville, Ohio. My companions were two close friends, Luna, and one of my friend’s toddlers. It was my first time exploring Indian Mound Reserve. We took about two hours with stops. The drive itself was peaceful. We had the kind of conversations that set the mood for a day of adventures and recharge. The weather hovered around the mid-50s with an on and off drizzle. It was not enough to drench us. However, it was just enough to make everything smell like clean earth and wet bark. The kind of rain that makes the greens greener and turns even ordinary trails into something soft and cinematic.
I shouldn’t plan or control the map.
We planned to do the 2.5-mile Rim Trail, but thanks to some confusion on AllTrails, and my attention span didn’t help matters. So, we ended up doubling back and weaving in circles until we’d clocked over 4 miles. Despite the detour, it didn’t feel like a mistake, just part of the adventure. The trail wound us through a vibrant forest. Red and purple flowers began to bloom. These were early declarations of late spring. Waterfall views made the mud and missteps worth it. The whole area hummed with the sound of running water, and it followed us nearly the entire hike. There’s something about that like being gently reminded to keep flowing forward, no matter how tangled the path becomes.
The trail itself was a bit rugged in parts, especially after the rain. Tree roots snaked across much of the path. The muddiness made for a comical dance. This was especially true since I had worn my etnies. I rarely wear hiking boots. I slipped or slid numerous times. Each slip reminded me that I probably need to actually wear my boots. Still, I wouldn’t change it. There’s something about feeling the ground fight back a little that makes me feel more alive.
We crossed numerous wooden bridges and steps, weaving over and across the large creek that cuts through the park. Some of the trails we passed weren’t even marked in AllTrails yet. This tends to happen in less populus areas. My little unofficial footpaths and secret side trails waiting to be explored another day. The water access points were everywhere. With so few people on the trail, it felt like we had the whole preserve to ourselves. That kind of quiet is rare. It is broken only by the babble of water and the chatter of a toddler discovering nature. This is especially true even in Ohio’s backwoods.
Even though I wasn’t alone, the experience was still refreshingly personal. There’s a rhythm I fall into on hikes like this, a balance between noticing everything and thinking about nothing. It’s where I process things I don’t have words for. I watch Luna splash, sniff, and smile. Then, I remember why I do this. The road and the forest matter to me in ways that a house or a routine never could.
I’ll eventually return to Cedarville to explore the other trails and waterfalls. This first visit was only the rim of what’s possible there. I want to hike them all, but honestly that’s nothing new. There’s something sacred in learning a place like that. One muddy mile at a time.
Take me to the mountains. let me see the lay of the land, point me toward the sky at night, Prop me right up by the fires light.
Give me at least a day or two. Help me settle back into my skin. I will come back good as new, if you just take me out of this city.
Give me a mountain view, a hike or two. Okay… more like a few. A week off work, will work. No cell service, a waterfall to sit beneath, with a cool stream to tap my feet.
