The best experiences never let you go.

I've been back from the wilderness, more specifically Algonquin Provincial Park, for two weeks now.

Never have I done something as physically strenuous as this trip.  Fourteen women arrived at the park together, threw 40-50 lb packs onto our backs, put canoes in the water and set out to find a story, an adventure, a change of name.

To live simply has always been a lifestyle that's called to me, but often my attempts at living it out get cluttered and distracted (just take a look at my Mac desktop and you will be fully convinced of my disorganized tendencies).  Writers like Nouwen, Thoreau, Wendell Berry, Michael Pollan-- they all touch something in my heart that craves the minimal.  Maybe it's because deep down I am convinced that to really be effective in doing anything worthwhile on this planet and to impact humanity in some small way, with the short lease of life I've been given, it is essential to get rid of lifestyle excess.  There is a unique experience of grace and joy that comes when the unnecessary leaves.

In one week I'll be leaving for a large city, taking classes at a new school, working at a new cafe, navigating a new system of public transportation.  The trip I took into the woods was planned far ahead of any knowing of a pending move, yet it came at the perfect time, almost serving as a cleansing from all the craziness of the last two years. I went in need of courage, in need of fresh vision, in need of childlike wonder.  

As we set out on the water, I noticed how the fresh air filled my lungs, making breathing an act to pay attention to, remembering the miracle of each breath in, each breath out.  As I write this, I am remembering my Nanny and how she would have celebrated her 93rd birthday just a few days ago.  I am remembering how a year and a half ago, I sat in a hospital room on what would have been her ninety-one and a half celebration of life, and how in those early morning hours I had the honor of watching a beautiful soul take that final breath of transition that leads you into what the living will always see as a great unknown.  An unknown that raises questions that sometimes produce anxiety until you just learn how to trust-- until you learn how to value each breath as sacred, surrendering the why questions, surrendering the temptation to shape theology around brokenness and disappointments.

The first two days of the trip were difficult emotionally.  I found myself escaping into daydreams, which has been my tendency since childhood, searching for a safe place in my mind for warmth, security, the comforts of life, internet access, text messages.  I started thinking of all the things left undone back home, regretting my decision to go on such an intense trip when I had so many other things to get done. It produced anxiety as I struggled to be present in the moment, to fully immerse my heart, my mind, my body in the experience.

Yet something happened the third day, a crazy baptism of sorts.  I was able to fully transition into being where I was without a desire for escape.  What came from that transition was a clearing out of all the clutter in my mind, all the anxious thoughts, all the fears of failure and questions as to whether I have what it takes for the changes coming in my life.  I found myself, for one of the first times in two years, able to think confidently about my future, believing that even in the midst of such loss over the last two years, Love does chase us down with goodness and mercy every single moment of every single day.

So here's to a new beginning, a fresh start, new eyes, a new way of being.

Here's to now, to today, to this minute, this second...to learning how to breathe in deep.