I have a place I go when something is sitting heavy in my mind. It is not far.
I have a place I go when something is sitting heavy in my mind. It is not far. Seefeld first, then a little further out toward the fields, away from the noise of the lake promenade and the weekend crowd. I have been doing this walk for a while now and it has become something I protect.
There is a wooden structure tucked into the trees on the way. Curved benches arranged in a circle, open to the sky. I found it by accident one afternoon and I have not stopped returning since. I sit there and I do nothing. Sometimes I close my eyes. Sometimes I fall asleep for twenty minutes with the sound of leaves above me. I call it my cocoon. When I am trying to make a decision and the noise in my head is too loud, I come here first. Something about being enclosed by wood and trees, with the city completely gone from view, makes the thoughts settle on their own.
"When I am trying to make a decision and the noise in my head is too loud, I come here first."
By the time I turn back toward the city, I can usually feel the difference in my body. The walk has taken the edge off the day and made room for quieter thoughts.
I try to eat that way when I can. Not strictly, not with rules that turn eating into effort. But I notice that when I eat well my body feels lighter and my mind less scattered. My body is something I take care of the way you take care of something you actually value. It is the only thing that is entirely mine.
I think about companionship on these walks. What it means to be genuinely present with someone. Out there, with no phone to check and no role to perform, I understand more clearly what I want to offer the people I spend time with. Not company for the sake of filling silence. Actual presence. The same quality the trees and the wooden bench give me, but between two people.
Some visits are not planned. Some presence just finds you.
This evening, back at my flat, a ladybug came in through the open window. I picked her up gently and put her back outside. A few minutes later she was back, sitting on my arm. I took her out a second time. She came back again. At some point I stopped trying to redirect her and just let her be. Some visitors know where they want to stay.