It’s beautiful out.
I’m in Washington, DC right now, where summer seems to have hit in full force on May 1. Yesterday, it was full sun and 90 degrees Fahrenheit, which is a bit terrifying but also energizing. There’s some magic in going for a walk on a sunny evening, looking up through the leaves of springtime-green trees and watching the daylight fade. Humans are made to breathe in days like this.
It was also beautiful in Scotland, from which I’ve just returned. I went on an unbelievably energizing run one day a few weeks ago, pounding the twisting pavement of a mountain road, the fog so thick I had to take off my glasses in order to see, the air like water around me. It’s been months since I’ve grinned so wide. For some reason, dashing through the low rain clouds, soaked to the bone and up to my ankles in rolling water, clambering over granite and through bushes, I felt like every movement had been scripted, had been promised, had been perfectly crafted to make me come alive.
The conclusion I draw from these disparate experiences is that people are not meant to spend our days staring at a glowing screen, breathing conditioned air and thinking of the weather as theoretical. We talk about other people as the keys to our existence, the centers of our meaning, the depths of our emotions—and they are—but they are not alone in this. Thousands of generations have spent most of their days out in the world, feeling the reality of wind and rain and sun, listening to birdsong and insects. There’s nothing profound or unique in recognizing this, but still, we forget so often.
Sometimes, I go outside and long for the comforts of a fireplace or an air-conditioner. I pick ticks off my skin or slather on sunscreen and am so grateful for modern conveniences I can barely breathe. But more often, the smell of lush soil or blooming flowers reminds me that even the most expensive perfume is lacking in some unspeakable depths. The sound of water dripping onto spring-fresh leaves or footsteps on uneven rocks hits me in an eternal way.
I encourage you to seek out your own nature, large or small. Close your eyes, and then open them. Inhale.