It’s about a mile and a quarter down the hill to my happy place. Each Sunday afternoon, sunscreened and sneakers on, I embark on my journey to peace. The sun, breaking through the early morning marine layer, is my invitation to grab my Kindle, the keeper of all fantasy and fiction, and leave the reality of my home to escape the constant alerts of tragic news and hate. This week it’s the continuous droning over the Epstein files (who gives a shit and why is it getting so much air time?), ongoing ICE raids grabbing and detaining people working the fields, the cutting of federal funding for foreign aid and NPR/PBS of all things. (I can’t imagine a world without Big Bird!) Where the hell am I? I often feel like a foreigner in my own country. Or maybe I’ve time traveled back to the 1930’s. Every day brings a new shock wave to my system struggling to stay grounded and joyful in what seems to be a broken world.
It’s a glorious day, temperature a Santa Barbara perfect 73 degrees. No humidity. Birds chirping to one another, oblivious to what’s happening in the world. Do they know something about life we don’t? I envy their freedom to fly away as my feet, stuck on the ground, keep me mired in the ugliness around me.
But today, I’m not engaged. I’m celebrating my freedom to do as I please. This isn’t my normal apple watched pace of a 15-minute mile. This is a stroll, different by design to rejoice in the beauty around me. I take an intentional deep breath inhaling the sweet scent of honeysuckle, my eyes feasting on the diverse color and textures around me. I’m only five minutes into the walk and I’ve already entered a different universe, one that I choose to inhabit.
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