Over Night

Last week we ran away for a night. It was just one night, stolen between workdays and responsibilities and to-do lists. We drove down an old fire road between enormous trees and along a bubbling creek and we hung our hammock, drank from our cooler, built a little campfire, and slept in the back of our truck. It was easy, no major planning involved, just a little time in the car to reach a place with no people or cell phone reception. 

I occasionally catch myself thinking that unless I can "go big" I should just "go home," that small adventures don't "count."

Count for what? Who the hell do I think is keeping score? What a bunch of crap.

It all "counts."

Every moment that we step away from our routines to feed our souls counts. Every move we make to care for ourselves, be it a sleep in the forest, a long bubble bath, a well crafted meal, counts. These moments are how we stay strong and whole so that we can offer the best of ourselves to the world. This is how we fill the well from which we pull our creativity, our compassion, our courage, our kindness.

Sometimes we get the time and space and resources to "go big." But more often, if we always waited for the big adventures, the grand vacations, we'd be exhausted and puny when we got there, our souls emaciated and malnourished. What silliness to wait, to assume that there will be a better moment than the one in front of us to do some small magic for ourselves.

We stole a night beneath grand ponderosa pines and red firs and a million stars twinkling between their branches. It wasn't "hardcore" and it wasn't "big" and what feeds your soul might be something entirely different. But as we drove back down that old fire road the next morning, my step was lighter and my to-do list more manageable and my smile easier. Just like that, just over night.