Terry Helwig's Blog - Posts Tagged "de-stressing"
Get-lost Days, Good for the Soul
In our fast-paced, information-age society, setting aside chunks of time to reconnect is becoming a lost art. While I envy Thoreau’s year in the woods, my nurture and nourishment have, by necessity, been parceled into smaller increments—mostly in the shape of days I call "get-lost days."
The premise of a get-lost day (or a get-lost afternoon) is to block out time to dawdle, explore and connect with the world. Get-lost days fuel my creativity. I often back out of the garage not knowing my destination. The mystery of where the day's current will lead is part of the fun. Years ago, my husband waved to me and my daughter from the garage and called out: "Don't forget your map."
My daughter Mandy, a veteran of get-lost days by age ten, rolled down her window and yelled, “Dad, you don’t use maps on get-lost days.” For the most part, she was right.
Over the years, we hiked Thoreau’s Walden Pond; stained our fingers blue picking wild blueberries; slurped fresh watermelon under various oaks; and bought antique china cups for a tea party. We discovered new trails, tucked-away restaurants (yes, a few dives) and quaint neighborhoods. Once, we even stopped by a roadside stand advertising "Piglets for Sale." I'm happy to report we didn't buy any piglets, but the fresh vegetables were divine!
I have celebrated get-lost days for forty years, and I have never returned empty-hearted. Truly, none of us knows how a given day will unfold. Get-lost days merely celebrate this mystery and create a space for the soul to loiter and revel in the unraveling of time.
The premise of a get-lost day (or a get-lost afternoon) is to block out time to dawdle, explore and connect with the world. Get-lost days fuel my creativity. I often back out of the garage not knowing my destination. The mystery of where the day's current will lead is part of the fun. Years ago, my husband waved to me and my daughter from the garage and called out: "Don't forget your map."
My daughter Mandy, a veteran of get-lost days by age ten, rolled down her window and yelled, “Dad, you don’t use maps on get-lost days.” For the most part, she was right.
Over the years, we hiked Thoreau’s Walden Pond; stained our fingers blue picking wild blueberries; slurped fresh watermelon under various oaks; and bought antique china cups for a tea party. We discovered new trails, tucked-away restaurants (yes, a few dives) and quaint neighborhoods. Once, we even stopped by a roadside stand advertising "Piglets for Sale." I'm happy to report we didn't buy any piglets, but the fresh vegetables were divine!
I have celebrated get-lost days for forty years, and I have never returned empty-hearted. Truly, none of us knows how a given day will unfold. Get-lost days merely celebrate this mystery and create a space for the soul to loiter and revel in the unraveling of time.
