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I have been trying and failing to establish a daily—or weekly, or anything even remotely resembling semi-regular—meditation practice for well over a decade. I’ve attributed my general failure to busy days, a lack of willpower, and the human condition. But it turns out that a simple switch of environment may have been the answer I’d been seeking.
It’s summertime in Oregon, which means a lot of time spent near rivers. On a recent camping trip, I woke up at dawn and crept out of the tent where my friend still slumbered. After brewing some tea, I decided to walk the trail down to our afternoon swim spot, curious to see it in the morning light. The already sweltering sun sent sparkles down the river, but our place on the rocks was still, mercifully, shaded.
I sat down, watched the water, listened to the birds, and came up with a revolutionary idea: I should meditate here. I tapped into the Open app (the bars were still good) and opted for the first guided meditation I saw. A calm, steady voice began to explain the importance of breath and awareness. So, I breathed.
In place of my usual restlessness, and my typical annoyance at the voice, which was too chill to be a real dude (and of course he has an accent), there was a surprising sense of stillness. With one earbud in, I could still hear the flow and lap of the river, the rustling trees, the waking birds.
With each breath and the accompanying ambient sound, I sunk deeper into the landscape. As I became quiet enough to merge with the external world, my inner world got quieter, too. We were all one thing. When Vague Accent Guy wrapped the meditation and instructed me to open my eyes 10 minutes later, I felt a profound shift. Everything was the same, but more. The colors seemed brighter and highly saturated, the soundtrack more resonant. From there, I rode a wave of inner peace that lasted for hours.
All that to say, I’ve since taken my daily meditation outside. Each morning, I head out to my backyard, find a comfy seat, and spend 10 minutes sitting in silence. The sun hits my skin, the breeze passes over my upward-facing palms as the birds chirp. My dogs wrestle. There are smells. Occasionally, a car drives by. All of it contributes to a deeper meditative state than I’ve ever reached indoors.
When I’m inside, it’s just me. I am meditating for my own benefit; to master my mind, improve my focus, regulate my emotions. It’s a chore. Outside, I am meditating to remember that I am part of something greater than myself. I’m a part of a natural world that’s just waiting for me to get quiet enough to rejoin it. And so, out there, I do.
