Category: 31 Days (Page 1 of 16)

When I move somewhere new and am learning my way around, I venture away from home to the grocery store or the post office, and then navigate back. Every new destination is a separate place, with home as the center point. As I become more familiar with the city, I can start to link destinations together without having to start from home. My mental map fills in and I see how the places relate to each other, not just to my house. The flat map comes to life as I learn where the separate locations fit into the puzzle.

That happened to me today, even though I’m not somewhere new.

I met a friend for coffee this morning in an Oakland neighborhood I have visited many times. Before I left home, I was dreading one part of the drive. After merging on the freeway, I have to move over several lanes right away. Two lanes go off to the right, heading to a different part of Oakland, two lanes cross the Bay Bridge into San Francisco, and two lanes curve off to the left to my destination. I have to make it from the right side all the way to the left side. Crossing the lanes of commuter traffic rushing to the City is daunting. The best way to do it, maybe, is to put on my signal and dash into traffic without looking, because when I crane my neck around to try to find a gap, the commuters see the wide, darting eyes of an amateur and cut me off, one after the other. It’s like crossing a buffalo stampede.

Once I make it through, I follow the freeway downtown, passing the court and county jail, Lake Merritt and the Grand Lake Theater, Crocker Highlands and Fruitvale, and finally exit at Park Boulevard. Though it’s only about 10 miles, It feels like a big journey from home, away from my normal routes and comfort zone.

After saying goodbye to my friend this morning, I took a different way home. Google Maps took me the other direction instead of backtracking to the freeway that I came on. I wound my way past houses on one side and a large park on the other for about a mile, and suddenly, I knew where I was. I felt a puzzle piece drop into place.

I had come to another freeway that goes straight into Berkeley, and takes me home on a familiar route through town, past our first apartment, the Cal stadium and the dorm I lived in Sophomore year. I have always taken the buffalo-stampede route, never realizing that this back way was so close to what feels like home. That neighborhood is basically right next to my neighborhood.

Connections are powerful. In an instant, my perception of distance and separation was replaced with a new understanding. The piece fell into place because I saw a landmark I recognized, bringing that place within the boundaries of where I feel comfortable and at home. When I thought the only way to get there was the uncomfortable freeway trip, that place felt foreign, but coming around the other way made me see it from a different perspective.

Finding a community of people to feel at home with comes together piece by piece this way too. Connections happen when I see something in another that I know and understand from my experience. The landmarks that I recognize in others and they recognize in me are usually not the polished and put-together pictures posted on social media; they are the messier parts–the trying, failing, learning and growing that we all do.

I can’t predict when a puzzle piece will come together, but I know it when I see it.

On a recent visit to the beach, I played in the waves and walked barefoot on the sand.  I stood at the edge of the water and let the washing of the surf bury my feet. I felt connected to the earth and to the tides–a primal sense of belonging. I felt grounded. 

Apparently, it wasn’t just an exercise in mindfulness. The earth literally grounds us, balancing the electrons in our bodies.

It sounds like something straight out of a hippie handbook, but I found an article from the National Institute of Health detailing studies on “earthing” or “grounding.” Scientists actually have taken measurements, done double-blind studies and published papers about this.  Getting your feet directly on the earth can ease chronic pain, improve sleep and reduce inflammation, among many other things.

All this, as simple as taking a walk without shoes?

Earthing research, observations, and related theories raise an intriguing possibility about the Earth’s surface electrons as an untapped health resource—the Earth as a “global treatment table.” Emerging evidence shows that contact with the Earth—whether being outside barefoot or indoors connected to grounded conductive systems—may be a simple, natural, and yet profoundly effective environmental strategy against chronic stress, ANS dysfunction, inflammation, pain, poor sleep, disturbed HRV, hypercoagulable blood, and many common health disorders, including cardiovascular disease. The research done to date supports the concept that grounding or earthing the human body may be an essential element in the health equation along with sunshine, clean air and water, nutritious food, and physical activity.

From: Earthing: Health Implications of Reconnecting the Human Body to the Earth’s Surface Electrons, (Journal of Environmental and Public Health, National Institute of Health website)

A website about grounding, Barefoot Healing, suggests other ways to be “earthed”: Swim in the ocean or lakes; garden with bare hands; lay on the grass; hug or lean on a living tree; sleep on the ground while camping; or wear natural leather-soled shoes instead of synthetic rubber or plastic shoes.

They also sell indoor grounding equipment on the website that plugs into a wall socket. I’m a little skeptical about that; it sounds less like science and more like a folk remedy, or like one of those “As Seen On TV!” products at CVS.

I am willing to take off my shoes and head outside, though. I don’t need gardening gloves when I’m pulling weeds–or I can wear the leather kind. A nap on the grass or reading a book while sitting against a tree at the park sounds wonderful. I don’t even have to be on sand or dirt–concrete sidewalks conduct the earth’s goodness too. I believe that literally getting in touch with nature and plugging into the earth must be good for body and soul.

Whatever the science behind it, I know that I was refreshed and energized by floating and swimming in the salty, cool water, with sunshine in my eyes and sand under my feet (and in my ears and in the liner of my swimsuit). It made me feel young and carefree and alive, and I’ll be back as soon I can.

• The end of Daylight Saving Time–taking back the hour stolen from me in the spring
• The way the sunlight slants, making edges and shadows look sharper
• Plugging in my fake, electric fire–the crackling and flickering is so cozy
• Long evenings by the “fire”
• Munching on popcorn–well, that’s an all year thing, but it’s extra nice in the fall coziness
• Orange harvest moons hanging huge and low on the horizon–so mysterious and dreamy
• Squash–Kabocha, acorn, butternut, spaghetti, all of ’em
• Trader Joe’s Maple Leaf cookies–they have them all year, but I only buy them in autumn, and only when there I’m sure people will be around to help eat them
•  Picking  apples from our tree and canning applesauce–an all day project with my daughters–so messy and steamy and fun
• Cool, sunny days–even if it gets a little sticky in the afternoon, the shorter day can’t hold the heat, and the evenings and mornings are crisp and fresh
• Bratwurst and cabbage
• Putting an extra blanket on the bed–that comforting heaviness
•  Sweaters, jackets and scarves
• Deep orange hachiya persimmons hanging like ornaments on the leafless tree
• Clear mornings when the Golden Gate Bridge looks orange (it is International Orange, but from here, you can only see the color on the clearest days)
• Green turning to gold, orange, yellow, red and brown–especially aspens
• Leaves swirling in the wind
• Elk bugling in Rocky Mountain National Park–seeing and hearing the drama of the rut 
• Planning homemade gifts for Christmas while there’s still time to do them (and before I abandon them because I waited too long and ran out of time)
• Knitting by the fire, a cuppa tea nearby, still hoping to finish at least a couple of the gifts
• Soups and stews simmering all day
• This poem: Something told the Wild Geese