I’ve been hiking and walking in parks a few times over the past couple of weeks, enjoying the woods and the respite from suburbia.
One of my favorite things about it is the lack of people on the trails. There are a few out there, but you can go long stretches without seeing anyone. And when I do encounter them, I try to practice acceptance of the need to share our parks, and not scowl at them for intruding on my solitude.
I’ve tried to accept other less-than-ideal circumstances as well, like road noise, and power lines and litter by the Mississippi river. Try to focus on the green, shaded trails and the lack of houses and lawns and reminders of tedious chores and maintenance worries.
Today I was forced to confront godawfully loud bass coming from some car. It felt more invasive. It doesn’t belong out in nature, and you could hear it — feel it — all around. It further got me down because as a writer, I thought I should be able to engage with it on some level other than condescending revulsion.
I guess I can write a blog post about it, but I still don’t like it.