Rewild & Slow
Day 15: Georgina Emery
I’m learning to like winter. The winter can be tricky for me; the dark days, the inevitable colds, the chilblains. Yet, through all of this, I have grown to like this quiet time of year. A lot of things will have us believe that if we are in the Northern Hemisphere, we have to feel miserable in January and February for multiple reasons. That, because it’s a new year, we need to strive and be a different version of ourselves. But, over the last few years, I have come to enjoy this month of what I consider reflection, and a time to take stock, without needing to think about the next thing. One way I have found to really embrace this is by going for a mindful walk.
If someone a couple of years ago had told me to go for a mindful walk, I may have rolled my eyes just a little. Not because I disliked walking. Nor did I dislike the idea of mindfulness. I just found it so hard. I couldn’t understand why. I fully agreed with it and wanted so much to have that space to be and breathe, but I just couldn’t switch off. I had so many thoughts whirring around that when it came to emptying my mind I became frustrated. All I had to do was just concentrate on my breathing. Just the sound of it and the feeling would help to focus my mind and tune out the other thoughts and sounds. Just breathe. Just.
This, I also found, to be almost impossible. The thoughts would continue to whirr so I’d breathe deeper. Eventually I’d give up because I was becoming frustrated and the breathing was just stressing me. Then, under the grey sky of a mid-February day, while on a walk in the fields nearby, hearing the birds and some boats on the river and the never-ending swoosh of the A64 just half a mile away, I had a thought. What if, instead of trying to tune out the sounds of my surroundings and the thoughts in my head, I tuned in? So, with a deep breath in and a slow breath out, I closed my eyes. I breathed normally. And I listened.
Birds. Different birds, of which I did not know the names. Boats, water, a train horn, tree boughs creaking in the breeze. And, of course, the A64 – only this time: cars, a lorry, the gentle swoosh of the traffic stream. But, not a thought in my head.
After maybe a minute, I opened my eyes with a calm mind and a more attuned ear. As I walked I looked at everything in this muted winter pallet with a new-found appreciation. This, I finally realised was my version of mindfulness.
I have taken these walks to the same place throughout the seasons. Each time, I stop, close my eyes and breathe. In what I think is maybe 30 seconds (but who’s counting?), I can hear maybe eight different sounds all coming together in their own natural symphony.
I love to hear the seasons now; the small, slow changes in flora and fauna mixing with the constant backing track of the environment in which I live. It’s a lovely way to reconnect with nature and embrace this quiet time of year in the north. In doing so, it’s given me that moment to stop, and listen, which in turn helps me to relax and come out of my own thoughts. The A64 is still there, but I am learning to think of it as a modern addition to nature’s orchestra.