Years ago when I lived on the east coast, I had a weekend ritual. At about 3 AM, I'd be showered, dressed, and out the door on a one hour drive to Delaware Water Gap, Pennsylvania. A small bag of organic trail mix, jug of water, my car keys, and a Walkman were all I took with me as I began the solitary hike and climb up Mount Tammany.
Less than an hour later, I'd reach the top and find a spot to sit or stand. Amazing how little I thought about risk, danger, or my safety. I understand why friends and family thought me a bit odd for what they termed 'reckless thrill seeking activities'. I didn't see it that way, and still believe we create our reality.
When looking out over the scape I'd see rolling green hills and slivers of water peeking through a wall of foggy mist. My excitement would build as the sunrise began, a kaleidoscope of colours exploding across the sky. The sun's heat caused the fog to pitch and roll as it began to dissipate. Then in an instant — poof! It was all gone and a beautiful and quieting scene of water, sky, and land assailed my senses.
To this day, the curtain I draw round myself to centre is a major part of what makes me tick. An article written about me five years ago discussed the challenge in carving out time for self without alienating loved ones, and how critical the space is for me to pivot from an introverted disposition into success and overall accessibility. In what ways do you recalibrate?