Yesterday I had a really interesting experience.
About a week ago, I was reading someone's blogpost for the day, and she had posted pictures of trees and plants and things, and I commented something like "Oh, since seeing this, I have to get outside - to see things, and smell things, and touch things!" I hadn't even realized that I had missed it, even though it probably had only been a few of days since I'd played outside.
Then yesterday morning I knew that Outside was on my list for the day again. After we whiled away the morning with experiments, during which time our part of the earth warmed up, we headed outside.
Because I wanted my camera for the playground after the children's bikeride at the church, I had no choice but to leave the batteries behind charging, as my extra set was in our truck - which Eric had.
I'm not even sure that I can say this without sounding cooky - but it was so cool!
Since my eyes weren't darting and capturing things - potentially a photo things - somehow I was more engaged with the Outside. Maybe 'more' isn't the right word - but differently engaged.
Instead of touching things as I usually do - with my eyes and heart and spirit - I touched them with my bare hands. I rubbed pinecones, and ran my fingers through long pine needles. I stroked trees and felt the difference in their bark. I rubbed the tall cement that made up the base of the lamppost, and put my hand to my nose to see if I could smell it.
Everything was so different.
I hadn't even considered before that I was missing out on anything.
I think maybe that's one of the things that winter does to us - we keep our hands in our pockets or our mittens. Our feet are bound into thick socks and burley boots. We're padded and stuffed, and have a thick layer of "can't touch" around us.
I felt really alive -springtime alive- with my altered awareness of Outside.
I'll definitely be remembering this bit of therapy.
If you're feeling disconnected or out of sorts - I highly recommend prodding off your gloves for a minute and touching the world.