Sometimes we can get so caught up in the macro-spindle of the universe’s quantum entanglements (celebrity culture, the stock market, political theater, workplace drama, etc.) that we follow suit and bunch ourselves ever-tighter in self-protection of spirit, body, mind, and heart. This is natural, and sometimes necessary depending on what each experiential context demands. However, much like with AI systems, this closed-circuit protection method can become self-replicating and self-sustaining to the point of creating an automatic nervous system response that may make survival-mode feel like a new comfort zone; a bit like Stockholm syndrome, but for perspective.

One way to unravel this rigidity and learn to step back into the unknown (going outside, joining a gym, meeting new people, journaling, getting out of bed, questioning established narratives that no longer make sense or serve your highest good, etc.) is to ground our nervous system enough that we feel emotionally, mentally, and spiritually of solid foundation enough to explore, to relax, to breathe the way we probably desired all along. There are many ways to do this, and many resources available online, in books, in music, and elsewhere, but the following is one I’ve found extra effective and sometimes overlooked–particularly in our later years.

1. Go outside. Seek out your newest source of nature (a city park, a neighborhood tree, a rural orchard, or a patch of grass if you have trouble accessing shade). Look around your favorite tree and pick up your favorite branch fallen to the ground. It need not be longer than the length of your hand with your fingers outstretched. Take it home with you.
2. Find a comfortable place to sit, and study your new branch. See the petrified scars of the larch; see the bark chipped and frayed; see the rings where the branch broke off; see the dried sap; see the hollows; how magnificent that something so unevenly shaped could be so fascinating, so full of story, so generous to curiosity.
3. We, as humans, can often feel imbalanced. We can feel bent or broken in certain places, and so we hide those uneven parts of ourselves because we think nobody will accept them; nobody will care to hear our story.
4. But it’s not true. Those scars are where we learn. Those scars are what we’ve survived. They are what make us unique and strong, not because we suffered, but because we turned our suffering into resilience. When we study the fallen branch, perhaps we remember to study ourselves, and that to honor our stories, no matter how difficult and unjust they were, is to honor the strength of our humanity. For we are still here. We are still human. Not petrified. Not discarded. Not broken. Special. Precious. Loved.
5. Take care. ❤️