Shepherd Fly: How I Found Peace in the Buzzing

This past spring and summer, I was fortunate to be able to do quite a bit of hiking. As an exercise, it's my absolute favorite. It's like getting to dance through a movie; each step is carefully choreographed and the views, smells, sounds, and experiences are new and filling.

Many times this past warm hiking season, like in years past, I found myself with an irritant in the form of a fat black fly who was determined to buzz my head and threaten to bite me. In other times, I would have swatted like crazy at that guy, hoping to scare him off so I could get back to being blissful. "How dare he interrupt my forest bath and my communing with Mother Earth?" I'd think. "How dare he claim any stake in my experience?"

This year, though, I chose a different tactic. Not only didn't I swat, I didn't even try to ignore him. I just listened to the buzz and, when no human was listening, talked. I said things like, "I know. You don't really care for me being here. I'm just gonna keep moving on and I'll be out of your hair soon enough. Thanks for hanging out with me."

I didn't get bitten even once by those guys this year. Instead, each one flew around my head, to the right or left side of my shoulder or behind me. They buzzed like crazy. Then, after about twenty steps, each one reversed course and left me alone.

Every time it was quiet again, I wondered, "What was that about?"

Was he my shepherd fly?

Toward the end of the warm season, I reflected on the role my shepherd fly had. He picked up on my presence, tried to warn me away, expressed his frustration and irritation, and eventually let me go. He joined me for part of my hike, and then he wasn't there anymore. I didn't fight him; he didn't bite me.

What a great metaphor. It's easy and clear. The hikes represented all of life, right? Some are short; some are long. Some are easy; some are quite difficult. Some encourage connection; many have difficulty.

What I learned from my shepherd fly is to be patient. And to be respectful. And to trust that the buzzing will stop sooner if I don't make it into a bigger deal than it is. I learned that the buzzing will bother me less if I understand that it comes from a place of protection and fear.

The shepherd fly is both a reminder and a foil. He can be left alone and left behind. I also can tell you that I'm looking forward to applying the lessons learned from my experience of him in other areas of my life.

How about you? Do you have a shepherd fly (either real of metaphorical)?

Rocks: A New Way of Looking at Change

"Trees cannot deny the effects of a forest fire. Rocks do not try to hide the smoothness that results from the relentless pounding of waves upon them. Icebergs do not feign being untouched by the rising temperatures of our planet." Chani Nicholas

I read this line just days after crashing my knee into a rock that looked very much like the one above, except pointier. At the time I read it, I didn't have much love for rocks, let me tell you.

But, as someone who has done a lot of reflection about trees (TouchingTrees, anyone?), I realized that I've probably spent far too little time reflecting on those things that I've often taken for granted...or even cursed, as in the case of landscape rock or rocks that trip me while hiking.

This was quite the epiphany for me: Rocks gain their shape and their character by endless exposure to wind and water. They get rock-wrinkles from the trauma they endure. They split and they crumble, and yet some remain solid and unmoveable. In so many ways, they are metaphors for the tumbled existence we all have.

The tree metaphor is a great way to describe flexible reactions to change. Trees bend in the wind, they experience seasons, they grow, and they lose limbs. They whisper and they cry. Some scientists even say they communicate with each other through neural pathways connected by their roots.

Rocks, though...rocks provide a different metaphor for change. Rocks endure. Rocks reach with patience, and a gradual acceptance, towards change. In some situations, rocks are the epitome of zen--they are in oneness with all that goes on around them, however it may shape them.

Unless they are smashed, of course. Then they react swiftly and decidedly and serve a different narrative. The rocks that break on impact, that disintegrate into sand...those rocks are proof that trauma can create something new and unique.

When we have troubled relationships, applying a metaphor to our situation can be really helpful. As you are in the middle of upheaval, thinking of yourself as a tree bolsters your trust in the ability to bend without breaking, to recover and grow. After a difficult time that's, perhaps, left scars or lasted for a very long time, it may be helpful to think of your changed essence as the smoothness caused by enduring through trouble or the newness caused by tremendous impact.

We're entering a season that brings us outdoors more than at other times of the year. The next time you have a moment to reflect, see if you can find a rock whose story seems to be like your own. Maybe it's one that's been worn smooth, or one that's grown cracked, or even one that's gained beautiful and sharp edges. 

Feel free to share your rock story in the comments below or email me at jennimcmc@touchingtrees.com. I look forward to hearing from you!

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Adventure Connection

This past weekend I had the opportunity to hang out with two smart, funny, engaging women for nine driving hours, five meals, three hours of full-on adventure, and (at least) two bags of salty snacks.

Our particular exploit included a fake run-for-the-Canadian-border (since we were a mere 45 minutes from the actual border and we had access to some empty woods) and a whole lot of documenting photos. We planned the whole adventure, from pre-trip photos setting up the story, to hand-printed signs on the only paper we had available to us (yellow-lined note paper), to post-escape pleas for bail money.

It was imagination and exhilaration...and created a one-moment-in-time connection for the three of us.

And, it all got me thinking about how many opportunities we have for adventure (not very many), but how rewarding the connection can be if we take a chance.

You may have recently received an invitation from a Facebook friend or an email mailing list to participate in something civic-minded. It might have been to support a cause that aligns with your values. It might have been to express your position on current events.

If you're like me, you've considered whether you should participate because...well, there will be strangers there. And you might wonder if your friends or family will think you're weird. And you don't know if you have time because there are so many other obligations.

I would encourage you, though, to stretch and challenge yourself to participate. Think of it as an adventure. (Never ridden public transportation? Never walked in the street when you're not supposed to? Never just gone to a museum or a restaurant to try something new?)

The connections we can make with others who are also out adventuring can be life-changing. The connections we make within ourselves can be invaluable. When's the last time you listened to that part of yourself that wants to just be silly? When's the last time you calmed your anxiety and took a plunge anyway?

You don't need to have a lot of free time to create an adventure. You just have to be willing to step outside your schedule and your roles. And make a run for it...