Sitting on the ground, I remember a
forgotten part of myself. I kick off my shoes. Feeling the cool dirt underfoot reminds
me to notice my environment. The familiar tactile connection with the Earth
spreads through my body.
The grass tickles my legs and I
absent-mindedly brush at imaginary bugs crawling there.
The crisp smell of Fall comes in
bursts as the first colorful fallen leaves break in my hand. I peel them from
their stems to leave a skeleton—looking like the trees themselves will in just
a month or so.
Birds soar above me. Turkey
vultures and hawks fly alone, searching for their next meal. Crows fly in and
out of the church tower in flocks, swooping around in unison.
If it weren’t for the noise of cars
in the distance, students hurrying to class and a helicopter overhead, I could
be in my own backyard.
This week I forgot that stopping to
smell the flowers keeps me alive. I let academic stresses drag me down into the
depths of homesickness, ignoring the natural beauty on campus. Sitting here on
one of the many green quad spaces, I remember that the natural world is a key
part of what grounds me when I am home. In the idyllic woods surrounding my
house, I can always find a spot to stop and think: to ground myself.
There is one particular rock on the
edge of the rolling field behind my house where I have often sat to do just
that. Bear Mountain slopes away from this spot, with the Northfield /Erving
ridge facing it. The power of sitting above a valley, above an entire
community, puts my small existence—with its minute problems—into a broad
perspective. I am in awe of the expanse of the hills of Massachusetts, and of the
human species.
Now in Nashville, I must find my
rock.
Perhaps I can find it on Percy
Priest Lake, where the Vanderbilt Rowing team practices. The water itself expresses a plethora of natural
emotions, rough out in the middle, but calm and still in the
cove, disturbed only by the the bow of
the boat slicing through its glassy surface. The expanse of water could
certainly serve as a reminder of my place in the world.
If not on the lake, I could walk
across West End Avenue and find my rock in Centennial Park, maybe by the pond
or the Parthenon. The immense steps and pillars of the Parthenon remind me that
we are but a small fraction of the scheme of human history—a tiny step in the
process held up by massive pillars of our forefathers and mothers.
In the moments when I simply do not
have time to cross the street or am too busy during rowing practice to ground
myself, I must remember the natural beauty that is right here on this campus.
It is an arboretum for goodness sakes! On my hurried walk to my 8:10 AM class
every Tuesday and Thursday, I cannot help but smile as I pass the familiar
Sugar Maple that makes the iconic New England maple syrup possible. It is a
little piece of home right here at Vanderbilt.
Sitting on the grass watching the
birds fly about with purpose, stopping momentarily to rest on church steeples,
roof peaks or in trees, I know I must take a lesson from them. As I face the
increasing stresses of the world of academia, I must live with purpose and
incorporate the necessary grounding breathers. When I consider my options, I
definitely have plenty opportunities!
This is the beauty of a sprawl
city—natural beauty can be found everywhere around the urban infrastructure.
Cheers to natural beauty everywhere!
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