Get Out Into It
February in Michigan is thirteen months long.
-Bob Hicok
That’s why I don’t want dogs! said a friend. You have to take them out every day, no matter how crappy the weather.
It’s a gray Monday afternoon, and the temperature outside is a bone-chilling 14 degrees Fahrenheit. I have fetched my offspring from school and walked the 29 steps from my heated car to my heated home. As I sit by the fire, clutching a cup of Bengal Spice tea in my hands, inhaling its cinnamon steam, the last thing I want to do is to go back outside. But within the hour, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
Being the mama of three energetic canines means that every day of the year, whether there’s rain, snow, icy sidewalks, gusting gales or, for that matter, scorching sun and humidity to rival the rainforest, I walk.
I do this because, although we have a fenced yard where they can chase squirrels and deposit their bodies’ waste, I know that this ritual of the daily walk, when they get to go beyond that chain-link fence and bask in the wider world’s infinitely varied smells for an hour or so, is the highlight of their day. I know this because the closer I get to the spot where their leashes hang, the more wildly they dash back and forth, wagging their tails and prancing with glee. I figure it’s the least I can do for them in exchange for all the unconditional love they shower on me and my family with their exuberant greetings, licks, snuggles, empathetic gazes and rollicking joy.
But here’s the other thing : As much as I long to stay hunkered down by my cozy fire, as soon as I suit up in boots and coat and balaclava and gloves and step out the door (after four and a half years in Michigan I can tell you with absolute conviction that your well-being in winter is all about the clothes), something surprising happens: I fall in love with the world.
In Michigan, every day of the year is different. In the winter, the streets and sidewalks might be covered in a thick blanket of soft powdery snow that sparkles like mica when the sun comes out and flies into the air in a fine, glittery cloud when you kick your feet. The next day might be warmer, with trees dripping like leaky faucets. That night, before the trees have completely shed their slushy loads, it could freeze over again, and you’d step out your door the following morning to find every twig and blade of grass encased in ice. Once you’re out in it, you see the beauty in things you might normally overlook—the hieroglyphs formed by repaired cracks in the tarmac; the starburst of a dried seedpod with a core of bright snow.
And don’t get me started on fall, with its daily tapestry of shifting hues and gradual slide from summer’s lush greens to autumn’s fiery oranges, yellows, and reds to winter’s earthy browns. If I’m away for a single week of the Michigan fall, I return to a land remade. Not to mention spring, when from one day to the next I could walk out my door to find the world covered in blossoms, each tree a frothy cappuccino of white, cream, or pinkish foam.
Then there’s the motion of the walk. If I’m stuck in my writing, putting one foot in front of the other stirs my stagnant thoughts and helps seed new ideas. I’m not alone in this, of course. The writers who have galvanized their thoughts through walking are legion—whole books have been written on the subject. Several studies (including this one from Stanford) have linked walking to increased creativity, and a study right here at the University of Michigan found that walking in nature correlates with improvements in memory and attention as well as decreased levels of anxiety and depression, and that these benefits adhere whether the weather is warm or cold.
Suffice it to say that no matter the season (or the reason), every time I step outside my door I’m suffused with gratitude. The world is right there for the living in, and all I have to do is take that first step.
I know all this, of course, yet on every gray or cold or rainy day, I encounter my resistance all over again, and I have to push past procrastination (Hello, email! Hello, vacuuming! Hello Scrabble GO!) and coax/cajole/push myself out the door.
This could be a metaphor for something, my therapist said, and I immediately thought, yes. What else do I fear and put off, only to discover that once I get going, it turns out fine, or better than fine?
Well, writing, for one. I go through the same cycle of resistance, procrastination, and cajoling almost every day when it comes to getting myself to the proverbial table, despite the fact that it’s what I most want to be doing. Sure, getting started can be a slog at times, but once I hit my stride and my fingers are flying, there’s nothing better.
Why do we delay doing the very things that ultimately make us happy? It’s like there’s an invisible door between doing and not doing which, no matter how many times I push it open, never seems to get any lighter. You know how they say that after giving birth, you immediately forget how much it hurt so that you’re willing to do it again? This is kind of like that, but in reverse.
I think, too, of emotions I’m afraid to face. The way I push away grief with trivial distractions, terrified that if I let myself feel it, I’ll sink below the surface and never emerge. It doesn’t leave, of course, but lingers on the edges of consciousness, growing, until the fear of the sorrow looms larger than the sorrow itself. When I finally take a deep breath and walk straight into it, I emerge with a sense of lightness, more confident in my capacity to endure all of life’s elements.
What do you resist? Apologizing to a friend, partner, or acquaintance? Making the first move towards a friendship or romance? Taking a class? Finding a new job? Even small hurdles, like raising a hand to ask a question or sending an email to an artist you admire, can lead to so much. I’ve had to push through my own resistance in all of these areas and more, but I’ve rarely regretted putting one foot in front of the next.
So when my friends says to me, That’s why I don’t have dogs, I respond, But that’s one of the things I love about them! They make me get out every day, whether I feel like it or not.
Remember, friend: It’s better out there in the bristling cold than you imagine it to be. The sky that looks gray through your living room window is actually filled with subtle shades of blue, purple, and pink. Every snowflake is a mandala; each ice crystal a delicate labyrinth. And if you dress right, the cold will invigorate you and not cause you any pain. So put down the broom and the Scrabble GO and get out into it. You’ll be glad you did.
If you enjoyed this post, you might also enjoy After the Giddy Plunge, in which I explore the concept of “backpacker’s mind.”
There’s nothing more joyful than a dog who’s just been let off leash. I named my writing workshops Off-Leash Writing to evoke that same sense of freedom and joy. If you’ve got stories locked within you that are longing for a way to break free, I encourage you to check them out! New sessions starting in March.
Like my photos? Check out the gallery on my photography page! You can also follow me on Instagram for regular shots from my daily walks.