Beauty is my shepherd: I shall not want.

The famous Three Sisters

Hiking in and around, up and down, the enormous green canyon here in the Blue Mountains (in some places, it is wider than the Grand Canyon), I have watched my mind wander, happy that I am, once again, on “retreat.” Hiking gets me to this mindset faster than anything else. The ups and downs and rocky bits of trail are just challenging enough that I stay present, which is a fertile place for thoughts and discoveries. I am calm and able to let go of the negative thoughts that sneak in (less often, I find). The natural beauty – and changing light of fall – envelop us and feel like love, like God. I am grateful and full. I want to put a finer point on it, though. It’s not that we’re removed from the griefs and family members that lie heavy on our hearts. What’s different is the realization that many of the stressors in our normal life originate outside us. Hopefully this awareness can help us escape the shared psychosis. Life is hard enough without piling on unnecessary drama that takes us out of our best selves.

I’m also a slow learner. I think about all my friends who have already found ways to cozy up to beauty in their lives in Seattle. Laura always has Chopin or Bach perched on her piano stand to practice; Janey decorates so creatively and hosts warm gatherings at the shore; Cindy shares her beautiful spirit with clients to lead them to new insight; Debbie Jo carries an aura whenever she reads aloud to children; Amy quilts, cooks, builds closets and could retire to the prairie. There is plenty of inspiration for me to find additional pleasure in singing again, learning to paint, or playing music.

The drop-offs are dramatic, and houses perch perilously on the edge.
Doesn’t it look like the cliffs are pulling a green blanket up to their chins?

Our detox from American culture over the last 90 days continues to produce big dividends. In Seattle, the IPhone rules, distracting each of us more – or less, and reducing the number of face-to-face interactions. The first thing Don and I noticed on the train into Sydney were the heads craned down, pulled into screens. No opportunity to strike up a conversation, no sense of shared physical space. Then there is the vortex of CNN and the 24-hour Trump-obsessed news cycle. Surprisingly (maybe?), there’s no “new” American news since we got here. We know that Mueller filed his report, but only the AG has seen it. It’s not the bombshell the Democrats wanted it to be. UVA just won its first national title! With apologies to Don Lemon, do we really need to know any more?

In addition, every time I see schoolchildren, I miss my wonderful students. But my heart sinks when I think about how the open eagerness I see in my 9^th graders is hijacked by the “business” of college applications. The process starts sooner, drums up more anxiety than ever, and sidelines the point of education, which (to me) is to cultivate communities of active, curious learners and help grow young people into compassionate, socially responsible adults.

A lovely spot by the river.
This seriously large lizard popped up beside me on the trail.

I have enjoyed being in a different relationship to material things, personal appearance, and okay, pretty much any grooming. Living out of a carry-on puts a different spin on getting “dressed.” All the schoolchildren here wear some version of the cute blue or green-striped uniform. Likewise, I throw on my own daily uniform – whatever’s on top, and hopefully clean – lace up my shoes, brush my hair, and I’m out the door. Fear not, there is a limit to my devil-may-care attitude. When Don, the sweet man who would think I look good in a sack, tells me that I should “retire” the nondescript black pants I am wearing once I get home, I find the nearest airport bathroom, take off said pants (retrieved from the kids’ lost-and-found at home), and dispose of them handily.

Most of the time here, clothes are just clothes, and food is often, especially outside of Sydney, just (bland) food. I haven’t had my phone in 3 months and I don’t miss it. I laughed on the last day in Sydney, because I realized I’d been thinking it was an hour ahead of actual time the entire stay, because the wall clock in the apartment was wrong. Sadly, the diamond fell out of my 30-year-old engagement ring last week. I took off the ring, reported the loss to our insurance company, and surprisingly, have not once had that panicky feeling of unconsciously feeling for it and not remembering it’s gone.

There is a sense in which Don and I are “in retreat,” fleeing from an aggressive culture that takes no prisoners. When we’re in it, we don’t realize the toll it takes. Recently, we listened to an interview with the Catholic archbishop of Sydney who gave up Netflix for Lent. There’s nothing wrong with Netflix in and of itself. I am the first to grab the latest new series. But the archbishop realized he wasn’t even focused on the shows he was watching. All entertainment is a form of escape, but he had escaped only into mindlessness. I completely related. “Mindlessness” is a poor balm for stress and distraction; how do you heal without being “mindful”? As the female Buddhist monk on this same podcast explained, the point is not to become “detached,” but “unattached.” The sloughing of layers lets in other things, such as serendipity. Don and I travel with fewer expectations (for me, a motel bathroom is “nice” if it gives me a washrag). As a result, we are bowled over by the good things that happen.

The first place we stayed in the Blue Mountains was a sad little lodge along the main highway. Fortunately, I had only booked us there for one night, mistakenly believing we needed to be closer to the other attractions (everything here lies within a 20-minute drive). The second place I booked – where we are now – is an absolute treasure, an 1892 house lovingly restored and full of incredible artwork. One of the partners that owns it is David Middlebrook, of some renown as a contemporary Australian artist. This morning, we sat by the fire in the living room, sipping coffee and visiting as if the four of us were old friends. It’s amazing how being in someone’s home can make you feel a part of a place. We learned tidbits of local history, where to find the best walking spots, and that the abstract, geometric Aboriginal paintings on the walls are actually maps, not at all intended to be hung and displayed.