Mindful Mindlessness

I got a bit overstimulated the other day and ended up at a baseball field I have started to sometimes visit to calm myself. It’s generally empty and without too many distractions. This particular evening didn’t have the quiet I have grown to appreciate about this location; a flag football game, three baseball games, and excited crowds from seemingly all directions filled the area.

Leaving was an option, but the next closest calm spot I knew of was too far away. I decided to park in the furthest part of the parking lot that’s positioned near a big field and not near any of the games. I spent about an hour sitting and walking until I felt a bit more calmed down.

I knew of a trail in the distance that required a walk through an overgrown field of monsters. After painting myself with bug spray to motivate the ticks and mosquitos to find someone else, I took a trek to the trail. There’s a little entrance to find a creek that I have explored in the past, but I was still feeling too on edge discover other people or bugs or snakes I can’t identify.

I decided to brave the journey back to my truck through the field of monsters.

On my trek back, I found a baseball embedded in the grass in a spot that was significantly farther away from the field than any reasonable human could hit. As I finished the trek back to the truck, I came up with stories about the many ways the ball could have made it this far into the field. I dropped the ball next to the maintenance shed and still felt the stimulation of the cars driving through the parking lot and the noises of the excited crowds surrounding the fields.

Behind the maintenance shed, there were some weeds. These beautiful, flowering weeds looked like wild flowers.

I took my phone out and started taking pictures and videos of them.

A crane fly clumsily interrupted my video as it bounced its way from flower to weed to piece of grass. I uninvitedly joined its dance—chasing it with my camera for a while.

I returned to the endless field of beauty behind the maintenance shed and worked on capturing this otherwise-unremarkable field of unmanaged weeds.

The world had disappeared. This is what I’ve been missing.

Later that evening, I sat at the piano and started playing.

The world disappears when I get to capture moments: either musically or visually. 

I love this.
I need this.

The now-remarked-on, unremarkable weed-flowers behind the maintenance shed taught me something—I need to connect. I need to be mindful in order to be mindless.

Filming and playing music quiets the busy of the world and wakes me up.