Zoom Out

Distanced self-talk, then, is a psychological hack embedded in the fabric of human language. – Ethan Kross

The Turn I Cannot See Beyond

On the trail, what sits directly in front of me can become everything. A steep climb, a washed-out section, a turn I cannot see beyond.

Life does this too.

My partner and I disagree on Tuesday, and by Wednesday, I am running the tape to see if I am losing her too. I re-play a line from a meeting, while I try to sleep at 2am. A hard week starts looking like a hard life.

Stress narrows the frame. Sometimes the answer is not to solve what I see. It is to see more.

Staring Harder

When my attention narrows, I lose the landscape. I stare harder at the problem. I re-play it. I try to think my way through it.

But more thinking does not always create more perspective.

Sometimes I need my body to go first.

The Body Goes First

So, I keep moving. My feet find the trail. My breathing settles into the pace. My chest stays tight. I am still running the same sentence about the new job. They are going to find out I am nothing more than overhead. I keep walking anyway.

I lift my eyes from the ground. I notice the trees beside me. Then the horizon beyond them.

My body widens the frame before my mind catches up.

Then I ask:

How big is this from here?

Tomorrow? A month from now? A year?

The goal is not to make a real problem insignificant. It is to see its actual size.

The Embers

This becomes obvious from above. At my feet, I see the obstacle.

Twenty feet up, I see the trail around it. A hundred feet up, I see the landscape.

The obstacle never changed.

The frame did.

In the parking lot, the train came through with clang and clatter. From up here, it crawls along the riverbank without a sound. I hold up my thumb and cover it.

See you on the trail,

Michael