Thin, wavy stalks of Galleta grass sway back and forth with the breeze. It’s chilly out – the first winter storm is headed our way. Mountain ranges on the western horizon – socked in, sky above overcast. Somehow, I identify with cold wind and gray sky – it strikes a despondent chord in me. I hike on – somewhat absorbed by the melancholy. At home, I might distract myself away from the mood by staying busy – organizing, cleaning, making lists, scheduling projects, and whatever I come up with on the fly to distract from the unsettling mood.
On the trail and in the elements, it’s difficult to avoid today’s mood – I settle into the sad, lonesome feeling. The saturated gray rests on my shoulders and I allow it for the moment. I wonder about the mood – Where did it come from and what’s it about? What do I need? Do I need consoling, maybe a cup of tea when I return home, or a cozy talk with a good friend? Handling emotion in this way is new to me. Normally, with uncomfortable emotion, I latch on to busy-ness and sweep the uncomfortable emotion under the proverbial rug. But today, I pause and become conscious of the emotion. I allow it to just be. Soon, the uncomfortable emotion feels less ominous – a little more tolerable.
On the lower flank, I turn around to look at the valley and then up at the sky. No Colorado blue sky to console me, today. I must rely on internal resources, so I remember American Psychologist, Tara Brach (meditation teacher and podcaster) who speaks of Attending and Befriending our emotions and RAIN – Recognizing, Allowing, Investigating, and Nurturing.
I’ve learned that sweeping my emotions under the rug hasn’t work out so well. The unresolved emotion grows bigger, gets a mind of its own, and comes out when least expected. Yikes! So, I’ve adopted a new way to manage emotion. I’ve already recognized and allowed my mood. Next, I investigate – Where do I sense the melancholy in my body? Is there a shape, color, temperature, or texture to the emotion? I remember to be gentle with myself, knowing that shaming self for being sad will only complicate the situation. Patience and compassion, I tell myself.
I begin the descent, back towards home, down the rocky trail. I pass yucca plants with spindly stocks that support dried out pods and junipers dotted with periwinkle-colored berries. Finally, I remember the last step: nurturing. What does my melancholy need in this moment? What do I need in this moment? I head home, and debate whether I need a warm friend or a warm cup of tea – I argue, Why not both?
