We rush from one thing to the next—chasing time, checking boxes, planning for what’s ahead. Even in moments of rest, our minds race to the next task. The pace never lets up. But what if, just for a moment, we gave ourselves permission to stop striving, let go of proving—and simply be? 

That’s exactly what I needed on a recent trail hike after an overnight rain. I didn’t go with an exercise plan or distance in mind -- I just wanted to breathe, to move, and maybe slow down the noise.

The trail was still soaked, the air freshly rinsed. A bubbling brook—really, more of a creek—was filling back up. Hawks screeched above, their forceful voices making their presence known. In contrast, songbirds chirped soft and bright, like light piano notes playing a gentle tune.

The floral scent from wild dogwood bushes surprised me—like walking past a natural air freshener. Leaves sagged under the weight of water, some still shaking it off. Cold droplets landed on my head as I passed beneath the wooded canopy. I felt the drops—not as a disruption, but as a reminder that I was part of the landscape, not separate from it.

The ground was soft and squishy—mud saturated like carpet underfoot. I tried to avoid the deepest ruts and ridges left by flowing water, but even the mess felt welcome. The air? Cool, crisp, and clean -- a good reminder that the day was also fresh and new. 

With each step, something shifted. The voices in my head—the to-dos, the comparisons, and the what’s next —got quieter. I wasn’t fixing or completing anything. I wasn’t proving my worth. I was just walking, noticing, being.

That hike reminded me of a word I had learned in Will Schwalbe’s book, We Should Not Be Friends: querencia—a place where you feel safe, happy, and strong. The author describes how his friend, Chris Maxey, uses the concept at The Island School in the Bahamas, helping students find their own place of grounding and renewal.

For me, querencia is often found on a quiet trail, a kayak gliding through a cove, or wandering library stacks with more books than I could ever read. These are the spaces where the noise fades and I come back to myself.

I’ve also found that when I show up to those spaces with no agenda, I often receive unexpected gifts. Such was the case on a warm summer morning, kayaking on Grand Lake in western Ohio. I watched several bald eagles—some soaring overhead, others perched in their nests, calm and watchful. In the next cove, I was fortunate enough to observe more than twenty-five American White Pelicans flying overhead in formation – wings wide, down-drafting each other, and turning in unison. I hadn’t gone out looking for wonder—but wonder found me anyway.

So, where’s your querencia?

Where can you just be—no expectations, no performance, no checklist?
Where can you breathe a little slower, think a little less, and feel a little more like…you?

You don’t have to travel far. Maybe it’s your back porch before the rest of the world wakes up. Maybe it’s a park bench, a hidden garden, or simply a moment with your phone silenced and your feet grounded in the now.

Let the mud slow you down.

Let the quiet voices of nature reset your rhythm.
Let yourself walk into the day being present in the moment.

This month, I hope you find your querencia—or let it find you.
And when you do, I hope you stay long enough to remember what it feels like to just be.