We’ve all been there. Either we’re telling a story or the other person is, and immediately after it’s finished, one of us jumps in with our tale connected to what was just shared. But are we doing so in a spirit of relating and improving the bond between us? Or is it a ploy to one-up the other’s story with our “better” experience?
A recent Facebook/twitter share on this dilemma brought back memories of both enduring this insensitive communication exchange and my own guilty-as-charged when committing the same faux pas.
It’s a communication moment that’s always irritated me. When I’ve told the story first and was immediately one-upped, I felt ignored and belittled. The worst cases made me feel like they were immediately applying a quick coat of paint over my story so they could share their (better) story on a fresh canvas.
Time for another installment of catachresis (using the wrong word for the context). These goofs can become a malapropism (usually unintentionally humorous misuse or distortion of a word or phrase), but we’re focusing on words used innocently.
Today’s case for the Minister to weigh in on:
Literally – Actually happened or fully accurate: “I literally was just there before you left.”
Figuratively – Metaphorically: “Figuratively, I was happy as a bug on a rug”
Virtually — Exaggerated emphasis not literally true or possible: “I virtually exploded from laughing so hard.”
Some additional clarity and context from Dictionary.com:
One of the most famous writers from Texas passed away this week. Larry McMurtry was a rare breed who charted his own path, committing every day to spend hours writing, no matter what. Fame and notoriety mattered little to him, yet likely that determination plus his natural character endured him to many people.
His passing brought back memories of a long ago trek some Fort Worth friends and I made to Archer City to spend the day wandering the famed book town. As a lifelong book lover, and at the time a part-time online bookseller, I knew about McMurtry’s efforts to create an American version of the famed Welsh bookshop town, Hay-on-Wye. But unlike there, the many bookstores in Archer City were all owned by McMurtry. Yet, it became a mecca to me and I finally got the chance to visit in the late 1990s.
The Japanese call it shinrin-yoku and use it as a nature therapy for spiritual restoration. Developed in 1980 for preventative care and healing, Japan now has 44 designated shinrin-yoku forests across the island nation.
Research shows time spent in forest bathing can have positive neuro-psychological impacts on the nervous system, thus lowering our stress hormone and boosting our immune system. Other reported benefits include increased mental clarity and reduced blood pressure.
Journaling and meditation aren’t selective about where or when you embrace them. But nature immersion can take a bit more planning, preparation, and cooperation from Mother Earth. The results, however, are well worth it:
I believe in God, only I spell it nature. – Frank Lloyd Wright
If you translate God to spirituality in Wright’s revelation, his wisdom aligns with my feelings when I immerse in nature. To be clear, this isn’t about getting away from home by taking creature comforts with you to a modern campground with conveniences, but it certainly can involve camping to an extent. Nature immersion, if you want its curative benefits, requires adherence to one definition of “immersion:”
a (particular) state of mind or body to involve something deeply, to steep, to absorb through some action or activity
This curative practice means going into nature in a way and for a time where you have little or no awareness of anything human or man-made. It’s not necessarily a solitary adventure, although usually more effective alone where you can reap the best insights and curative benefits from the deeper states you’ll experience. Simply stated, the purpose of nature immersion is to isolate yourself in nature so you can connect your nervous and mental systems to the purer, natural rhythms of Earth’s natural essence.
By the time we’re 60, we will have been alive for almost 22,000 days on this planet, rarely, if ever, stopping to watch just one. It is this total immersion into nature and commitment to simply being there, that we can entrain our nervous system to the natural, healthy rhythm of the planet. – Stephanie Nash
Nature immersion really is an ultimate unplug and tune-in moment. You’re unplugged from the internet, social engagement online or in person, no news media, no music, no podcasts, nothing but “plugging in” to nature’s essence. And by doing so, you’re instead tuning in to your internal experience, which can lead to rewiring many things from stress to improved awareness of bad habits to a deeper awareness of what’s real and important in this world.
So how does one pull this off? As with most things, there are degrees and levels of nature immersion limited only by your time and willingness to go deeper:
If you can only start with local isolations for 15-, 30-minutes or more, those will still help you begin to connect better to nature. Take a lunch into a nearby woods to sit quietly, eat, reflect on things, and let your mind wander and absorb what you see and hear.
Or invest a few hours on a sunny afternoon to hike a local forest preserve or park’s trails, leaving the phone off and concentrating instead on what your senses share with you from the forest’s fauna and flora, and the rhythm of your internal systems.
The ultimate experience, though, is taking multiple days and finding an isolated place in nature to go, camp out, and sit and walk in an absence of modern connections or even your own voice. It’s a silent retreat, and one best done without even journaling or noting anything while you’re involved in the immersion.
Immersing in nature, to some, may feel at first you’re abandoning everyone and everything you like to do. It’s only a few hours or a few days, maybe a week, and I’m sure the world will survive while you briefly unplug and immerse.
But the real question is… will you survive if you don’t reconnect with your true self and the natural world you live in?
It’s that time of year when we’re all antsy to get outside, change into t-shirts and shorts, and embrace our inner go-barefoot desires. Each seasonal shift has its abruptness, but winter-into-spring is special. Even for a winter lover like me, right now it’s an overstayed house guest whose every little nuance has become irritating and I’m ready for it to leave.
Like any power who knows its hold on us, winter teases wickedly during March. One day it’s sunny and 70F, and the next cold and dreary. If winter’s really bored, we’ll often get a short-lived late snowstorm. I can imagine winter’s glee about this time of year as it conjures abrupt weather shifts to keep us puny humans guessing.
But we who have cycled through many of these seasonalities know the irrevocable signs that spring is near: frisky squirrels and chipmunks seeking love, hyperactive birds, and the slow, deliberate emergence of flowers, plants, tree buds, and green grass. We also know it’s a tag-you’re-it game played best with patience earned from being here before.
I’m defiantly siting in my back open patio as I write this, bundled to negate the mid-40F temps. A mere 16 hours ago I sat in the same place but in sunny and rejuvenating 70F pleasure. No lily white skin exposed yet by wearing pairs of “do they still fit” shorts from last summer, but then, I’m always slow to foist my winter tan-loss onto the world.
I’m ready to bid adieu to winter but will again welcome its promise of renewal and restoration at the end of this year. In this annual waiting game, patience is key as Mr. Winter hands the seasonal baton to Miss Spring. She’ll once more bring her promised, ideal weather for outside sitting, pondering, hiking, and being warm again. Can’t get here soon enough.
SPRING’S PROMISE (poem in draft)
The sun shines its healing rays through thinned clouds or crystal skies.
Early, some say since winter’s grace is too recent in memory and bones.
Tell that to the squirrels out rustling in the leaves chasing for love.
Or the chipmunks, bolder than later, on high perches calling for love.
And the flowers, breaking the seal of hardened ground to reach the light.
Eager to leave those faded days, I’m ready again for spring’s promise.