Healing in the High Desert: A Month of Rest and Reflection

Part II “There is Nowhere to Go and Nothing to Do”

When my dog Tulip and I arrived in New Mexico at our small, private, off-grid oasis in the mountains, I immediately felt a sense of settling down. Something inside me quieted, as if I deeply exhaled something I had been carrying without awareness. It was an exhale of the chaos I felt living so close to society in Salt Lake City. Even though I live in the canyon outside of town, our neighborhood is filled with houses very close to each other, and there is only one, one-lane road for cars to travel. For many, our neighborhood feels remote and isolated — a dream of tranquility in the mountains.

But for me, coming off the grid 30 miles from Taos, where I lived for five years with only one neighbor half a mile away and 20-mile views in every direction, our mountain retreat, while beautiful, is not isolated enough. It does not give my mind the spaciousness and freedom it craves.

On the first night of our return to New Mexico, my body hummed with quiet relief. As my exhales let go of more and more, my inhales gathered fresh air and the vibrations of sunny, dusty mountain spirits.

Except for the dog park and without a fenced yard, Tulip has rarely been allowed to run free. She is largely stuck indoors, peering out the window at the world going by.

Here in New Mexico, she entered the wooden gate and was greeted with a huge, open, sage-green yard surrounded by sturdy fences. She looked up at me, seemingly unsure if she was allowed to roam. Though I encouraged her, she was tentative. Like a goldfish released from its bowl into a bathtub, she cautiously explored the nearby perimeter, sniffing and casting uncertain glances at me from time to time. Later, she asked me to walk in the yard with her and show her around. I obliged and giggled to myself when I saw her gingerly picking up her soft paws, which were yet unaccustomed to the rough and pointy desert landscape. She truly is a city dog.

In the morning, I awoke excited about settling in and spreading out. I pondered what to do next. I checked my phone, returned messages, set up my computer, and walked back and forth from the small kitchen to the small bedroom to the small bathroom. Then to the island counter, the kitchen counter, the sink, the front door, the couch, and the chair. I sat down, then stood up. I walked back and forth. Then back and forth. Then back and forth. I was pacing.

When I noticed, I tried to stop the momentum by choosing something to focus on — a task, perhaps, or the decision to meditate or sit in the sun. I tried briefly but noticed my system was not ready to be still. I surrendered and allowed myself to pace in circles in the small living room.

I sensed a deep, solid, grounded feeling in my core, surrounded by an amped-up, tittering quality around my edges. I had not yet shaken off the outside world, or more accurately, the outside world that had become my internal experience. I felt like a wind-up toy that needed to complete its mechanical momentum before it could stop moving. I gently smiled at myself and let myself pace until I naturally came to a rest.

After that, things became easier as I tapped into a rhythm I can best describe as waves of action and inaction. Alternating moments of contemplation and serene patience with directed action or even entertaining distractions. I feel I am learning to embrace this more mindful way of living. As a teacher once said to me, “There is nowhere to go and nothing to do, but it is okay to go places and do things.”

As I settle into this New Mexico retreat, I am finding a balance between moments of action and stillness, between the demands of the outside world and the peace of inner reflection. Tulip, too, is discovering her own rhythm in this vast, open space, gradually embracing the freedom she rarely experienced before.

Here, amidst the sagebrush and under the expansive sky, I am learning to breathe deeply, to move naturally, and to simply be. I am reminded that there truly is nowhere to go and nothing to do, yet it is perfectly fine to go places and do things, and that the real magic comes from appreciating whatever journey we’re on.