We call it productivity, but often it’s protection—the mind’s way of staying busy to avoid what stillness might reveal.

On a backpacking trip in Colorado’s Indian Peaks, a friend taught me differential equations on a log, and I tried to capture the Milky Way with fading eyesight. I didn’t bring home a photo, but I rediscovered the quiet joy of learning and the freedom of what I still can do.

The Mind I Choose I like to think of myself as someone with an expansive perspective, someone who tries to stay open and curious. But I can catch myself shrinking fast, especially when it comes to politics. Over my life I’ve probably voted Republican more often than Democrat, but in recent elections I’ve moved much farther to the left. I’m quick to pin unflattering labels on today’s Republicans, dismissing their motives outright. Some of those criticisms may be fair at times.

A message from a former colleague stirred emotions I thought were long behind me. It reminded me how easily old scars can ache—and how acceptance, not reactivity, is what frees us.

Beauty isn’t something to capture or measure. It’s something to notice and feel: a quiet forest, a sailboat on the water, a piece of music that lingers in the heart. These are the moments that stay with us.

What a worn rock taught me about acceptance, peace, and the search for something deeper I picked up a stone last week. It sat half-submerged in the creek that runs through the Rocky Mountain Ecodharma Retreat Center near Ward, Colorado, where I had been camping alone as part of a weeklong silent solo retreat. Much of those five days “on the land” were spent beside that creek: listening to the water, feeling the breeze on my face, watching the aspens sway above me, each one re