by Mike Mandel
What is Your Place of Repose?
I write this Sunday email from Whispering Oaks, our 600-square-foot cabin in Minden Hills, Ontario.
Besides my home in Toronto, this is the place I most enjoy spending my time.
This often baffles some of my friends, who say they’d go crazy up here and ask, “What do you do up there? I’d be bored to death!”
I respond that I do essentially the same things I do at home, only less so. I play piano, work on my business, write emails like this one, exercise, and even watch the occasional streaming program on my iPad.
In the cool of the fall, kayaking or hiking on one of the hundreds of local trails is a great option, as are the farmers’ markets every weekend.
And at night, the campfires on the beach under a star-clustered sky induce a trance, just as they have for millennia.
This naturally begs the question: Since you do essentially the same things in Minden Hills as you do in Toronto, Mike, what’s the point in going up there at all?
Well, that’s a fair question.
But it’s not just what I do up here; it’s what I don’t do that makes it different.
I don’t go near big-box retailers, shopping malls, subways, insane traffic, or congestion in general. It’s the solace and repose that our cabin affords that make my life worthwhile.
Since we arrived less than 48 hours ago, the hummingbird showed up for his sugar water, Crackle and his murder of crows arrived for their breakfast of whole peanuts, and the Great Blue Heron strode majestically across the grass, searching for his favorite food, chipmunks.
I did a workout today, bright and early, and then went for a couple of miles walk, carrying a metal staff to dissuade bears, just in case…
I was assaulted about a mile into the walk, but by deer flies, not Ursus Americanus, and they flawlessly drilled into the spots that the insect repellent had missed.
It started to rain a bit a few minutes later, so I headed back to the cabin for a strong cup of English tea.
So what’s the point in telling you all this?
I guess it’s that I’m learning to live with less than I thought I needed; a skill my wife has already mastered. In that regard, she is much like my late mother, whose mantra was “When in doubt, throw it out…”
So it’s a quiet and simple life up here.
I’m not spending time checking the news, with its seedy political stories, threats of war, and looming economic collapse.
It feels much better just being here, rather than doing here, if that makes sense. There’s something profoundly nourishing about living on the shore of a lake, surrounded by hills and forests, as though the city doesn’t exist at all; at least for now.
Now, I realize that not everyone has a cabin they can go to at will, and not everyone has the free time that I have.
But everyone needs repose in order to clear their minds and dial down their stress, and this is not an option.
Without breaks, where you allow time to slow down, you risk physical, emotional, and mental health issues.
And breaks are breaks from technology too. If you’re putting in a few miles in the forest on foot, you shouldn’t be staring at your iPhone, unless it’s because you’re using the compass or GPS.
So what gives you a sense of repose? There are ample studies to show that connecting with nature is deeply nourishing and even healing, especially when done consistently.
Maybe you need a break of some kind.
It might be cycling, walking on a beach, or sitting next to the comforting sound of a stream, at least for sufficient time to feel somewhat better.
But until we realize the importance of this kind of break from the rigors of civilization, we’ll never give it the priority it deserves.