Illinois Valley - June 2024

In June I took myself on a solo retreat. Away from phones and connectedness, to spend some time with myself by a river and to see how I might spend my days when I had NO obligations.

This doesn’t work so well for me at home, as I always have a list running in my head about what needs to be done. So I took up residence by the clear cold water of the Illinois River in Southern Oregon. After a harrowing detour on a road lacking all manner of maintenance, I settled in a tiny campground with only two neighbors, where I could hear a creek crashing down into the river.

For nearly 72 hours I didn’t look at my phone. Unaware of time, I went to sleep when I was tired and woke when I wanted. I took naps and river dips, and laid in the sand, stared at the sky, sat, listened, and thought a lot. I was surprised (and delighted) at how much time I spent writing. How many ideas I was able to work through because I didn’t have any of the distractions of staying connected with the world. Something that often brings my phone out in daily life is curiosity, and wanting to quench it, I have to look something up. Here, with the water and the trees, I had to rely on what I call expansive learning: inquiring for answers from within.

I started a new project, I wrote a poem, I worked on another project long overdue. I meandered in and out of the mountain’s burn scar, even out here, I couldn’t escape the disregard that society has for the the wild. I took time every day to stretch, and to rest as needed. It’s really hard for me to rest in real life. I thought about how unplugging is a privilege, but I want to show up to the world with energy to help and get things done, and that means less time sucked into a screen. I walked around. My nose started bleeding, I held it and kept hiking. I felt myself be wild and strong and unbounded, just like that beautiful river.

Then I went home. I spent the next couple days working on things that felt meaningful and spending time with my people. And then I went back to work driving a truck, but now knowing inside that I am a beautiful river.