Touch Grass | #29
Hi friends,
I’m trying a new trick this week to help me write faster and more naturally: I’m gonna record my first draft instead of writing it out. There’s a cool tool called Otter.ai that will transcribe your recordings for you. Then I’ll edit that down. I’m hoping this leads to writing that sounds more like something I’d actually say. Let me know if I succeed.
“Go touch some grass” has become a minor insult online. It’s the equivalent of shut up, log off, step away from the computer and go away. Which is weird to me because I like going outside and touching the grass. It’s actually a great reminder :-)
I don’t always sleep with my window closed, but when I do, I open it first thing in the morning. First the blackout curtain, then the window itself. It’s a fun little ritual to let the day in. Then I soak in the morning.
The sounds hit me first. Our windows are new and very soundproof, so as soon as it’s open I get a rush of singing birds and lawnmowers. You might find that annoying, but I kinda like it. The baseball field across the street from me gets mowed often, and it’s fun to watch the hovercraft-like lawnmowers float around on the grass. Depending on the time, I might also hear kids or dogs playing in the field — more signs of life.
Shortly after the sounds, the smell hits me. Fresh-cut grass smells like renewal, a new day pregnant with possibility. That’s when I open my eyes and breathe it in and smile. The air has a nice chill to it in the morning and I let that wake me up fully.
This whole thing takes about 30 seconds, demarcating my transition from sleeping body to awake person.
At lunch I’ll try to get some more outsideness into me. When I remember and have the time, I try to eat on the back porch. Even 10 minutes spent sitting outside and soaking in the sun helps me feel like a new man. Working alone in a room staring at my monitor all day can make the time feel like a grey run-on series of tasks. Lunch outdoors punctuates the morning and capitalizes the afternoon, giving me a moment to take a breath. I’m usually barefoot and the added sensation of pebbles and grass accentuates the contrast.
In the evening before bed, I do one last trip into the world. Sometimes it’s to take out the garbage. Other times I just step outside and listen again. No dogs or landscaping equipment this time. Instead it’s often crickets and a faint rustle of leaves. Sometimes you can hear the neighbors talking in the distance. Everything is muted — a great way to end the day.
Until next week,
Grin