Note from Louisa

​For the last thirty or so years, I have been spending of bit of time each summer in Central and upstate New York. This isn’t surprising as it’s the birthplace of so many art forms that I’ve trained in such as playback theatre and psychodrama. But there is something deeper has drawn me to this part of the country year after year.
 
There is a strange peace, wildness, and beauty to this land, driving north through the Hudson Valley. Somehow the verdant landscape makes it feel implausible that a city of 8 million lies just an hour behind you. The serpentine mountain roads leading through the Catskills invite you into reverie and wonder.
 
Imagine the anachronistic blacktop road weaving back and forth through swaths of primordial forests, where the canopy allows only occasional dappled sunlight through. There is a gentle softness as the breeze choreographs an adagio for the branches and leaves.
 
Occasionally a manicured lawn appears, a beloved and well-tended flower bed signifying that you are not lost in the wilderness, but that human life has been secreted away from the road, tucked into the wild.
 
Now, I am someone who really likes the blacktop. I like to know where I’m going and see the destination as soon as I get in the car. I like to know how long it will take to get there and where the route closures lie ahead so I can plan an alternate route so as not to waste time.
 
If you have lived in the mountains, you know the frustration of spotty internet and cell phone reception. Driving without GPS that day was initially a bit frightening, even though I had driven thousands of miles without it before. I passed only a handful of cars as I traversed the mountainous path, hugging the county roads for guidance. 
 
Once I was able to let go of my anxiety about finding my destination or arriving at the appointed time, I was truly able to appreciate the teaching that unfolded before me.
 
Here’s what nature taught me in the Catskills on a Saturday morning drive:


• The road is laid out for beauty and not designed for you see around the bend. You can’t know if there will be a steep climb into a mountain pass ahead or a deep dive into a valley below. Stop worrying about what is ahead and enjoy the view.  
• You can trust that there is a path, even though it may at times be obscured, and sometimes even feral. And, yes, you have enough gas.  
• Don’t forget to appreciate how the mist hangs like a blanket of mystery and promise over the peaks. You don’t have that at home.  
• The road really does wind defiantly back and forth. Can’t phone this one in. Pay attention and, while it takes a bit more time, this is way cooler than the six-lane highway that will get me there fast, but not awake or with deep, abiding gratitude for the beauty all around you.  
• And, yes, you really do have enough gas to get there.

 
Blessings on your journey, 
Louisa