Serenity Equals Dirty Hands

The gentle morning sun backlights the misty fields. Birds, already awake for hours, greet me as I revel in the newness of the day. Unhibited by social awkwardness, I kneel in the mud to harvest the lettuce still wet from last night's dew.

I've traveled the country in an attempt to quell my restless spirit, hoping that the more I saw and the more I experienced and the more people I met would eventually fill the vagabond's void in my heart. I've road tripped across the country alone and enjoyed the exhileration of solitary traveling. I've swam in the Atlantic and Pacific and ridden a Harley all night through the rugged mountains of southern California.

And yet . . . I've found peace in the dirt. Surrounded by fields and trees and nature in its beauty and anger gives me a sense of purpose and belonging. Dirt under my fingernails fills me with a sense of accomplishment.

I searched for thousands of miles to find what was literally right underneath me all along. Wouldn't trade my experiences for the world, to be sure, but I've learned that our hearts know what our life's work should be, if we just quiet ourselves long enough to listen. However, listening is only the first step . . . you have to believe what your heart tells you.

God bless dirt.

Photo: the mechanical turk