I don’t go outside to “clear my head.”
I go outside because sometimes my head needs to be ignored.
Getting lost — really lost — has always done something for me that no routine, productivity system, or screen ever has. Not lost in a dramatic way. Not survival-mode lost. Just far enough away that the noise fades and you stop checking the time.
For me, that’s usually on a bike, on a trail, or down some path I didn’t plan on taking.
Getting lost isn’t about distance
People hear “getting lost” and think it means traveling far or doing something extreme.
That’s never been the point.
Some of the most meaningful moments I’ve had outside happened a few miles from home. Familiar woods. Old trails. Places I’ve ridden or walked dozens of times — just approached without a plan.
No destination.
No pace to keep.
No reason to hurry.
That’s when something shifts.
You stop optimizing.
You stop tracking.
You stop asking if you’re “doing enough.”
And for a little while, you just exist.
Why I think we avoid this now
Modern life doesn’t leave much room for wandering.
Even our free time is scheduled, measured, documented. If we’re outside, it’s usually for a reason:
- exercise
- productivity
- content
- improvement
We’ve turned movement into metrics and rest into something that has to be earned.
I wrote before about the difference between rest and escaping, and this is where it shows up for me.
Getting lost outside isn’t an escape.
It’s a return.
The woods don’t care what you’re doing with your life
One of the reasons being outside feels so grounding is because nature doesn’t ask anything of you.
The trees don’t care:
- what you do for work
- how productive you’ve been
- whether you’re “on track”
There’s no audience.
No feedback loop.
No comparison.
You just move through the space.
And that’s rare now.
Biking taught me this first
I spent years riding trails with no real goal beyond seeing where they went.
Some days I’d ride hard.
Some days I’d stop constantly.
Some days I’d turn around early.
Some days I’d disappear into the woods longer than I meant to.
That unpredictability was the point.
It taught me patience.
It taught me awareness.
It taught me how to be okay not knowing exactly where I was for a while.
That mindset carried into the rest of my life — especially the slower one I’m trying to build now.
Getting lost as a parent looks different
I don’t disappear for hours the way I used to. Life doesn’t work like that anymore.
But the instinct is still there.
Sometimes it’s:
- walking the yard with no task
- sitting on the ground while the kids play
- stepping outside alone for ten quiet minutes
It’s not about the scale.
It’s about the permission.
Permission to not be useful.
Permission to not optimize.
Permission to just be present.
And presence, I’ve learned, is a skill — not a trait.
Why this still feels necessary
Getting lost outside reminds me that:
- I don’t need constant input
- I don’t need constant progress
- I don’t need to fill every moment
It resets my nervous system in a way nothing else does.
No app has ever done that.
No productivity trick has ever done that.
Just trees, light, movement, and time.
You don’t have to go far
If there’s one thing I don’t want this to sound like, it’s advice that requires a lifestyle overhaul.
You don’t need:
- land
- special gear
- a big time commitment
You just need a place where you can wander without an agenda.
A trail.
A back road.
A patch of woods.
Even your own yard, approached differently.
Homesteading, simple living, and slowing down all start the same way — by choosing less control over every moment.
Getting lost is how I find my way back
I don’t go outside to find answers.
I go outside to remember that not everything needs one.
Getting lost, even briefly, reminds me that life doesn’t have to be tightly managed to be meaningful. Sometimes it just has to be lived.
And for me, that almost always starts outside.
– Just a note from the yard.