There are days when going outside feels like effort.
Not the dramatic kind of effort. Just the low-grade resistance that settles in when the weather is gray, the day has already been long, or my mind feels heavier than my body wants to admit. Or my children have driven me to the brink…
On those days, staying inside makes sense. It’s warm. It’s familiar. It’s quiet in a different way.
And still — I go outside.
Not because I’m disciplined. Not because I’ve cracked some motivational code. But because I’ve learned, slowly and imperfectly, that how I feel before going outside is rarely how I feel after. I am always happier and in a better space, even if its for just 10 min. of outside time.
The resistance is usually mental
Most of the time, nothing is actually stopping me.
I’m not injured.
I’m not exhausted beyond reason.
I don’t lack time as much as I lack momentum.
The resistance lives somewhere between convenience and mood. A voice that says:
“You can go tomorrow.”
“It won’t really help today.”
“Just rest instead.”
Sometimes that voice is right. Rest matters. Stillness matters.
I’ve written before about how filling every open space with activity slowly numbs you rather than rests you.
But sometimes, that voice is just inertia dressed up as self-care.
Outside doesn’t have to mean anything impressive
Going outside doesn’t mean a workout.
It doesn’t mean productivity.
It doesn’t mean tracking steps or checking boxes.
Sometimes it’s just walking to the edge of the yard.
Sometimes it’s just throwing a disc badly and not caring.
Sometimes it’s standing still and noticing the light through the trees.
I’ve stopped asking outside to fix me.
I just let it be what it is.
This is the same reason I don’t need a destination when I’m outside — wandering itself has value.
The shift is subtle, but it’s real
I almost never feel dramatically better right away.
What changes is quieter than that.
My breathing slows without effort.
My thoughts stop stacking so tightly.
My heartrate drops.
The day feels less like something happening to me.
Even ten minutes can be enough to interrupt the loop.
Not cure it — interrupt it.
Mood follows motion (eventually)
I’ve learned not to wait until I want to go outside.
Wanting usually comes after.
This isn’t about forcing myself through misery. It’s about recognizing a pattern: when I stay inside because I don’t feel like going out, the feeling rarely improves on its own.
When I step outside anyway, something almost always loosens.
Not always joy.
Not always motivation.
But space.
I learned this slowly through things like fishing and disc golf — activities where waiting and paying attention matter more than results.
Seasons matter — and so does honesty
There are times of year when this is harder.
Short days. Cold mornings. Long stretches of gray. Parenting, work, responsibilities — they all compress time and energy.
I don’t romanticize this. I don’t pretend nature solves everything.
Some days I go outside and still feel heavy. But I don’t feel stuck in the same way.
There’s a difference.
I don’t go outside to escape my life
I go outside to re-enter it.
To remember that the world is larger than my current thoughts.
That time exists beyond screens and schedules.
That movement doesn’t have to be optimized to matter.
Going outside, even reluctantly, keeps me tethered to something real.
A small rule I try to follow
I don’t make myself stay long.
I just make myself start.
Once I’m out there, I can always come back in. No guilt. No rules.
But starting changes the equation.
I still have days when I don’t go.
This isn’t a virtue post. It’s a noticing post.
I’ve noticed that going outside — especially when I don’t feel like it — is one of the simplest ways I know to keep from shrinking inward.
And most days, that’s enough.
– Just a note from the yard.