Finding the place where you remember how to breathe

I was sitting on an old tree stump in the middle of the forest. Damp, soft wood, like the cushion on your favorite chair. Soft moss clung to the decaying wood, supporting tiny, upside-down versions of the forest. Don’t get me wrong, stumps in a forest are a dime a dozen, but finding a stump with the perfect balance of support and softness takes some effort.

I sat as quietly as I could on my new favorite chair, which I had affectionately named “The Old Hunter’s Stump,” trying to catch the rhythm of the forest. Breathing too loudly for an old, sleepy forest like this, I tried to slow my breaths. Inhale, hold, release slowly—I repeated this process trying to keep time with the forest’s beat. Then slower… and slower as I calmed my heart rate… bump… bump… bump-thump…

Thump. There it was again, somewhere in the far corner of the woods near the creek. I knew the area from my previous scouting trips. There was a small moss-covered bench where the creek bent toward the hillside, protected by steep timber and blowdown. An old bed was worn into the soil there, fresh despite its age. I remembered grinning when I found it. The bed of a wise old Ghost of the Pacific Northwest.

Another thump. It sounded like the hop and thud of a hooved animal jumping over something, probably the same broken log I had tripped on with my clumsy two-legged walking system, and landing safely on the cool fern-covered ground with grace.

My ears tingled with the excitement of life I heard in the woods. The possibility of a pursuit quickened my heartbeat. I imagined a Shadow following that Old Grey Ghost through the timber. Another thump. I leaned toward the sound, closing my eyes and trying to sharpen my hearing. My mind desperately attempted to manifest the crack of a twig so I could pinpoint the beginning of the chase. 

I checked the wind with a little puff from the wind checker I keep in my bino harness and checked it again to be sure. The light breeze blowing slightly towards my right cheek was perfect. I picked up my bow, making sure my arrows were secured in the quiver. Thump.

The Old Hunter’s Stump had been here before. It had supported other hunters as they rested and prepared for the beginning of their own pursuits. I slowly shifted my weight to my feet and moved to the edge where the outermost ring met the bark, listening for the snap of that twig. Again, over yonder, I heard another thump… and then I finally realized what was unfolding in the forest around me. Somewhere in that moment, I had forgotten to breathe. The sound of the thump was my own heartbeat, beginning to pound in my chest, begging for air.

I slowly took a deep breath, taking in the cool morning air, feeling the tingles of a head rush across my scalp as my brain devoured the oxygen it was so hungry for. Smiling, I settled back onto my new favorite chair, The Old Hunter’s Stump. Deep in the woods, the ancient trees and I silently laughed together.

I had found the rhythm I was searching for—in the silence where I found myself.

I love being in the woods. I love the quiet solitude and the gratitude that comes from overcoming difficulty. But if I am being honest with myself—I mean the kind of honesty where I can look at myself comfortably in the mirror—the real reason I love being in the woods is that it is the only place I can truly be present.

The pressures of modern life pile up like snowdrifts along a trail. In the woods, that weight slowly begins to melt. The deadlines at work, chores at home, endless social media notifications about nonsense, the fear of not providing enough for the ones I love. The mountains don’t care. The streams don’t care. The woods don’t care. The elk don’t care.

In the woods I find a place to go and leave the stress behind. It is not a location on a map or even the Old Hunter’s Stump itself. If the conditions are right, any quiet place can become a new favorite chair. The place I find is inside my heart and mind. When the snow melts, I can clear my thoughts and focus on this exact moment. The past cannot torture me with doubts about my decisions, and the future cannot paralyze me with anxiety. Insecurity has no power here.

I listen to the chatter of the forest and notice the smells carried through the trees. I move quietly through the shadows until a break in the pattern stops me cold: just to my left, a buck stands forty yards away, staring back at me. Without making a sound, I check the wind and consider my next step. In that moment, I become fully alive in the wild.

Being in the woods is a great equalizer. Running out of batteries for your headlamp sucks. Getting outmaneuvered by the wind is heartbreaking. Not paying attention and stepping on a rotten piece of wood and falling over can be a real detriment to your health.

Woodsmanship outranks job titles in those wild places where I remember how to breathe.

I know not everyone feels comfortable finding a cozy stump or leaning against a log for a nap in the middle of the forest, where safety can seem so far away. Still, I believe everyone needs a proverbial Old Hunter’s Stump—a quiet refuge where the pressures of everyday life can be left behind, even for a moment. A place to mute the noise, learn to breathe again, become present, and clarify what matters most. 

Returning from my Wild Place, I feel a little lighter. Maybe there is a little skip to my step. Not because I may have lost a couple of pounds on the trail by the creek, but because the weight on my shoulders has become bearable again. I stand a little taller, remembering that people depend on me—and that it is okay for me to depend on them, too.

Yes, going to work every day can still suck—sometimes even more than discovering my headlamp batteries are dead. But my long-term goal comes back into focus. The grind is a means to an end: building enough security for my beautiful wife and me to enjoy our dreams together. I remember that, even on the hardest of days, tomorrow offers another chance to make a difference. And I remember that, when life becomes overwhelming again, I simply need to return to my Wild Place and find another tree stump suitable to become my new “Old Hunter’s Stump.”

Where do you go when you need to clear your mind, become present, and remember how to breathe again? What is the Wild Place that keeps calling you back?

Share your Wild Place with us.