Finding calm in a busy life
I’m a project manager at a corporate office park outside Columbus, Ohio. I’ve worked in some version of the same job for over twenty years. About a year ago, though, it felt like the ground kept shifting under my feet. New leadership, new priorities, new reporting systems. Just when I thought I understood what mattered most, it changed. At the same time, things at home got heavier. My wife’s chronic pain seemed to be getting worse. Some days she could push through. Other days, she could barely get comfortable. This meant that I was taking on more around the house, cooking, laundry, driving our kids to practice. And then we added a high-energy rescue dog to the mix. Great timing, right?
I didn’t notice how much it was all piling up until my body started waving a white flag. I was getting headaches almost every afternoon. I’d feel wiped out by 7 p.m., but then I’d lie awake at night staring at the ceiling, running through emails in my head. My shoulders felt like rocks. My patience was thin. I kept telling myself, “This is just a busy season. It’ll pass.” But it didn’t.
The one steady thing was the dog. After dinner, no matter how tired I was, he needed a walk. There’s a wooded park a few blocks from our house, so I’d clip on his leash and head out. At first, I treated it like one more task to check off. But one evening, I stopped for a second near a small clearing. I don’t even know why. I just stood there.
I heard birds arguing in the trees. Kids laughing from a baseball field nearby. Another dog barking somewhere in the distance. A car engine humming faintly on the road. The wind moving through the leaves. I realized I hadn’t really listened to anything all day. I was always thinking about the next thing.
I stood there maybe a minute. My heart rate slowed down. My shoulders dropped without me forcing them. My breathing got deeper. The dog tugged a little, and I started walking again. But something felt different. Lighter. Like I had just set down a heavy backpack I didn’t know I was carrying.
After that, it became part of the routine. We’d walk, and at some point I’d stop and just listen. No phone. No planning. Just noticing what was around me. It didn’t fix my wife’s pain. It didn’t change my boss’s latest “urgent” request. But it gave me a small reset button. When I got home, I felt a little steadier. A little more able to help with homework or handle another load of laundry without snapping.
Months later, I read an article about mindfulness. Paying attention on purpose. Noticing sounds, breathing, your body. I laughed when I realized that’s what I’d been doing in the park. I always thought mindfulness was for a different kind of person—someone who goes on retreats or sits cross-legged on a cushion. Not a middle-aged guy in sneakers walking his dog in suburban Ohio.
Turns out, it was for me. And I didn’t even know I was practicing it.