Garrett Kincaid — October 13, 2022

For 15 minutes, I stood in the same spot, which I had chosen for its vantage point, and observed Öxarárfoss — the waterfall that feeds the site of Iceland’s ancient Viking parliament, Thingvellir.

For 15 minutes, I stood within the same square foot on a large, crowded observation deck. And I tried to connect with what I was experiencing. Part of the scene was the people  —  a whole bunch of busy tourists checking off one of the items on the National Park’s list of attractions. The only people without a phone or camera in their hands were the ones posing for pictures. A professional photographer — an artist — creates and tries to communicate what they see. But the people there weren’t creating anything or trying to communicate Öxarárfoss; they were just consuming it, capturing it, collecting it.

We too often treat nature as an object of consumption rather than the sacred setting for conscious experience.

Yes, I still took a picture…

But, I didn’t go there to get a picture. I went there to be there and to experience that waterfall.

It’s this sort of situation that reminds me of the difference between stillness and stagnation. I was physically still for a whole 15 minutes, but, mentally, I was adventuring and exploring. I was still, not stagnant.

I was present and observant, and my thoughts were contemplative. And I’m not saying that I was the only one on the observation deck being that way. Maybe they too were present and aware, deep in thought, or enjoying a special conversation with a loved one.

All I’m saying is that no one around me was still, and that’s what I want to discuss: the benefits of stillness and how it is compatible with exploration.

There’s a reason monks don’t sprint to meditate. How would you remain calm? What part of that adrenaline-filled activity would you focus on? The ground? The clouds or the horizon? Your legs? How would you maintain mindful awareness? You probably couldn’t. You’d be too involved in the process of moving  — too focused on getting where you’re going.

To meditate (typically), people sit and make their bodies still. They bring themselves into order and simplify everything so that the tug of external stimuli subsides. They directly observe their experience — their thoughts and sensations.

Stillness simplifies. It frees up your mental energy and your attention because you’re not focusing on movement. Stillness makes you an observer of your experience. Usually, you’re a passenger. It’s like the difference between riding a roller coaster and watching it do loop-de-loops from the pavement below.

I suggest trying this while out in nature.

Make yourself still — bring yourself into order — so that your attention-tank fills up and you can spend it on soaking up what you see, hear, and feel. You can become a witness to nature, rather than a consumer of it.

A consumer of nature bulldozes over beauty by failing to attend to it. A witness to nature acknowledges beauty and removes themselves from the picture (literally and figuratively) — to let Her Majesty, Nature stand alone.

“It isn’t every day you see something beautiful,” you may say, “so I should take a bunch of pictures to have that beauty for tomorrow.” To that, I say, If you can’t find something beautiful every day, you’re either going too fast or not paying attention.

You’ll find beauty everywhere if you explore and create moments of stillness along the way.

The slower you go, the easier it is to find stillness, to bring yourself into order. It’s simple inertia!

Objects in motion tend to stay in motion. You must exert a force upon yourself to bring yourself to rest and free up your attention — to get off the roller coaster. The faster you’re going and the more you’re trying to get somewhere, the greater the force required to achieve stillness.

When you move slowly and create stillness, you unlock direct, unfiltered conscious experience.

This summer (2022), I spent three months walking around Iceland. Countless cars passed me on the road, and all of them drove in 40 minutes what would take me two days to hike.

Slowness isn’t the same as stillness. But because I was moving slowly, it was easy to find stillness.

I had low inertia, and I found little pockets of beauty that the faster movers missed. There were rivers beneath bridges that cars drove over. But that’s where I would fill up my water. There were distant waterfalls, nestled between cliffs, that a bus-rider would miss in a blink. But I would spent 10 minutes walking by in wonder.

I was used to moving slowly, and I’d developed the skill of bringing myself to rest. That’s why, when I walked up to Öxarárfoss at the same pace as everyone else, I was able to stand still with my hands in my pockets.

They were there on their way to getting somewhere else. I went there to be there  —  for the going itself, not any sort of getting.

If we fail to find stillness and only ever go somewhere to get somewhere else, we risk missing the beauty along the way. Instead of the getting, focus on the going.

The faster you go and the more concerned you are with the destination — getting where you’re going  —  the more likely it is that the journey won’t feel worthwhile. You’ll only see value in the destination. But, go somewhere slowly, and you’ll see and do many things along the way that make the trip worthwhile, regardless of where you end up.

Aimlessly explore  —  in Iceland or in your backyard. If you do that adventure slowly, maintaining low inertia, you will easily achieve stillness. And in those moments of stillness, you’ll unlock your attention and find beauty.

You will arrive just because you got going.