I lived alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor . . .

~ David Henry Thoreau, Walden, 1854

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I’m fascinated with the concept of mindfulness. According to mindfulness guru Jon Kabat-Zinn, mindfulness is “paying attention, on purpose, in the present moment, non-judgmentally.” It first came to my attention about 20 years ago as a fellow with the American Leadership Forum, a national leadership organization with a chapter in Silicon Valley. At the time, I was an ambitious corporate climber and aspiring civic leader. I had places to go, people to see, and things to do. My mind swirled with ideas about the future. I didn’t have time to live in the “present moment.”

Too bad for me. According to the National Institute of Health, the benefits of the practice include reducing anxiety, improving sleep, lowering blood pressure, clearing the mind for better decision-making . . . the list goes on and on. Six years after becoming a Senior Fellow with the American Leadership Forum, my mind was cluttered, I was anxious, I didn’t sleep well, and my blood pressure was soaring.

Since a massive heart attack, living a decade with heart failure, and a heart transplant rocked my world, I’ve been fascinated with the concept of mindfulness. An amazing therapist with the Kaiser Santa Clara advanced heart failure team reintroduced the idea of mindfulness to me. Good for me. I no longer had places to go, people to see, and things to do. I read a bunch of books, had great conversations with my therapist, and subscribed to the Calm App to learn more. The more I learn, the more fascinated I’ve become. 

One of the books I read is an American classic, Walden by David Henry Thoreau. It’s a beautiful book about the author’s experience getting away from it all by living in the woods for 2 ½ years by himself. He describes in graceful detail the wonders of the natural world. His observations of a blue jay or sycamore tree take paragraphs to describe. The book is really hard to read unless you’re mindful of every word. Thoreau’s point is clear. There’s more to life than hustle and bustle.

The first sentence captured my attention. He writes, “I lived alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor.” What he describes is in the middle of nowhere. His only connection to civilization was the “sound of a locomotive” far off in the distance arriving in the nearby town of Concord, Massachusetts. Otherwise, the surrounding woods were so quiet he could hear every faint sound nature makes. 

As I was reading the book, I had a hard time believing that he was that secluded. The center of town was 1.6 miles from Walden Pond. That’s not very far. I couldn’t imagine being in the boondocks a mile and a half from my house. While Thoreau’s prose is elegant and vividly descriptive, I couldn’t help but call “bullshit” that he was that close to town, yet completely isolated. 

I know, I know. The stuff that runs through my mind seems silly and inconsequential. BUT . . . come on Mr. Thoreau!

As I pulled into the parking lot at the entrance of Alum Rock Park the other day, I decided to test the accuracy of Thoreau’s description. Alum Rock Park sits in a rugged canyon in the foothills east of San Jose. It has many trails that lead deeper into the canyon and into the hills that surround the canyon floor. I thought it a perfect place to experiment with the idea that one could be isolated less than two miles from “civilization.” 

From the parking lot, I started at the trailhead of the Penitencia Creek Trail that winds its way into the park. My goal for the hike was to pay attention to the nature around me on purpose, in the present moment, and without judgment. Once I was 1.6 miles away from the parking lot, I would survey my surroundings to determine if Thoreau’s representation of his surroundings was convincing.  

Walking along the creek, I immersed myself in the sights and sounds of the trail. The rainy season turned Alum Rock Park into a beautiful canvas of many shades of green. The hillside is cluttered with uprooted trees and stray branches thrown about most likely from storms. Carpet-like grasses and thin tree limbs swayed in the wind while a couple of deer nibbled on leaves in the distance.

I initially thought that nature sounds playing in my airpods would be a cool soundtrack. No music. No podcasts. After a few seconds, I realized that it was a dumb idea of a typical 21st century Silicon Valley man addicted to electronic devices. The more I thought about it, the sillier it sounded. I chuckled at my total disregard for mindfulness. Water running through the creek, small pebble gravel crunching under my hiking boots, and birds chirping were the only sounds I heard as I walked. 

Finally, I stopped at the ruins of mineral springs from a bygone era of the park. From the late 1800s to the 1930s, people flocked to Alum Rock Park because they believed that the mineral water there had healing effects. I was standing 1.6 miles from the trailhead parking lot and the housing development nearby. Looking around, I saw squirrels scurrying about, a couple of quail trotting across the trail, and a vulture gracefully gliding high above the ridge line of the canyon looking for lunch.

I was in the middle of nowhere! 

Birds were singing and chirping, the creek was babbling, the sound of wind blowing through the trees brought an indescribable peace and calm to my being. Like Thoreau’s “sound of a locomotive” in the distance, the only sign of civilization as I stood 1.6 miles from a neighborhood was the faint roar of a jetliner departing San Jose Mineta International Airport flying high above to an unknown destination.

I hiked a little further into the canyon before turning around to head back to the parking lot. The return journey was also filled with wonder. The sounds of singing birds, animals scampering in the brush, and rushing creek water were louder and more distinctive. I was admiring a family of ducks paddling in the creek when I noticed a vulture flying right at me. I smelled myself and checked the heartbeat on my Apple Watch just in case the vulture knew something I didn’t know. To my relief, the large bird landed on a tree branch with a dead bird in its beak. 

What did my little experiment teach me? Thoreau was telling the truth. You could be less than two miles from civilization, yet be totally alive, clear-minded, and isolated from the noise of the world. Maybe, just maybe, the real truth coming from my experiment is that “paying attention, on purpose, in the present moment, nonjudgmentally” can put you in the same place even amid the chaos of life.

Hmm . . . I have some more work to do on this mindfulness stuff.