The purest water in nature is the one that keeps moving.

I went on a nature walk out in a small redwood forest in Mendocino County, right next to Orr Hot Springs. I was in a contemplative, reflective mood. The day was damp, overcast, and fresh after a day of rain.

As I walked past several small marshes lined with ferns contrasting the tall redwoods, I came by a creek. The water was crystal clear, like glass. I'm not even sure if I had seen water so clear ever before. I could see right through to the rocks several feet below, as though there was nothing between me and the bottom. The only tells for the presence of water were several small cascading falls and the babbling sounds.

I took a moment to stand and look. The sight got me thinking about how different the water could be. Still water festers, attracts all sorts of icky greens and, worse yet, mosquitoes. The water becomes poison to humans, a pool of disease-ridden pests that can harm us well beyond the site of the pool.

I like a good metaphor, so I considered how this concept maps to a human life, namely my own life and experience. I considered the following: a life festers when it stops moving, it purifies when it is in movement. "Keep moving" was the message. A healthy, pure, clean body of one's life is one that is in movement.

The lowest point in my life was when I stopped moving -- physically, personally, spiritually, vocationally. I was in such a rough spot that I was near giving up and did very little in my day-to-day. I did not want to work, I did not exercise, I did little to pursue any musical project. I was stagnant in the midst of a breakup and a dispute at work that left me without a job. You could say I was a bit depressed and having a very tough time getting out of a rut.

Staying still for as long as I did created some metaphorical mosquitoes and moss in my life. Several friendships faded away, my coding skills atrophied, my self-confidence took a massive blow, I gained 30-40lbs (in fat), my musical abilities got rusty, and I overall felt negatively about my life.

Purifying that stagnant water took a long time -- longer than I'd like to admit. It took years before I felt my life was back on track, where my physical body was back in shape and my vocational and artistic pursuits were back in order. To be fair, some of the stagnancy may have been due to a certain pandemic, but I take responsibility for the parts where I held myself back.

Without going into the nitty-gritty, one of the primary problems I had was that I was willing to give up. I was willing to stop moving. I should point out: willingness is distinct from ability here. I can give myself grace in noting that there were some days I simply couldn't do anything because of how bad I felt. But I wasn't always willing to put in the effort to do what I could do -- however small that action was.

A coach I've worked with for years has a very basic phrase -- "do what you CAN do". I used to give the phrase a mild scoff because of its simple nature, thinking it rudimentary. But now I understand that it represents the importance of moving forward -- doing something, not nothing -- and having grace that our ability in a given moment may not match our vision or standard for how far we want to go in a given time period.

Movement over stagnation. I want to always remember this. It's the moving body that stays young; the still one whose muscles atrophy. It's the active, learning mind that stays sharp; the couched one who's vulnerable to mental decay. The pure water is always moving.

Just after writing this post, I opened my daily planner and got to a quote page that read:

"If you want to conquer fear, don't sit at home and think about it. Go out and get busy." - Dale Carnegie

What a fun coincidence.