This weekend, I spent an entire day outside—lounging in the sun, breathing more deeply than I have in weeks, and letting nature do what it does best: bring me back to myself.
I spend a lot of time on my computer during the week. And while I love the work I do, there’s something essential about taking a full day to just be—no screen, no agenda, just presence. At the retreat center where I live in Topanga, spring is in full bloom. The flowers are waking up in red, purple, yellow, orange, and white bursts across the hills, and the air is warm enough now to invite you to stay outside a little longer.
Stillness as a Gateway
We have an outdoor bed here that’s tucked just enough into the hillside to feel like its own little world. Katy and I laid out on it for hours, soaking in the sunlight and letting the nervous system settle. My breath began to shift. It slowed, deepened, and softened. It was one of those rare moments where you realize how much tension you’ve been holding, and how quickly it can dissolve with the right setting and a little stillness.
What struck me most about that day was the sound. Not just the absence of traffic or electronics, but the presence of something else entirely—the wildlife. Listening to the layers of nature is its own kind of meditation. And among those sounds, the birds stood out most of all.
The Birds of Topanga
Topanga is home to over 200 species of birds throughout the year, from hummingbirds to hawks, from tiny songbirds to the occasional owl call that echoes softly, even during the day. The birds don’t just appear when you go looking for them. They appear when you become still. When you stop walking, talking, thinking, and simply listen.
We watched hummingbirds dart around the flowers, wings moving so fast they almost disappeared into vibration. At one point, we were graced by a pair of California quail—the most striking birds I think I’ve ever seen. They came hopping through the golden grass near the lookout perch just as the sun was beginning to descend. Their curved topknots and shimmering blue-gray feathers made them look almost surreal. The male was slightly more decked out, as if showing off to impress his mate.
We saw other pairs too—birds nestled into trees, preening or quietly watching us watch them. I made the mistake of walking too fast toward one pair and startled them into flight. It was a good reminder: move slowly. Nature rewards the patient observer.
Birdsong and Breath
I’ve learned that bird behavior is surprisingly intricate. They sing, they dance, they court each other with flair—and they also defend their turf with intensity. At one point, two birds streaked past us at lightning speed, one chasing the other in a tight spiral through the air. A territorial dispute, it seemed.
There’s a lot to learn just by watching. I’ve read that birds of the same species recognize each other by their songs and dances, and that’s how they find compatible mates. The way they move and interact with one another is a language all its own.
And throughout all of this, my breathing continued to soften. The more I watched and listened, the more my body let go of whatever it had been holding. Nature doesn’t ask much of us—just that we slow down enough to notice it. That day, I did. And it made me feel more alive.
A Simple, Beautiful Reminder
By the end of the day, I felt fuller—like something in me had been restored. It was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time, and I didn’t do anything in the conventional sense. I didn’t hike or plan or accomplish. I simply rested, watched, listened, and breathed.
Being in nature like this always reminds me of what matters most. That presence is enough. That quiet is healing. And that the more still we become, the more life shows up around us, full of color and sound and meaning.
I want to spend more days like this. Days of stillness, beauty, and gratitude—shared with birds, trees, wind, and the people I love.