Put Down the Rock, Pick Up the Wonder

I do love a good rock but sometimes we carry things that weigh us down.

Once, on a walking retreat in Ireland — where we hiked 5 to 13 miles a day through stunning countryside and along breathtaking beaches — I found myself not really there.

Somewhere on one especially long stretch, I started picking up rocks. Not just any rocks — cool rocks. Some had wild, twisty stripes. Some were smooth and solid green or deep shiny black. I happily filled my pockets with these little treasures. And then…

Then I found the rock.

It was a perfectly shaped, green rock with bright white stripes — like it had been painted by the earth herself. A real beauty. But here’s the thing: this wasn’t a pebble. It was the size of a big potato. Definitely not pocket-sized. My fellow hikers laughed, but agreed — it was a very good rock. So, I carried it.

After that, I kept seeing more cool rocks, but I stopped picking them up. I knew my luggage was small. I started wondering if I even had space for the one I was already hauling. Was I seriously going to fly home with a potato-sized rock in my carry-on? What would I do with it once I got home? Where would I put it?

Still, I didn’t want to leave it behind. It had become my rock. I was invested.

I got caught in the loop — stuck in Monkey Mind. Lost in thoughts. Missing the beauty all around me.

I don’t remember exactly what snapped me out of it, but at some point, I just… stopped. I gently set the rock down on the path by a narrow bridge — like a cairn of one. A quiet marker for other travelers: this is a good path.

And in that moment, I returned. To the land. My body. My friends. The reason I was there in the first place. I could still feel the little tug of wanting, the urge to cling — but I smiled at it. And in my soul, I felt more free.

It wasn’t the act of leaving the rock behind that made me feel lighter. It was letting go of what was pulling me away from where I most wanted to be. It was releasing the clinging that made space for the wonder to return.

So I’ll ask you, as I ask myself:

What are you carrying, or clinging to, that’s keeping you lost in thought?

What might you lay down to let the wonder in?

Wishing you good rocks — and not too much to carry.