My car passes into the shade of the city and I immediately feel closed in, like a door has been shut behind me. I just can’t breathe in the city. Yes, I am stressed driving my two children around down town because I don’t know exactly where I am going. But I suspect that my anxiety has more behind it than just that. Even in Portland with the park blocks and evidence of the beautiful northwest everywhere, there is so much concrete. So much brick. So much glass and metal.
We cross the street on foot. Boys riding in the double stroller, our picnic in hand. The river just a few feet away is glistening. The Hawthorne bridge sits proudly with its green and red standing out against a brilliant blue sky. We find a bench, and I feed the infant while the toddler sits next to his Daddy, peanut butter sandwich in hand (and on his face), sunglasses on, looking out at the view. He takes it all in. I breathe in the fresh air. Even with the city just a few feet behind me, I feel I can breathe deeper. The air entering my lungs is cleaner, cooler, more fulfilling. We have our thirty minutes of paradise together as a family.
What is it about concrete that makes me feel closed in? Maybe it’s because it’s all man made. It reeks of money and greed and the hectic pace of life we were probably not meant to live. It reeks of priorities all gone wrong. The open air is God’s creation. It nourishes me, body and soul.