Allow yourself the satisfaction of savoring something so pure. Imagine: a colony of bees nurtured the honey tantalizing your mouth. Consider how you grew and developed through a similarly continuous period of nurturing. How your kin foraged among the flowers for you, and then you grew to forage for yourself. Thick, opaque globs of fear must have pooled in your gut when you finally left home, aware of time’s fragility. Can you recall how solitude tasted at first? If you yearned to prolong it. Or if suddenly, that home-feeling begged for your return?
Allow yourself to sway along to this memory. Think of the last last time you shared a song with someone. The last time you glanced across the room and shared in a collective note of recognition. Drink up the feeling; saccharine and sweet. Linger on this memory, as if melting honey on your tongue.
"That sort of walking, in those shivering forests, in a light changing from blue in the morning to orange in the evening, with nothing lively or trenchant to be seen, doesn’t sooth sadness. It doesn’t constitute its bracing remedy, its energy resource. It doesn’t erase sadness, it transforms it. This is an alchemy that children know and practice: you walk as if you were letting yourself float in water, to dilute the sorrow and to drown yourself in it. Let your sadness sail away in the free air; let yourself go. A dreamy walking, in which Nerval rediscovered the solitary stroller. Like Nietzsche (who always made you climb), at the pinnacle not of his destiny, but of his childish dreams."
“We do not belong to those who have ideas only among books, when stimulated by books. It is our habit to think outdoors—walking, leaping, climbing, dancing, preferably on lonely mountains or near the sea where even the trails become thoughtful.”
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science.