Where I work, sometimes I get to instruct others about being in the outdoors safely. Maps and compasses, GPS, situational awareness, and more. I can teach about useful gear to bring. Even a little group dynamics thrown in.

What I teach about that matters most to me though is “off-syllabus” — that is about simply being in the moment when outdoors.

I tell my students to stop looking at the map. Quit obsessing over gear. And put your cell phone and camera away permanently. You will survive. Hell, you may actually live.

See that sun setting behind the mountains? Shhhh. Just watch. Breathe in. Breathe out. No photos allowed. Is someone hiking with you? Watch it together. Quietly. Shhhh. Moments like this are when we get to touch the sacred. To speak would spoil it; to photograph it would blaspheme it.

When I get to touch the sacred in nature sometimes I still must stop myself from sacrificing that moment on the altar of an even better moment. Watching stormy clouds rushing across an angry sky, I feel a communion, a oneness with that which is around me. Then, I hear a bird that piques my interest. I start to reach for the binoculars. Then I realize that how ungrateful a creature am I for not being satisfied with the sky above me, the air charged with electricity around me, and the cool Earth beneath me.

Being in the moment for me has been an on-going pursuit. I admit that I have damned few photos of my kids’ chorus performances and instrument recitals. Unlike most of the other dads, I would take one photo prior to a performance and then just drink in the moment. Ironically, I’m probably one of the few dads who has actual memories of these events. Warm memories that I pull out periodically when the world turns cold. Far better than any photo or video, my young daughters once again sing to me and play music with the joy and passion of youth.

These days I drink in a spectacular vista from a peak and though my phone is on silent I feel it vibrating in my pocket. I ignore it but then wonder if it’s work and immediately my mind drifts to meetings I have tomorrow. I have to actively reject the morrow for the now. Be still, I remind myself. Absorb. Be part of this moment. Tomorrow perhaps I can reflect this moment and someone else may share in it. But for now it is mine.

The Earth and me. Now. Shhhh.