Touch grass

I did — and found calm I didn't expect.

Photo by Antoine Pouligny on Unsplash

Two weeks ago, I did something I rarely do.

I put my phone away, drove to the park and let myself just be.

On the way, I grabbed a slice of sausage pizza, something quick before the quiet.

When I arrived, I strolled from the car to a grassy patch beneath a broad tree, slipped off my Vikings slides, and stood in the shade.

For once, I didn’t reach for my phone. No notifications, no playlists, no scrolling. Just me, a quiet park and an impulse to see what it might feel like to actually tune in to the Earth’s frequency.

The weather couldn’t have been better for mid-October in Chicago. It was 65 degrees and sunny, the kind of fall day that almost forces you to slow down and breathe. Sunlight spilled across the grass. A gentle breeze tickled my neck without dulling the warmth.

The day felt easy, open and unhurried, a quiet invitation to be present.

Around me, people moved through the park in their own rhythms. Joggers passed with measured strides, earbuds in, faces reflecting intense focus. Parents chased toddlers. Friends lounged on blankets.

Somehow, even the city’s relentless sounds faded, receding into a gentle hum that let me sink fully into the moment.

I finished my slice and discarded the crust into the grass. Almost instantly, a flock of sparrows swooped in, pecking and jostling over the crumbs with surprising boldness. It was a small, awesome scene, and I couldn’t help but connect how my scraps became the birds’ big score.

With my toes still out, I pressed into the cool grass and felt fully in tune with nature.

The simple act of grounding myself, of connecting physically to the earth, felt more restorative than I expected.

The idea came from the same video where I first learned about 432 hertz music — the gentle frequencies I wrote about in my previous column, “The Sound of Ease.”

While I didn’t play the music in the park, it made me realize how two practices — immersing myself in nature and listening to calming frequencies — can work together to cultivate peace and serenity.

I plan to incorporate both moving forward: feet on the earth, vibrations humming quietly in the background. A dual practice for maximum alignment and calm.

Standing there, barefoot in the grass, watching sparrows claim my leftover crust, I felt a quiet sense of connection that stayed with me long after I left the park.

In just under 20 minutes, the simple act of pausing had shifted something inside me: a reminder that slowing down, even briefly, can open small doors to joy, presence and harmony.

Two weeks later, the memory still lingers.

The warmth of the sun. The breeze against my neck. The tiny flurry of wings fighting for my crumbs. That short visit was simple, yet it grounded me in ways that continue to stick.

Now, with the insight from that video, I look forward to combining the tactile calm of touching grass with the subtle harmony of 432 hertz frequencies.

Even a few minutes a week feels enough to reset, reconnect and just… be.