The springtime long weekend holidays just passed. Across the country, the first truly good weather holiday means Americans pack up and go to the lake, the festival, The Next Big Thing. The weekend is notorious for bloated traffic, national pride, and cold beer on loud boats. It’s a fun time. Kind of.

After four years of turbulence and a growing foreboding fear of the unknown, every moment carved out for our mental health feels precious. Risking the peace and quiet of our headspace for an evening or weekend seems silly. Many of us now stay put and are more interested in exploring the backyard, both the literal ones behind our homes, and the natural settings around our communities. The car is used less. The hammock more. People are gravitating towards bicycles and, often, merely walking slowly and methodically, all in the search for some space.

In the far corner of my own backyard, a swiveled tangle of Cascade hops rises from the ground. Last year, I vowed to create something to foster the hop leaders off the ground. As usual, life became hectic when springtime hit. The trellised panel was never installed. The hops now run wild and ragged along the ground. Fat happy bees and frenetic butterflies display accents of color on an otherwise verdant paradise. In it, there are tiny secrets to be discovered. And in those plants, I am beginning to see what gardeners have always known—the greater world is chaotic and complicated. Meditations flourish in simplicity.

My son’s grade two class recently had six chicken eggs hatch in their classroom. I watched as a pile of kids raised in a pandemic gaze in wonder at the first wet, confused chick to emerge. I thought of all the chickens I’ve seen. All the chicken wings I’ve absentmindedly eaten while watching playoff sports. And then—in an abnormally quiet classroom—all these children in awe at one tiny little live thing, in a wide world teeming with life we barely notice. Our eyes are too often cast firmly on the stacked schedules and flickering screens that demand our attention. We move fast and our minds reflect the speed with anxiety, stress, and an unwillingness to focus.

I believe our collective and individual mental health status will rise like a phoenix from the ashes of these last few turbulent years. But it won’t happen at speed. We will only succeed if we seek the glory of the larger world in the minutiae. Listen for the laughter of others to lift us up. Create things, just because. Look at the plants. Feel the rain. Smell the flowers, literally. There are exciting avenues which don’t require moving from festival to celebration to party. Sometimes, connection lies in solace. In the small. During the slow. Headspace rarely happens on the run and life rises in a subtle way. Be still and you just might see it.

I admire the energy and fierceness of youth, but I watch how heavy it sits on the shoulders of those as they try to find themselves. This world has not been kind to the young in recent years. Maybe it never was. Whatever it means, maybe those of us who are older should be grateful for losing our edge. Dancing on the sharpness of experience becomes tiresome, and there’s a lot more blade than there is edge. The raucous yesteryears inevitably dissipate into a slower pace, and it can be fought with fear or welcomed with grace. When we stop looking for The Next Big Thing, sometimes the world brings contentment into focus quickly.

“Be Human. Be Kind. Be You.” That’s the Pleio philosophy – and perhaps all that really matters when you think about finding peace in a chaotic and complicated world.