Hi friend,

I got the news at work.

An email I'd been waiting on for a long time, sitting right there in my inbox.

I read it once. Then again, slower.

It was good news. The kind you brace for so long that when it finally comes, you're not quite sure what to do with your hands.

I could have gone home.

I could have gone to our usual park, where I throw golf balls for Jaycee until my arm gives out.

But none of that felt right for this.

So I did something different.

I picked a trail near me. Well marked, but quiet. The kind of place you can walk the whole way without passing another soul.

Somewhere new for Jaycee.

I let her off the leash and we went in.

It's a hilly trail, so my legs knew they were working.

Jaycee ran ahead, head up, looking forward, like she already knew where the trail went.

Never too far. She'd glance back, find me, carry on.

About halfway, a big tree had come down across the path.

We climbed over it together. Well, I climbed. Jaycee took it like a hurdle, all four feet off the ground, like the tree had been put there just for her.

And somewhere in those thirty minutes, something in me let go.

Not because anything got solved. The news was the news, before the walk and after.

But the woods don't ask you to explain yourself.

They don't need you to be okay, or not okay.

They just hold you for a little while, quiet and green, while your shoulders come down on their own.

When we got back to the car, we both had a drink of water.

Her from her travel cup, me from my water bottle.

Two tired girls, cooling off after a good climb.

A walk through the trees with your dog can settle something that no amount of sitting and thinking ever will.

If you're carrying something this week, good news or hard news or the kind that's both, I hope you find your version of that trail.

Thirty quiet minutes. Somewhere the world isn't asking anything of you.

Jaycee, for the record, considers the fallen tree the highlight of her week.

She has requested we return.

Until next Sunday, Jane (and Jaycee)

P.S. Funny what you hear once things go quiet.

This week's Sunday Push sits with the restlessness that can show up even when nothing's wrong — the "more" you've quietly talked yourself out of wanting.

The first month is free right now.

One thought, one question, and one small prompt each Sunday to help you move toward it.

After the first month it's $6 a month, and you can stop anytime.