There are certain spaces where timing and routine are rendered meaningless. The first that comes to mind is the airport. Where human beings keep odd hours, it’s perfectly acceptable to have a gin and tonic at 10am, and depending on your destination, you can literally travel through time. Another, which I like to think of as a “time pocket” is when you get stuck waiting for a train. You never planned on this period of stalled time which gives you a moment to reflect on life. I highly suggest you resist the urge to reach for your phone and squander this gift of time. Personally, my favorite space where time is mostly meaningless is when you are camping. 

There are many forms of camping.  From multi-day backcountry excursions to luxury glamping accommodations. For the purposes of this discussion, I will be referring to good old-fashioned car camping at a campground. 

We roll up to the site and the only real responsibility is to set up the tent. Once our home is erected, we can submit to a sense of lawless abandon. My children revert to their feral roots, running around naked, screaming at squirrels, and stealing the donut holes I brought for a fun breakfast treat. Instead of watching the clock to announce when it’s time for dinner, bath and bed we follow the pull of the sun. There is more than enough light to go for an evening dip in the lake to wash off the grime from the day. An unusual amount of which has accumulated on my children. Bedtime is when everyone feels tired not when the clock says it is. It’s not that we intentionally shun our regular routine, it’s that being outside has an inexplicable effect of pulling your body closer to a natural rhythm. It forces us to slow down and be present with our surroundings. Unfortunately, time continues to march on and at some point we must return to it. It’s good to know that there are places where time slows and as you look up at the trees or across the cobalt water you may even be able to make it stop.