
The only cure I know for this condition is a trek to higher ground. When the clouds hang low and heavy in the valley, there's a chance that a climb of 35-40 minutes can get me to the summit of Mt Pisgah and above the murkiness below. The trail lies just seven miles from my home in a county park. It's a trek that raises both heart rate and spirits for me. Physically, of course, I know that movement and oxygen are just the prescription for a sluggish, fogged-in brain. But it's the analogy that restores me time and time again.
Perhaps because I have a tendency to over think life, to stew and let choices billow into confusion, I have developed a special fondness for these foggy hikes that lead me through a metaphor. As I climb the slope, from the fog to open vistas, I am reminded that all it takes is a goal and the gumption to get up and start moving. No need to fret about options here. No need to deliberate every possible problem while spinning in a mental fog. Just take a step. Make a move. And rejoice when skies clear at the summit.

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