Wandering and Wondering

Just for fun, I asked AI to write a 400 word blog that reflects my academic convictions. AI has access to most of my professional publications. Here is the (inspired, AI word and not mine) article it wrote by Karla Henderson (unedited by me). I agree that it reflects my thoughts although I might use different examples:

Title: Leisure as Liberation: Creating Space for Ourselves and Each Other

What does it mean to live fully?

For many of us, daily life is structured around responsibilities — work, caregiving, managing a household. These are vital parts of who we are. But I’ve often returned to the question: where is the space for joy? For connection? For leisure?

And what even is leisure?

Leisure is more than free time. It’s a deeply personal experience — a space where we can be authentic, creative, and connected. It’s where we laugh with friends, hike a familiar trail, paint, dance, or simply sit quietly with a good book. For some, it’s gardening. For others, it’s skateboarding or knitting or attending a community drum circle.

But leisure is also political. It’s shaped by systems — by race, gender, ability, economics, and history. Not everyone has equal access to leisure, or equal freedom to define what leisure means for them.

Reclaiming Leisure

For women — especially women of color, queer women, and caregivers — leisure is often viewed as indulgent, or even selfish. We’re told to be productive, to take care of others, to put ourselves last.

But reclaiming leisure is an act of resistance. It’s a declaration that our time and joy matter.

In my years of research, I’ve listened to women share stories of how leisure became a form of healing — a time when they could finally breathe. Whether it was through writing poetry, roller skating in the park, or meeting with a weekly book club, these were not just hobbies. They were acts of self-preservation.

Leisure as Community

Leisure also builds community. Think of a community garden where neighbors exchange stories over tomatoes. Or a Zumba class that becomes a lifeline for social connection. These spaces can become sanctuaries — especially when they are inclusive and affirming.

Yet, we must ask: Who feels welcome in these spaces? Who has access to them? If we want leisure to be liberating, we must ensure it is equitable.

This means rethinking how cities design parks, how schools offer recreation, how organizations serve diverse populations. Inclusion is not an afterthought — it is the foundation.

Making Space for Joy

So I invite you to reflect: What brings you joy? What restores you? And how can you make space — not just for yourself, but for others — to experience leisure that uplifts and connects?

Because in a world that often demands our labor but not our joy, leisure is not a luxury. It is liberation.

Let us choose it boldly.

A bearded middle-aged guy (sans dog) stopped me on a trail in Rocky Mountain National Park and said, “So dogs are not allowed on this trail, right?” I was on Tundra Guardian duty and dressed in my volunteer uniform chatting with people as they made their way up the paved tundra trail. He went on to say, “I didn’t think there would be anyone here to stop dogs from being on the trail.”

I assured him that sometimes we had volunteers and staff patrolling the trails, but we obviously could not stop all the people from bringing their (non-service) dogs.

The encounter reminded me of how I frequently remind people that the park operates on an honor system. We have rules we expect people to follow, but the enforcement on 415 square miles is difficult. Thus, we hope people will honor the authority of the resource and follow the rules just because it is the right thing.

In another example, RMNP has a timed entry system in the summer that indicates vehicles must have a permit to enter the park between 9 am-2 pm. That requirement is enforced at the main entrances, but RMNP has several trailheads that do not require entering through the main gates. We tell people the rules and ask them to respect the system.

How people choose to be honorable and ethical is an interesting question. Moral development involves a person’s understanding of ethics and values.  I believe most people want to do the right thing, but they are not always sure what that entails.

Lawrence Kohlberg outlined stages of moral development grouped into three levels: preconventional (focusing on one’s self and how to avoid punishment), conventional (guided by social norms, policies, and law), and postconventional (based on universal ethical principles of what is good and right). Individuals progress through these stages as their moral reasoning becomes more complex, with not everyone reaching the postconventional level.  During the current shutdown, some people think the rules no longer exist and no one will enforce them. Planning to “not get caught” is a sad commentary on depreciated moral development.

Rules exist in the park related to doing minimal damage to natural resources. Helping people know what is right, fair, and just no matter who is looking is an ongoing challenge.

Mom keeps asking me if I want a new sister or brother. She avoids answering the question for herself about whether she wants another cat.

I have been lonely since my sister passed away suddenly three months ago. I did not understand what happened, but mom started sobbing and ran to the car with Mog’s limp brown tabby body in her arms. Mom returned. Mog didn’t.

Mog was having some health issues, but I had no idea she would go so quickly. She told me to take care of mom when she was gone, but I thought she was just yakking as she often did. I had no idea Mog would leave mom and me. Mog and I were litter mates and had only spent 3 nights apart in 15 plus years.

The days and nights are different without Mog. Mom lavishes attention on me and lets me sleep in the chair and on the bed where Mog used to sleep. Mog was bossy and I let her tell me what to do. I have never been a cuddler like Mog, but I try to let mom know that I am here for her. She is sad.

Mom talks to me more than she did before Mog passed. She said she loved having the two of us as kittens when we were adopted years ago but doesn’t think raising kittens again is what she needs. She wants an older cat that might be difficult to adopt and for whom she could provide a forever home. I like that idea. I do not think I could deal with the energy of a new kitten.

Mom went to the Pet Association last week to meet a 10-year-old yellow tabby that was surrendered because her elderly parents died. She said the cat was sweet but just did not seem to be right for us. I think seeing this cat and going forward with the possibility of adoption just made mom sadder about Mog.

As for me, I don’t know. I am taking care of mom by patrolling the house and cuddling up next to her to watch TV at night just as Mog used to do. Mom volunteers a lot so I am home by myself. I sleep more these days as I get older. On the other hand, it would be nice if a new cat helped me cheer mom up.

Both of us need a little more time to figure this out. We will know when we know.

“Introduce yourself briefly and talk about one of the scars, visible or invisible, on your body.” This request was part of an introductory activity during the first meeting of a group of people who did not know each other but who would spend the next 10 days together on an outdoor adventure trip.

I had never experienced such a request. I learned quickly, however, that talking about scars can carry personal, emotional, and social significance. I have been fortunate to have few visible scars on my body. That day I talked about the scars on my shoulder that were a result of surgery on a rotator cuff tear that I got when downhill skiing.

One woman talked about the mastectomy she had due to breast cancer. A youngish guy described knee surgery because of playing high school football. Another woman described the scar on her forehead where her brother had accidentally hit her with a baseball bat when she was 10 years old.

The significance of the get-acquainted activity revealed something interesting and unknown about the people we would get to know well in the next few days. Several aspects were significant.

First, scars can be a symbol of survival and/or strength. Scars often represent something the person has endured and overcome whether surgery or an accident. Talking about them can be a way of reclaiming agency over something painful.

Second, revealing information about scars can be an opportunity for communication. It can be an invitation for deeper emotional intimacy. Further, scars are part of an identity narrativethat show how good and/or bad experiences have shaped each of us. No one talked about emotional scars that I am sure we all had. Those stories were reserved for later when we became more closely acquainted.

Third, scars can be associated with social or cultural meanings. They can be stigmatized. Conversations about them challenge that stigma. Scars can be reframed not as flaws, but a part of a person’s lived experience. Though the scars I have from two shoulder surgeries as well as two wrist surgeries are faint, they remind me that I am fortunate to be an active person even though accidents can happen.

Dialoging about scars can be therapeutic, empowering, connective, and interesting. Descriptions are rarely about the mark but about the story behind it and what it means to carry it forward. Learning about people’s scars was a way to start a dialogue about what is meaningful in life.

Among my obsessions, I think about the notion of time frequently. I write about it from time to time (no pun intended). Right now, I am thinking about how quickly summer flashes by. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday….

In the Chicago music tune, the question was raised: “Does anyone really know what time it is? Does anyone really care?” I remember having a conversation with a friend one day in her college dorm room back in 1970. I am sure it was a deep philosophical discussion. A year later, she died of breast cancer. Neither of us had any idea about time– one more year for her and 55 more years for me.

Psychologists have written about why time goes more quickly when we get older. Children have new experiences and process massive amounts of information that require time. As we get older, we have progressively fewer new experiences. Equally importantly, our perception of the world often becomes more automatic. We absorb less information that takes less time. I understand that notion.

We cannot stop time. Nevertheless, I want everything to slow down. I want to resist the process of speeding up. The most obvious is to keep introducing newness into my life such as traveling, meeting new people, and especially for me, thinking about ideas that I want to apply to my own self help, and write about.

Another idea that is hard for me related to time is to simply slow down by living mindfully. Because I like having many activities going on in my life, I remind myself to recognize day-to-day experiences such as seeing, hearing, and feeling the world around me. Observing animals is one thing that I do that provides mindfulness.

On a more long-term basis, I am trying to cultivate conscious awareness through meditative practices (including meditation walks) that quiet the chatter in my mind. Further, I continue to focus on gratitude in daily living.

Part of me longs for more time to do more with my life. On the other hand, I am grateful for the opportunities and relationships that have sustained me for decades. Jim Croce wrote about “time in a bottle.”  I value the idea of a world where precious moments are saved in a bottle and revisited at any time, simply by pulling a cork. Remembering the moments does not make time slow down, but it gives me a perspective on the time I have had on this earth.

The bull elk lumbered slowly across the road in front of us as I engaged the brakes. His head slumped down as he looked our way with watery brown eyes. He looked disinterested as if he were saying, “Run over me. I don’t care.”

I feel sorry for the bull elk this time of the year. Their hormones push them to focus single-mindedly on attracting female elk for procreation. They do everything they can to appeal to potential mates-rolling in urine and mud to make themselves look bigger and more attractive along with their intermittent screaming bugles. The cows, however, have the last word in the mating plans. Many males get disappointed. They must confront rejection.

I read a daily blog about writing. These motivational pieces describe the tips and tricks for getting published with undertones related to dealing with rejection. I relate to that reality.

I had a successful career as an academic. I was a good (although not great) teacher and I hope, a supportive colleague. I was successful in writing hundreds of published academic manuscripts. However, I was not successful at publication in my early career. I had those sad eyes of a bull elk.

When I received a negative review on a paper I submiited, my initial reaction often was to mumble cuss words about how reviewers did not know what they were doing and then stash the paper and the comments out of sight in a drawer (back then these were paper reviews).

Rejection was painful and it resulted in sadness, anger, loneliness, and self-doubt. I often felt worthless and doubted that I really belonged in the academic world. It was frustrating, but I was a fighter and a survivor. I resolved not to let rejection define my academic life.

After a couple of days, I made myself open the drawer where the assessment of my writing temporarily lived. I got the courage to carefully examine the comments. I learned that even if I did not agree with an observation, it was important to think about why reviewers misunderstood my writing. I was not communicating as clearly as I thought. In other cases, it was obvious that my ideas needed deeper insight. If a manuscript was worth additional effort, I could improve it vastly. I learned to revise and rewrite with the comments in mind. I learned to do a better job in future writing when I paid attention to the reviewers’ comments. I became successful.

I wonder if the bull elk will learn from his sad moments just as I did. Rejection is not easy but there is always another year and another opportunity. Now I just need to apply this optimism to other issues regarding my fear of personal rejection.

Animals make me smile when I do not have much to smile about. I reflect on their mannerisms and wish that I could adopt some of those characteristics.

People have written about what they learn from their cats and dogs. I love the ideas expressed about cats such as how they keep fastidious grooming habits, eat healthy fish diets, get plenty of rest, express their individuality, and embrace curiosity as long as it isn’t too scary. People have written about what we can learn from other animals. I have my own set of observations that make me envious of distinct animal characteristics.

• I would like to have the agility of the deer as they bound stiff legged across green meadows.
• I long for the innocence of elk babies as they look to their moms for clues to behavior. I enjoy the unique communication between moms and their offspring. I wish my mom were still here to guide me when needed.
• I envy the swishing tails of the marmots as they sachet across the tundra in search of tasty tidbits so they can get as fat as possible before they hibernate for the winter.
• I admire the energy and tenacity of the pikas as they gather their food caches to hide under the rocks for their long wintertime. They never stop scurrying about as they labor to harvest for their stockpiles. I worry about the impact climate change might have on their habits in the future.
• The intense eyes of the coyotes are staring into my soul as I observe them.
• I am enthralled by the boldness of the dusky grouse when they think a mate may be nearby.
• If I had a tail like a beaver I could smack it in the water whenever I wanted to give warning of something not right in my world. That act would scare the begeebers of those annoying me.
• I marvel at the feet of a snowshoe hare when it strides across the top of thick snow in the woods.
• Swimming would be more enjoyable if I had the buoyancy of the ducks in the water.
• I swoon at the thought of being a snake that can absorb the warmth of the sun.
• A beak like that of a hummingbird would allow me to taste sweet nectar while staying in motion.
• I sometimes yearn to be a turtle who could crawl inside my shell when the outside world overwhelms me.

Alas, I am only human and can only try to emulate from time to time the behaviors I admire in animals. Bless the beasts who give me these inspirations.

I wrote almost two dozen textbooks during my academic career. One of the final joys of doing this work is including what is commonly known as a dedication to someone(s). I was reminded of that privilege recently when I was perusing one of my books to review an idea that I presented earlier.

Looking back over the past 40 years of thoughtful dedication acknowledgements provides a reflection about what was important in my life. My first collaborated book on women and leisure was dedicated to “our mothers, sisters, and children.” Our second revision was resolute “to all who seek the empowerment of girls and women in and through leisure.”

The first book I wrote as a solo author was about research methods and qualitative data. I was excited to dedicate it to three special academic mentors. Darlene Conover was a faculty member at Iowa State University who always encouraged me to be a “sky walker.”  Caroline Weiss was a professor at the University of Minnesota who acknowledged that I was a good writer and nurtured that creativity. Jerry Apps was my Department Chair at the University of Wisconsin who stood beside me during a challenging fork in my early academic career.

My co-authored text on evaluation methods was dedicated to my first cat, DJ–“she knew how to evaluate intuitively!” The second edition of that book was a professional focus on two colleagues who had supported and inspired evaluation efforts, Doug Sessoms and Betty Van der Smissen. The third edition spotlighted Marge Scanlin as an American Camp Association staff member who brought the value of research to the organization. We also dedicated the book to Jane H. Adams, a friend and formerly the consummate Executive Director of the California Park and Recreation Society.

My colleagues and I dedicated our co-authored book on Service Living to the four people we profiled in the book who inspired us “to live a life of service”: Frederick Law Olmstead, Jane Addams, Benton MacKaye, and Marjorie Stoneman Douglas.

My most recent introductory text was dedicated to my mom and dad. I indicated that they had “taught me about hard work so I could study and enjoy leisure.”

Other books I authored, co-authored, or co-edited also had dedications but these examples are my favorites and show to the world my thoughts and gratitude as I labored to share my ideas in these texts.

I met the founder of Rocky Mountain National Park’s Weed Warrior volunteer group 8 years ago. To be honest, I thought she was a little goofy–she was obsessed with weeds! (Not WEED, but weeds)!  The first time I interacted with her socially, she noticed weeds everywhere we went. I did not understand the compulsion.

Fast forward to today and I have become addicted to weed eradication. I am not passing a judgment on myself but making an observation. I am fixated on weeds. I see them everywhere. The good news is that I have committed to doing something about them.

I enjoy being a part of the RMNP Weed Warriors. The work is hard as we manually rid the park of weeds such as musk thistle, mullein, hounds tongue, and Russian thistle. At the same time, the opportunity has social overtones as we chat and work together. We always have a “treat” break in the mornings and we have a resident baker, Judy, who provides tasty baked goods.

I also have become a resident weed expert at my HOA. Every 2-3 weeks I patrol our grounds to remove invasives I see. As current research shows, native plans enhance fire mitigation by naturally creating defensible space through deep roots, high moisture content, and slower ignition. They also provide ecological benefits like soil stabilization and supporting local wildlife. To nurture those natives requires eradicating the invasive non-native species.

For three years I been monitoring adjacent public areas including the public space east of our condos as well as the Knoll-Willows Open Space that I can see from my upstairs windows. Since I walk by these areas every day, I do not want to dampen my enjoyment by obsessing about weeds.

I have learned things about being a weed nerd both in the park and in my neighborhood. First, it is possible to make a difference by removing the weeds. The change is limited for a year or two or three, but it will happen. Patience is a virtue.

Second, the feeling is satisfying when I turn around and see what we have accomplished with the slain weeds. Many things I do in my life do not have that immediate gratification.

Third, virtuous deeds done do not have to be overtly visible or acknowledged. Few people coming into the park recognize the efforts undertaken by the weed warriors. Yet, we can see the difference and can revel in the native grasses and wildflowers that now anchor the landscape.

Finally, slaying weeds is a marathon and not a sprint. We get rid of one patch at a time. I have a dream that someday all invasive plants will desist if we persevere. In the meantime, I cherish the opportunity to be outdoors, to work collegially, to take minute vacations to enjoy the beauty of the outdoors, and to contribute to a worthwhile endeavor.

I am a neat person. I do not mean “cool,” I mean tidy. I do not like to have things out of place in my home. I keep things visually orderly. On the other hand, I sometimes shove stuff in drawers and closets so I don’t have to look at them. “Out of sight, out of mind,” however, only has band aid effects for a desired minimalist existence.

When I moved to Colorado 11 years ago, I downsized my possessions as I thought I would move to a smaller space. As happened, I bought a condo with 50% more square footage than my home in North Caroliina. I had many closets for storage. I am not much of a shopper but over time, I have accumulated “stuff.” I want to get rid of belongings that I no longer use, or that will mean nothing to anyone coming after me.

I am thinking about what becomes of my things once my physical body transforms from this earth. I want to begin planning for that eventuality sooner rather than later. Therefore, I have been reading about de-cluttering. It is one thing to read about it and another to institute a plan.

The first step is to convince myself that I need to de-clutter sooner rather than later and then have a plan. I am gathering tips that will motivate me. Perhaps this is the year that implementation will begin.

Decluttering is a physical task focused on organizing and tidying up spaces. The literature suggests decluttering can have profound psychological and lifestyle impact that will contribute to overall well-being. I am always in search of additional well-being.

Clutter is a source of stress and anxiety and that is why I choose to “hide” the clutter in drawers and closets. Disorganized space is not relaxing to me. These days I cannot forget about the clutter that lies behind those doors and drawers.

A big challenge in de-cluttering is letting go of the past. I have scrapbooks from high school that I have not looked at for decades. Will I ever? Certainly, no one else I know cares. Letting go will require making choices confidently and quickly. I suspect that letting go of some of my past will free me to appreciate my present.

I used to tell my students that poor writing indicated poor thinking. Similarly, for me anyway, unorganized spaces lead me to an unorganized life. With less clutter, I might be less distracted and will concentrate better especially when working on these blogs.

Now I just need to quit writing about it and get started!