A socialist, a Muslim and a king walked into a bar, and the bartender said, “Hello, Mr. President.”

That joke set me off laughing one day, and for a while everything seemed funny, or at least a little ridiculous. It got me thinking about the experiences in daily life that seem to shift us into a zestier, more purposeful place.

Pushing a shopping cart up a store aisle doesn’t do it for me. Neither does Monopoly. But wandering around outside almost always does. Maybe it’s our northern drift of fresh air. Maybe it’s nature’s tendency to slow my spinning mind and let me pay visceral attention to colors, the trajectory of a snowfall or how cold my cheeks are getting.

Doug Wood wrote in the book Paddle Whispers such a physical description of being present outdoors. “With a canoe, it’s simple: An empty bow always swings with the wind. Lean too far and you tip over. When you don’t paddle, you drift. When you do paddle, keep your bow lined up on the horizon or you’ll stray off course. Don’t over-pack; you have to carry all you bring. Scout a rapids before you run it. When paddling, it sometimes helps to sing a song; but be quiet if you want to see and hear shy things.”

You can just bet that Doug was not worrying about work as he paddled. Nor was he writing a mental grocery list, or feeling the tiniest degree of boredom or burnout. We are lucky, living near Ely’s woods and lakes, to have nature’s remedy for our brain dead or soul sick moments.

A good night’s sleep gives us a precious shift of perspective—or as a brain scientist would put it, sleep “restores cognitive function and ramps up the genes involved in producing oligodendrocytes, the brain cells that coat neurons with the insulating material, myelin.”

Sleeping mice showed neuroscientists heightened activity in these useful genes, but sleep-deprived or awake rodents showed greater activity in the genes involved in cellular stress and death. (Note to self: must get more sleep.) Cellular repair can take weeks or months, according to the author of the study in the Journal of Neuroscience, Chiara Cirelli.

I’m convinced that some very real chemical reaction or brain function shifts when we do the things that lift us out of exhaustion, stress and crankiness. In addition to sleep, sometimes what we need is just a good listening-to. When I’m able to download the gobbledygook of the day into a friend’s ear—always with permission first—and not get any advice, just sympathy in return, it lightens my load. Pshew. Now I can think again, and usually sort out next steps in handling a pesky problem.

I’ll bet that the snow carvers in Whiteside Park last week weren’t worrying about a computer glitch, their boss at work or politics in Washington D.C. Well, they may have been chatting with a sister carver—please pass me the shovel…about any number of topics…I need to scoop out more around the nose…I could use some hot chocolate—but they weren’t worrying.

Art in all its forms—the Mona Lisa, A Hard Day’s Night, the Bronze David, Swan Lake or To Kill a Mockingbird—can engage our imaginations and calm the squabble in our minds until we are figuratively transported.

A glass of wine can do it. The Super Bowl has certainly done it. So can a game of tag in the back yard, a marathon, tai chi, meditation or making our favorite old lasagna recipe. For some, it’s slipping into the zone while building a canoe or fixing the tree house roof that loosens up cramped brain cells.

Going on a lovely vacation will usually shift our perspectives. I find that it’s during the trip home when my energy starts to buzz and those brain neurons fire in unexpected sequences. Maybe the stimulation came from all the new experiences I had in New Zealand—leaping dolphins, mountains in the distance, the flavor of Vegemite (looks like chocolate, but don’t be mislead) or wading in warm water down a golden beach.

On the 13-hour flight from Auckland I was thinking enthusiastically about projects that would use up significant voltage of my winter energy and a bit of endurance. There’s nothing like a 6,537-mile flight over the deep blue ocean to remind me that I need to write a will. I’ve promised to help a friend edit his book. Year-end taxes await, as does the resort newsletter, a website rejuvenation, a major quilting project and a long-overdue update of a non-profit board manual.

All this is my way of saying, it’s time for me to move on from writing the twice-monthly Timberjay column, a task that has given me great pleasure, and occasionally the willies. As a notoriously slow writer, I can be found worrying, pondering and scribbling ideas into the wee hours. I’ve mostly enjoyed the challenge, though, and have been incredibly proud to contribute to this award-winning, professional and relevant newspaper. It’s been a pleasure to share this adventure with you. Moving on feels bittersweet.

I’ll leave with a note to self, and to all of us about to embark on new adventures in the new year: “An empty bow always swings with the wind. Lean too far and you tip over. When you don’t paddle, you drift. When you do paddle, keep your bow lined up on the horizon or you’ll stray off course. Don’t over-pack; you have to carry all you bring. Scout a rapids before you run it. When paddling, it sometimes helps to sing a song; but be quiet if you want to see and hear shy things.”

Bon voyage, friends.