“Go outside and play” – it was one of those expressions that would slide out of my mom’s mouth frequently. But why? Was she just stressed out and needed a break from us five kids pulling at her. Or was she on to something? I know that getting outdoors does something for me. It gets me away from myself. When I stare out over the edge of mountainous boulders that took thousands of years to form, I feel small. Almost insignificant, but in a good way. Even the air feels different: it’s lighter and seems to hold more promise. The weight of my worry lifts and travels across the expanse of open space, like an echo that clings to sound until it finally gives up and fades away. I need to go outside and play.