I spent one hour today walking solo along a country road. Three trips down, three trips up; it made 3 miles. At 280 feet in elevation per ascent, that was 840 feet total in elevation. I can count those stats, the physical, visible, and directly-measurable ones, accounted for by, and filed away within, the tiny powerful computers on my wrist and in my pocket. But I can’t directly measure what really mattered: The time away from the city, surrounded by trees and dust and fog and dew and clouds. Nature. Not just surrounded by it but within it. At 2,260 feet above sea level, I was in the clouds. As I broke a sweat that turned into a stream and soaked my workout clothing, all-black from years spent wearing the anonymous dark uniform of my New York, I actively thought and considered and reflected. I reflected on what I wanted with my business and my personal passions. And it felt great. To have nothing to interrupt me but me and the mountain stream nearby rushing downhill constantly, washing away the night rain toward the Hudson, eagerly awaiting its newest brood. And I loved it. That hour. Alone, but in the company of an honest, loving, encouraging nature and myself.