We love it once we're out there — why don't we ever go?

I bought the finest fishing rod in the bazaar. I told everyone in the teahouse: Friday, I go to the river. Every Friday I found a reason — a guest, a headache, the donkey needed shoeing. The rod grew dust on the wall. Then one day my neighbor grabbed my sleeve and said 'come now,' and I sat by that river till the stars came out, forgetting to be hungry. Notice — I did not lack love for the river. I lacked a neighbor grabbing my sleeve. The feeling nature gives is real and free. The trouble is that nothing indoors fights you for that hour, and nothing outdoors fights for you either. Whoever schedules loudest wins, and the couch never has to raise its voice. This is why doing it with others matters more than any love of trees. A pod that names the day, the place, and each other, does not need anyone's feelings to cooperate that morning. Your job is not to feel moved in advance. Your job is just getting bodies to the river.