Why do I love the outdoors? Where else can you get a therapist, an art room, and a personal gym all in one package—no membership cost? Nature does have a way of humbling you, reminding you of your place, keeping you small, and simultaneously making you more alive than you’ve ever been in your life. From wind that whispers scandal in its breath on tree leaves to Changeable scowls of the weather, it is as if conversing with some kind, wise old spirit who never sugarcoats the truth.
Being outdoors feels particularly energizing. Other times the world has its way and, I’m telling you this, more frequently than I care to acknowledge, but the wide open spaces provide me with a sanctuary—a place where I can catch my breath. It’s as though the world’s weight is ever so slightly less the moment my feet touch the dirt road or toes the beach. Yes, nature won’t do everything for you-that’s a tough one from those inconsiderate mosquitoes-but it gives you the room to think, to reflect, and to regain your strength.
If you’ve ever stood on the edge of a cliff or seen dawn bring the horizon alive in colors even the best artists couldn’t quite manage, then you do know what I’m talking about. There is something to freedom somewhere that you can’t get anywhere else. Maybe that’s the real magic in any of it. Wild doesn’t judge, never has any idea what your past is like, and isn’t going to care if you are having a bad day. It just is, and it lets you just be, too. There is something cool, hard in its reality, in that, in some way, that’s comforting.
Art and nature are not metaphorically related to me. Nature is actual. Nature moves me to a place nothing else can. The storm in the woods or the tranquility of the lake—both permeate my work, perhaps even without even my conscious knowledge. Nature is a writer that doesn’t care for admiration, it just is waiting for you to take notice. And when I do have it, it’s as if I’ve found that particular piece of the puzzle that makes the rest of it fall into place. The fascinating thing is, some of my best moments of real awareness come when I’m just out doing something just really ordinary—like walking across a meadow or sitting on a rock and watching the world go by.
It’s in those relaxed, laid-back times that nature tends to take you by surprise and teach you something you didn’t even know you were looking for. And occasionally, that’s enough. Not an epiphany, just a nudge in the correct direction. And then there’s also the surprise factor to the experience.
Nature doesn’t care about your agenda, your neatly ordered list of what needs to be accomplished. You can go for a walk and spend the time letting the rain soak through you or being pursued by a mad squirrel. And isn’t that what it’s all about? It leaves you guessing, reminds you occasionally things spin out of your control, and that’s okay. You get to go with it, to adjust, and even to embrace the surprise. So why do I love the outdoors?
Because it’s real, raw, and doesn’t attempt to be anything but what it is. It’s where you are lost and found simultaneously. And maybe, just maybe, that is where we are supposed to be—away from the constant noise, the televisions, and the constant ringing of modern life. Nature does not ask much, but it gives much. And that is something we need to hang onto, no matter some of the random mosquito bites.
