We often hear that we are meant to ‘go to nature’ in times of stress. That a walk through the forest will soothe our overstimulated minds. But this sentiment has always felt a bit incomplete, inadvertently separating humans from Mother Earth.
Lately I’ve been able to move my body more regularly and even went on my first proper run/hike in over six months. As I approached the trailhead my sense of calmness was met with a bubbling excitement in need of an outlet. In the back of my mind I was reminding myself to take it easy - a day spent trying to do too much would only lead to prolonged pain from the final remnants of my mountain bike accident injuries.

As I began to move through the forest I invited a sense of play into each moment, reminding myself of how I once moved through these spaces.As a child I never merely walked through a forest. I would fully immerse myself in the forest, without contemplation, as if it was true sense of being. I would examine bugs crawling along the pine needles, turn over ferns to gaze at their mesmerizing sori, flip over rocks to discover what may be hiding beneath, splash in the creek, and climb trees until my hands were covered in sap.
Some might hear these activities and merely think that they are childish endeavors. Perhaps delightful for a child but ultimately impractical for adults. After all, most of us are led to believe that when we go to nature we should be 'doing something', hiking, biking, skiing, or running. As if we go to nature solely to participate in an activity. As if nature exists simply for human enjoyment.
I too revel in going to the forest to do many activities, but as I began my run, a question came to mind. As if the trees were begging to be gazed upon, I asked myself when what the last time I played in the forest? I realized I hadn’t been alone in a forest this remote for over six months. A mix of emotions washed over me; gratitude for being healed enough to drive myself to this space, and grief for the realization of this absence I have experienced.
As I continued along the trail I let go of the idea of needing to label my time in the forest. Was it a hike? Walk? Run? Mushroom foraging? I allowed it to be all of these while simultaneously being none of them, letting go of what it needed to look like. Instead I turned my focus to how I felt. I simply let myself play and followed my curiosity.
I jogged when I felt like it but also stopped to watch the scurrying squirrels. I basked in the sun pockets along the trail and touched every tempting bit of moss. I listened to the forest breathe and watched the cool creek rush over my hands. I let the forest hold me. By the time I returned to my car I felt immensely calm and rejuvenated, as if I had remembered something I’d allowed myself to forget. Our oneness with nature.
To me, ‘going to nature’ feels incomplete because it hinges on the the division of oneself from the Earth. It is not only that the forest, beach, or mountain top has calming capabilities we know nothing about. I like to believe we are soothed because we ourselves are nature. These wild spaces hold us, allowing us to be surrounded by a reflection of ourselves. We are one and we are home.
When we allow ourselves to move freely through these spaces, free of the idea that the two of us are separate, Mother Earth is there to teach us. As children we know this to be true, even when we do not have the vocabulary to express it. But as we age we so easily forget to play, we forget about our interconnectedness, we forget how much we can learn from following our curiosities. There is more information available to us than we’ll ever be able to learn in this lifetime. But we mustn’t forget that the tree, squirrel, and creek can teach us something a book cannot, that we ourselves are nature, that we are part of the Earth.
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