If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this year of chaos, disintegration and solitude, it’s to take some of the weight I’m carrying to a tree whenever it feels too damn heavy.

Without intent or premeditation, I started spontaneously taking “Grief Walks” in the spring of 2020. I’d gone on an unanticipated medical leave from my job just 10 days before the pandemic pandemonium began, and to say that my life became completely unmoored in the space of mere weeks would be putting it mildly.

To be perfectly frank, I was coming apart at the seams.

And for the first time in my lived experience, Every Single Person I knew was also in crisis. There was literally no safe harbor to point my little boat toward in that storm. So I turned to nature.

Let me tell you, those early walks over the river and through the woods were rough. Plenty of tears, with some rare moments of comfort sprinkled in.

But here’s the thing: the more I walked and walked by myself, the less alone I felt. As everything else around me swirled, she remained constant. Available. Solid.

Slowly, over time, I gained an awareness of how surrounded I am in every moment. Tree People. Stone People. Birds. Deer. Bugs o’ Plenty. Living life. Following their rhythms. They gifted me a sense of calm, normalcy, and perspective.

I learned how to turn to those other ones when my human existence feels too hard, too fast, or too much. I also—joyfully!—discovered how very welcomed I am in their midst.

(Sidenote: I’ve also learned to bring these others sincere gifts in return. It’s pretty uncool to just dump my problems and run. Reciprocity is important!)

Now when I step out to greet them, they take my worries and fears willingly. We walk together, and it all comes off more quickly. I am usually able to regain my center in a matter of minutes instead of days (or weeks!)

About six months into the practice, things started getting really interesting out there. As my burdens lifted and the cacophony in my mind eased up, I began to pick up what nature had to say to me in return. She’s chattier than I thought… and has just been waiting for me to finally show up and listen!

The other day as I walked, Mama Nature asked me a question:

“What reality do you believe in?”

I knew instinctively what she meant. She’s been gradually nudging me out of dualistic thinking. Over the past year, I’ve been given countless lessons on how to hold these two truths simultaneously: that life can be terrible, and also, that this life is breathtakingly beautiful.

Take it all in, she whispered. The horror. The wonder. The uncertainty and the awe. Then choose what God you want to spend your days praying to.

The answer came easy for me. You, Mama. You.

A year ago I may not have understood the question, let alone known my answer. But after all those walks I’ve begun to understand how fear, longing, and despair are part of the natural order of things. I can’t have love without grief. Security without fear. Beauty without loathing. It’s all part of this grand circus, and I am hopelessly in love with the entire show.

If I hang out too long with the dark bits, I’m liable to miss the light. What I allow my mind to fixate and linger on longest is a choice. Always a choice.

So yeah, I’ll stay tuned to the news. And I’ll keep making my busy little plans. Of course I will. Awareness and full involvement in the messiness of being human is part of the deal.

But I realized over this past year that it’s OK - necessary even - to slip away from time to time. To spend more slow hours in nature’s good company. Listening to a truth only the forests and oceans can tell.

Grief Walks: Finding My Way Back Home

To be perfectly frank, I was coming apart at the seams.

I learned how to turn to those other ones when my human existence feels too hard, too fast, or too much. I also—joyfully!—discovered how very welcomed I am in their midst.

“What reality do you believe in?”