nature as medicine

Nature Isn’t a Luxury... It’s a Relationship

This morning I woke up and went for a jog.

The winds were howling, easily pushing 20 knots. 

The kind of wind that rattles trees, blows dirt in your face, stings your ears, and makes you want to stay inside.

I have access to a treadmill at my local gym. 

Climate-controlled. Predictable. Easy.

But instead, I went to the park.

I asked myself why, as I was tying my shoes. 

Why choose discomfort when comfort was available just a few minutes away?

The answer was simple.

Because it was outside.

I wanted the sun on my face.

The trees moving overhead.

A blue sky.

Gravel crunching beneath my feet.

I wanted to feel something real.

Nature was calling… not loudly, not dramatically, just persistently. 

And I’ve learned over the years that when that call comes, you have to answer.

The gym would have been easier.

But the park was better.

Sadly, not all of us live where nature is everywhere.

I don’t live on a tropical island.

I don’t live on a ranch surrounded by open land and quiet mornings.

If you do, you’ve won one of life’s ultimate lotteries.

You’re connected to nature 24/7, without effort. 

You don’t have to plan it or seek it out. 

It’s just there.

But for many of us, especially those living in suburbs or cities, connecting to nature doesn’t happen by accident anymore.

You have to go out of your way to find it.

And that matters.

I make it a point to reconnect with nature daily.

Whether that means going for a run, taking a walk, sitting quietly, or simply watching the sunset.

Even when it’s not perfect.

The sunsets at home aren’t the same as the ones I see on our expeditions. 

There are cars, buildings, powerlines, reminders of the world we’ve built, layered over the one we inherited.

But the Texas sunsets where I live can still be pretty spectacular.

Choosing the park over the treadmill wasn’t about fitness.

It was about remembering.

Remembering that nature isn’t a luxury, it’s a relationship.

And like any relationship, it fades when neglected and strengthens with attention.

Unfortunately, we don’t always get to live where nature is untouched.

But we almost always have a choice to step closer to it.

Even when it’s windy.

Even when it’s imperfect.

Even when the world we’ve built gets in the way.

You don’t have to go far to reconnect.

You just have to step outside your door.

Where the Wild Heals You

There’s something about stepping into the wild that reminds you how much noise you’ve been carrying.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a remote jungle, a cold sea, or a quiet trail.

When you get far enough away from the static, something in you begins to settle.

To breathe.

You remember what it feels like to exist without trying so hard.

I’ve seen it happen again and again on an expedition.

People arrive with the weight of their world still clinging to them.

Shoulders tight. Eyes tired. Minds buzzing.

And then, day by day, the wild starts peeling it all away.

There’s no performance out there.

No inbox. No image to maintain.

Just water, sky, dirt, wind… and your place in it.

But let’s be honest.

Nature isn’t some gentle therapist.

She doesn’t offer soft landings or Disney endings.

The wild can be harsh. Cruel, even.

Out there, life is won in inches.

Weather turns fast. Predators hunt. Death is part of the rhythm.

And yet, we still go.

We crave her anyway.

Because even in her brutality, there’s honesty.

No sugarcoating. No pretending. Nature doesn't lie to you.

She shows you the truth of things, yours included.

And when you stand in that truth, you feel something ancient inside you wake up.

Something that reminds you… you’re still here.

Sometimes healing happens in a slow sunrise.

Sometimes it happens in the moment you realize you haven’t checked your phone in hours.

Sometimes it happens in the silence, when you realize you don’t need to fill it.

We’re not designed to be this overstimulated.

We’re not built to scroll all day and wonder why we feel numb.

We’re supposed to be in it, moving, sweating, noticing.

Nature doesn’t judge you.

It doesn’t care how many mistakes you’ve made.

It just invites you back.

Back to presence. Back to peace. Back to yourself.

And somewhere out there, between salt and silence, between light and breath, you feel it.

That tug.

That remembering.

That quiet, steady voice whispering…“You’re okay. You’re home.”


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