When Nature Becomes the Friend Wine Could Never Be

Someone told me years ago, “Nature is your church”, and I was surprised she said that, because at the time, it was more like my gym. I loved being in nature because it made me feel better when I exercised in it, not because I was devoted to it. 

Now, I did like puttering around in the yards of rental houses I lived in. It mostly turned out okay, except that one time a landlord agreed I could do a little trimming back of a holly tree to get more sunlight on the front porch. But seeing as how we were finishing off a birthday keg from the night before, I ended up getting carried away and he had to haul off an overhead pile of debris in a trailer. Or that other time in a beautifully landscaped duplex– I got high and decided to transplant a mature rosemary bush because it bugged me. The bush didn’t survive, and I lost a little trust with that landlord as well. 

Needless to say, when my husband began talking about buying our own house, I said absolutely not. The reality was that I knew I liked to drink and get high on the weekends, and couldn’t imagine being responsible enough to take care of my own property. 

A couple years into my sobriety, he asked again, and this time I thought I could be ready. 

After moving in to our adorable home in April 2020, I got it into my head that I wanted to naturescape our back yard– take out the lawn and put in native plants. Knowing nothing about how to go about doing this, I learned from online workshops, local native plant nurseries, pamphlets, and Facebook groups. 

Curiously, I watched the plants as they first– did nothing. Then began to flower, fill out, and spread. They grew taller than I thought they would, expanded into open space, competed for sunlight. Birds took notice, and spent time foraging, splashing in the bird bath, and even raising their young. 

Now when I went on walks in Forest Park, or hikes further out, I smiled to see what now felt familiar. “I like that clover-looking stuff” said a woman at a retreat. “That’s a native plant, actually, called Oxalis Oregana,” I told her. “It’s also edible.”

As time passed, I had the same experience as when you see the same person again and again at the gym. At first it’s a nod of recognition. Then a “hello”, and over time you strike up a conversation, and after that you feel a warm glow in your chest when you see them. They’ve become a friend. 

This is an experience I didn’t expect to have, because I didn’t know it was possible. I’d been seeking a sense of belonging in people only. Asking: Who are my people? Where are they? How can I connect with them? 

That’s crucial as well, of course. But what we also need something beyond that. A sense of place. A place that feels like somewhere we belong. 

What I figured out was that the practices I’d learned through my Authentic Relating faciliitation training could be extended to the world beyond humans. Not just knowing facts, like names of plants, but knowing how to slow down and pay attention to them over time. 

It’s given me a deeper sense of knowing and being known. Of being part of something. It settles the nervous system in a way a glass of wine never could. 

So-called Liquid Courage is a false bravado that leaves you believing you’re not as capable without it. With a grounded nervous system, you have the long-term, solid footing needed for taking healthy, creative risks. Maybe you finally have that conversation you’ve been putting off, after practicing several versions with a tree to see how it feels.

Life becomes more enjoyable when you feel free to participate in it–  accepting more of the invitations that life’s generously offering you all the time. 

Now, nature is more than someplace that I escape into for my mental health, but something that I pay attention to, and find out what it is also asking of me. 

For example, last year, I started an experiment with intentional experience design at SaunaGlo in Milwaukee, Oregon. Would I be able to guide groups of women through a series of meditation, inner searching, and sharing while I was myself experiencing the heat of a sauna? Would I be able to respond flexibly to the needs of the group while managing time that seems to change shape while IN a sauna environment? Women who came to the groups were in the midst of significant personal and professional change, meeting life’s challenges. “What if I’m the exact right person to create this offering?” “What if, by being here, I’m truly making a difference?” In our ending circle each night, I felt uplifted and rewarded in my creative act of service. 

This discovery I made is open to you, too. So here’s what I’m wondering: Where would you like to move from “What if I can’t handle it” to “What if I can?” And how could a sense of belonging through a deep connection with nature make that possible?