How Nature Nurtures

Learning to just be :)

Since childhood, I have been deeply introverted. I used to bring a book to every party my parents made me go to, and almost all of the friends I’ve made have been through someone else befriending them first. I’d rather workout inside than go on a walk, and as it follows, I have been Vitamin D deficient for multiple years because I don’t often go under the sun. The list goes on and on. The point is, I’ve never been an ‘outside’ person. And so, when the benefits of sunlight and being outside kept being shoved in my face, I got defensive. If going outside could make me feel better, why did I hate it? Why was I uncomfortable the whole time—always too cold or too hot, never in a happy medium? For someone whose name means the first rays of sun and who’s born on the summer solstice, I always felt like a walking contradiction. 

I’m well aware that I’m painting myself out to be some sort of antisocial-vampiric person, which I am not (I think). But I’ve never been able to rid myself of my aversion to the outside, no matter how much I know this can affect my physical and mental health. By some stroke of fate, life has been dragging me into nature this past year: beach trips, essays about nature, lake visits… I’ve ended up spending more time outside than I normally would, but I don’t hate it.

Purrumbete from across the lake, Eugene von Guerard (1858)

There is a lake near my house that I’ve driven by for years. I’d seen it so often that this sprawling expanse of blue had blended into the background of this town. I ended up there at the beginning of this month for a school project that should’ve only taken 15 minutes. As it ended up, I stayed for well over 45. After finishing my work, I sat at a bench and watched the water. There, life moved slow. Still. Quiet. It was as if my mind, the one that typically trips over itself in thought, had been put on mute. My anxieties were distant, muffled like the sound of chatter behind a closed door.

Pacing up and down past a bed of rocks, I noticed the water as it moved in the same pattern over and over again. Over and over again. Pushing up against the rocks and retreating. Over and over again. It felt so outstandingly simple. Back in the car, it brought to mind the myth of Sisyphus, who was condemned to roll the same boulder up a hill for the rest of time. It brought to mind Mary Oliver, whose work considers this repetition of nature and embraces it wholeheartedly. It brought to mind an essay I wrote in June about how different poets, like Oliver, use nature in their writing to create a sense of optimism towards life.

I went back to the lake today and got to share this experience with a friend. We sat on a bench and watched as people walked out to the water and their dogs enjoyed the outdoor air. It was cold, and we probably should’ve brought our jackets. But it is so nice to not be alone. Joy is so much more abundant when shared. I plan to go back again on Friday. I regret not placing myself here sooner.

I always resisted nature because I hated interacting with it. I’ve never been one to roll around in the grass or jump into water, but through my experiences at the lake, I’m beginning to realize that I do not have to interact with it. I can just be there. I mentioned Mary Oliver earlier, which brings me back to this poem that I wrote that essay about, “Wild Geese”:

You do not have to be good. 

You do not have to walk on your knees 

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. 

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves. 

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. 

Meanwhile the world goes on. 

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain 

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers. 

Meanwhile the wild geese, 

high in the clean blue air, 

are heading home again. 

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 

the world offers itself to your imagination, 

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-- 

over and over announcing your place 

in the family of things.

The sun, the clear pebbles of rain, the wild geese—they follow these repetitive motions too. The sun goes up and down, and up and down, and up and down. Does it ever get tired? Or is it gratified by the life it creates and sustains? What about the rain that falls, collects, vaporizes, condenses, and falls again? Or the wild geese that migrate with the seasons—are they bored, or are they choosing to live? Every day, nature rolls up a million of its own boulders and watches as they roll back down. Still, it stays, assuming and embracing its “place in the family of things.” 

What I mean is this: we are no different than these wild geese. As Oliver says, “you do not have to be good.” You just have to be. When I watch the water and let my head go empty, I am choosing to be. That is the benefit of nature. It will not make me feel better. It will not do my assignments or revive my mindset, suddenly reinvigorating me. It’s merely a way to mitigate the everyday tensions of life. 

The world is burning, and wars are raging, and people are dying, and the oceans are rising, and people’s rights are getting revoked, and that test was really hard, and my friend might be mad at me, and being a teenager is weird and hard, and I’m leaving my life behind in six months, but hey, isn’t that a beautiful lake? Isn’t the wind in your hair so refreshing? Do you see the way the sunlight filters through the wildflowers, the way the flowers are beginning to bloom, the way the sky bursts in pinks and reds in the evening? 

It’s nice, isn’t it?

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All I have to add is that “Wild Geese” is one of Oliver’s most famous poems for a reason. I have not once gotten tired of reading it! It is the last day of February! I cannot believe we made it to March. February went by quicker than I’d like, but I’m glad it’s over. Here are some Good Things:

• Good Riddance — Gracie Abrams

  • This is my favorite album of hers. I cannot believe this set of songs is mine. At the same time, it feels just out of reach, written about experiences I can’t entirely relate to yet. I look forward to growing with this album.

• Cooking. 

• National Museum of Asian Art

• My friends :)

• This song, this song, this song, and this song.

• Playlist of songs from the newsletter

Thank you for reading! I hope you can sit and space out at a lake sometime soon.

Love,

Aarushi.