How Complete Immersion in Nature has Healing Power

When life gets stagnant, head outside.

After a stressful morning, with a toddler who just would not get ready, I decided to take a break from the walls of frustration, worries, and just plain old exhaustion that were starting to make me feel suffocated.

I feel the most alive when I’m outside, so I decided to test the restorative benefits of nature for eight continuous hours. It’s relatively easy to work out on the porch, and the warmer-than-usual weather cinched the deal.

Quick aside: Although I’ve been a lifelong nature enthusiast, I understand that nature isn’t everyone’s passion.

Here’s the experiment:

8 a.m.

I step outside and immediately feel at ease. A hawk cries in the distance, as the wind circles around the mountains like the melodious sound of a train in the distance. It’s a bit chilly in the Rockies during this time of a year, so I wear a coat to sit in the shade as I type. Our neighbors are chopping wood. Woodpeckers harvest their food in a steady rhythm, punctuated by the chirps of chickadees. I already feel better.

9 a.m.

I’ve been outside for an hour now. My hands are slightly cold, but I don’t mind; my soul is coming alive again, as it only does in nature. My son comes out to join me, without a screen in his hand, and my dachshund curls up in my lap, making it difficult to type this. I don’t mind that, either. It feels good to breathe fresh air, letting it wash all of the stagnant, draining energy away.

10 a.m.

It’s starting to warm up in the crisp way that it always does on a sunny March day in Colorado. I hear dogs barking in every direction and realize that my dogs have wandered down the hill in the direction of the omnipresent barking. I take a brief stroll down the road with bread in hand and a kind word for my rescue babies. When I get back, I firmly latch the porch gate and breathe a sigh of relief, as I only do when all four (one human, three fur babies) are secured and in my line of sight on the deck.

11 a.m.

The sun is overhead, strikingly intense at 9,000 ft. I still hear my neighbor’s dog barking, the yaps echoing off the mossy canyons that run parallel to our home. It’s snack time for my son, so I rush in to make a peanut butter bagel with apple slices, and feel my tiredness rise as I step over Legos, feel the stagnant air, and think about all the chores that I should be doing. I quickly rush back outside, snacks in tow to avoid returning inside for as long as possible. This experiment is starting to remind me why I moved to the mountains. I remember that Spring is near, and the allure of working May through September on the porch is so close that maybe I’ll start working outside in March this year. A cold, crisp breeze passes by and I momentarily rethink that possibility, but still move into the sun instead of going inside.

12 p.m.

The glorious sun. I can’t see a thing, but it’s worth it. A thought crosses my mind: I’ve been struggling with writer’s block for the past few days, or rather “writer’s stagnation” pondering what I can write about and how I can use my personal experiences to add value to the lives of others while remaining authentic and relatable. But out here, I only think about being, and realize that I can write and think much clearer and faster than inside on the couch. Interesting. Very glad that I figured that one out! Wait … is my neighbor playing the drums? As in old, brown Indian drums … or maybe he’s just emptying the trash. I can’t tell. It doesn’t matter, because it’s time for lunch outside. One of the perks of being outside in early March is the lack of wasps and sort-of-intimidating Rocky mountain beetles. I really hope that I don’t see one of those today. I still haven’t completely come to terms with the giant insects that make their home in our strikingly white aspens.

1 p.m.

Still outside. Drinking lemonade as I write and read and redirect my son from giving his food to the dogs. Mission failed, but oh well; it’s not the end of the world. What would upset me in the house only gives me a brief moment of pause during this natural experiment or “getaway” as I’m starting to call it. In a peaceful mood, I decide it’s time for a craft, this time painting potatoes and experimenting with bubbles, perfect activities to do on the porch. I feel like I’m remembering to appreciate my loved ones more, and I start to reminiscence about the past two summers spent outside, many with my then-2-year-old … experimenting … crafting … delighting in the sensory world of nature. I may be looking at this through rose-colored glasses, but maybe that’s perfectly OK.

2 p.m.

I think I can see nestlings fluttering their wings and chirping excited squeaks at the top of the old pine tree. Feathers as soft as clouds gently fall towards the earth. Flashes of red and yellow flap past, embarking on their first mission, to take flight into the great unknown. I’m brought back from my reverie by the sounds of jets flying over the house, dogs bark, and momentary excitement ensues before everything falls silent again. I hear the velvety sounds of wind whipping through the trees, and notice that the snow is melting off of the road. Spring feels closer than ever. I wonder what long-forgotten things we will find when all of the snow melts.

3 p.m.

Moved locations again, this time to get a better view of the boulders and trees that snake their way up the slope toward our house. My husband comes out to join me, and we both let the sunny warmth of the sun relax and uplift our souls, recalling why we moved here in the first place. Now that I’ve been outside for seven hours, it’s time to check on some of our pine seedlings. They’re still there, still green, still growing at an astonishing rate. It begins to feel like time has lost its meaning. Worries like trying to meet deadlines, do laundry, and worry about my to-do list all seem far off (for now). Our neighbor is on his tractor, and I feel a sense of deja vu from the first 18 years of my life spent on a farm. I can almost see my passed-away father smile, and generations of my Indian ancestors sitting in companionable silence, marveling at the beauty of the earth, the fertile soil, the crisp, fresh air.

4 p.m.

The sky is still as blue as a robin’s egg, but it’s slowly starting to take on a dreamy purple haze. I love sunsets, but usually miss them because I’m inside. A light chill is starting to fill the air, so I put on a coat and as I walk across the driveway, my long-absent friend Inky the Crow squawks an exuberant greeting at the first signs of life this spring … or maybe it’s the two large dogs at my side. Either way, I’m glad to see Inky and throw out a few crackers as a welcome home gift.

As I reflect upon the day, I realize a miracle has happened: my son spent the WHOLE day without a screen, and except for a few notes, I did too. Now I need to try this experiment on a weekend, so the whole family can join in.

What It Taught Me:

This experience was a critical reminder to harness the unwavering power of nature the next time that I need healing, clarity, or stillness. And tomorrow when it’s all too tempting to retreat to my office with its cozy couch and heating pad, I’ll remember that nature is calling with plentiful gifts to offer, including vitamin D, better breathing, less stress, and connection to the Earth and human spirit.

Having been a city-dweller myself for the past 15 years, here are a few tips for getting outside in nature, and what has helped me find that soul-sustaining joy even amidst a concrete jungle. They may seem commonplace, but perhaps there is something that will reach out to the nature enthusiast, the solitude seekers, and the office dwellers.

1. In the morning, bundle up if it’s cold and take a walk outside with coffee, tea, water, or whatever you drink in the morning. When I lived in the city, this often meant walking to the 6-foot patch of grass in front of my doorstep, but the location didn’t matter as much as starting my day by connecting with the Earth, humankind, and myself.

2. If you have the flexibility at an office job, arrive at work early so you can take a precious 30 minutes in the middle of the day to soak up the sun, destress, and remember that you are still a human who needs sunlight and fresh air.

3. Whether in the morning, at sunset, or even at night, take a few minutes to marvel at the expansive, inspiring sky.

4. When a flexible work schedule isn’t an option, get as much done during the week as you can, and then let it all go for most of the weekend in order to spend so much time outside that the artificial lights of the indoors look odd compared to the sun.

It’s important to point out that nature is not just wilderness; the benefits of nature can also be found in our local parks and open spaces. So get outside and answer the primal call that binds us with everything else in the universe, allowing our souls to rejoin the original state of our existence.