When The World Goes Mad, Put Your Phone Down and Go Outside

We need the solace of nature now more than ever

I woke this morning and took my coffee onto the porch. The news is coming at us so fast that I can hardly breathe from the uncertainty and fear of it. I needed to be outside where I could feel myself being held by a force bigger than me and the world’s problems.

I was enveloped by a lovely silence. A waning moon was sailing high among the clouds, surrounded by a glowing ring. The moon seems unperturbed by all the goings-on of the human race. I find comfort in that.

A robin began to sing in the moonlit dark, breaking the silence with the pure notes of springtime. The sun would be up soon, he announced, and he was getting a jump on the day. His confidence cheered me.

The owl hooted from the woods at the creek, and then a mockingbird joined the song. The dawn chorus was beginning. The day awaits. The birds, urgent to get on with their business heralded the sun.

As the sun began to peek above the horizon, the breeze blew through the pine standing at the edge of the yard. The tree whispered its wisdom to me, reminding me it had stood through storms, drought and hurricane force winds. Stand still, it seemed to say. Stay calm. Put your roots into the earth and she will hold you steady.

That’s what I need right now, more than ever. I need the reassurances nature can give that life goes on, that even when things change I can adapt, that the sun will still rise every morning.

When it was light enough for me to venture off the porch, I stepped onto the driveway and saw a tiny white egg, smashed on the pavement, the contents spilled. I picked it up and peered into it, thinking about how afraid I have been about our own “nest egg” as the markets crash.

I know the bird who laid this egg simply laid another one, or tended to the ones she had left. She wasn’t hovering over this one, grieving for something she couldn’t change. I can’t either. What will be will be, as they say, and I would do well to take a lesson from the mother bird.

Soon the feeders were filled with cardinals, flashing their brilliant feathers and taking turns with the red-bellied woodpecker, who is twice as big as they are. The daffodils are blooming, nodding their heads in acknowledgement as I wander by. Tiny pink buds are swelling on the rhododendron, ready to brighten the garden.

I know that I could miss spring if I stayed glued to my phone, keeping up with every new development of a virus that has hijacked our lives and changed the world. But I am reminded that this too, shall pass. Everything changes, and the ones who can bend with the wind, like the sturdy old pine, will be the ones still standing when it’s all over.

There is so much out of our control right now. We are finding how important it is to live moment to moment, paying attention to the here and the now, because that is all we have. It is all we have ever had, but we are good at deluding ourselves that we can hold the future in our hands.

Gladys Taber, who wrote about her farm in New England in the 1950’s, was not unfamiliar with worries and fears. Every generation has them, and hers was in the form of atomic bombs that were being tested in the Nevada desert. As it turns out, the fallout from those bombs killed almost half a million Americans.

In her book Stillmeadow Sampler she says this about those frightening times. She said it was not her business to decide if the tests went ahead or not, but this is what she could do.

“I have decided that it is my business to live my life as best I can. In season we plant. In season we harvest the crops. In season we pile the apple logs on the fire. And here at Stillmeadow we try to live each day as if it were a fresh gift from God. The sun shines, the rain falls, the snow blots out the windows, still. Birds come as usual. They nest at the same time. And in so far as we are able we help our neighbors whether they live down the road or in Hungary.”

The rhythms of nature are so predictable they can be a source of comfort if we will pay attention. Going outside and connecting to the natural world, noticing the signs of spring, can ground us. As we focus our attention on the life that is all around us, we begin to feel our shoulders drop, our heart rate slow a little and the gripping fear and anxiety loosen its grip. Nature is a calming force if we will avail ourselves of her offerings.

The news will continue to come at us at lightning speed. It would be easy to stay glued to our phones, filling ourselves with fear and worry. But it won’t help anything. It will be better for us in the long run if we could put our phones down and step outside, even for a short time.

Pay attention to the life all around you. Take a walk. Peer into the face of the flowers. The human race has survived crises before. We will survive this one, too. But we need to stay calm, and stay well, and nature is waiting to offer us both.

After my time outdoors this morning, I felt shored up, ready to face the day. Just an hour, alone in the quiet of nature, reoriented my thoughts.

Gladys Taber writes, “It is good to listen, not to voices but to the wind blowing, to the brook running cool over polished stones, to bees drowsy with the weight of pollen. If we attend to the music of the earth, we reach serenity, and then, in some unexplained way, we share it with others.

We need serenity right now. We need to be calm, and share that sense of calm with others, especially our children. We need to reach out and help one another. We need to rethink our priorities. Time in nature can help us do all these things from a place of groundedness.

Please join me outside. And leave your phone on the table.