There is no place that is not, still and always, wild.

I didn’t realize how tightly locked my heart had gotten until I felt it broken open by the beauty of a tree canopy. I did not find this medicine in the woods I drove nearly two hours away from the city to visit, but I did find it in the trees along the Mississippi River parkway, less than 20 minutes from my front door. 

I went away to visit with the trees and the stars. I was aching for time in a wilder, wider place. I wanted to hear owls, coyote, loons. I hoped I might see a deer. I wanted something ancient and wild and breathtaking enough to shake loose the weighty shit I no longer need to hold and let it drop and scatter and settle across the forest floor along with the dried up leaves, the thudding acorns, the pinecones heavy with the next generation of trees.

Honestly, I didn’t get much relief. It was certainly a beautiful, restful week. I have been working, at least a little bit, every single day for quite a long time. While I was away, I didn’t work at all. It felt remarkably easy and the forest and lake were gorgeous and I just sat out on a deck and breathed with the trees for days and days and I never once got bored or felt lonely. And, at the same time, I felt disappointed because, soothing as it was, I heard pretty much the same birdsongs I hear out my window in my home office on an otherwise very loud city block. I saw lots of squirrels, but no deer. It was serene, certainly, but nothing really showed up and felt wild enough to match the wild, gnarling grief caged up deep in my core. While I felt nice and easy and relaxed while I was there, I came home depressed, even maybe a bit more tired than I was before I had I left. 

I have a routine on Mondays that includes going to a warm therapy pool in a suburb that is about a 25 minute drive from my home. Usually I really look forward to this part of my day, but this past Monday, still frustrated and sad that I didn’t get enough of what I needed from my trip to the woods, I just couldn’t bring myself to return to this routine. I wanted to go back and breathe with the trees until I felt the release and relief I needed. I did what I do when I’m feeling this way, unsure of whether to push myself back into a routine (ritual) I know is good for me or to give in to the part of me that wants to be spontaneous and play hooky and do something adventurous or, at least, out of the ordinary: I pulled a Tarot card. It was the Ten of Cups, a card I generally read as one about radical presence, opening to the beauty and joy of the right here, right now. Spontaneous urge for the win. I got in my car and instead of going to the pool, I just drove around the city. I asked my guides to take me somewhere fun, and I just drove, practicing radical presence and allowing myself to emotionally react to the places I was passing, and then trusting every whim – turn right. Now left. Now right again…until I ended up at the river, in a place I used to walk my dog every day, and where her ashes are spread. 

I love the park along the river, and I haven't been there in well over a year. In the place I walked, there is a packed dirt path and a good stretch of trail where no city is visible, just the canopy and the grasses and the wildflowers and the river and the clouds (and with this I am offering such deep gratitude to the many people who tend the parks and trails). The leaves were just beginning to change along the riverbanks and the views were breathtaking. They seemed both brand new and very familiar all at once. After just a few steps in, alone on the shaded path, sunlight dancing with the leaves everywhere around me, I fell all soft and my shoulders dropped and I sobbed. Right there was all the release and relief I had spent an unprecedented amount of gas money and six days patiently courting the week prior. And then, that same night, as I stood out on the front stoop having my bedtime smoke, a young raccoon scampered right up to the bottom step, apparently planning to knock on our front door before it saw me. We were both startled and stared at each other, frozen for a while before it bolted for cover in the bushes between our house and the building next door.

I've learned this lesson before: the nature-medicine I need is already right here, at my doorstep. There it all is, in a city park less than 20 minutes away from this desk where I type all this out to you. I am so grateful to Canopy and River and Racoon for reminding me - there is no place on Earth separate from nature, including in a city as busy, loud, and fast as Minneapolis.

If my writing resonates with you, I invite you to check out October's card of the month essay over on my patreon page. While I would love everyone to join, you don't have to become a patreon member to access the card of the month posts - these are always free and accessible by all.