I’m feeling a bit intimidated by the blank page in the last few weeks so I’m going to be gentle and forgiving with myself as I write this post. Gentle to me looks like allowing myself to explain myself even though there’s a voice in my head that says that too much personal narrative doesn’t make for “good” or “professional” writing.
This voice tells me that my writing needs to look a certain way for it to be considered “true” writing, e.g. it wouldn’t include any of this stuff I’m sharing with you now and it would have a clear and proper introduction regarding the topic of the post. And this voice would let me believe that my blog isn’t my blog but some work of art that must fit a certain mold, have a certain feel and be completely deprived of the vulnerable quandary that often accompanies my attempt to figure out what to write next.
This voice would have me believe that each piece I share has to be exploding rainbows and glitter. I’m not feeling particularly festive so how about I don’t?
(Do you ever experience voices like this? Voices that ultimately stop you from doing what you most want to do because you can’t seem to contort yourself quite right into the shape the voice demands?)
Yes, sometimes I write stories about my experiences laden with imagery. Sometimes I write poems. Sometimes I write completely made-up deep imagery pieces. Sometimes I write self-help pieces. Sometimes I pour my heart and soul (and time) into crafting something special. And sometimes I write as though this were my personal diary. Because, you know what, it’s my fuckin’ blog, and I can write whatever the fuck I want!
What I know to be of utter value to me is to write from a place of truthfulness. Often that truthfulness looks like me spilling out my writing dilemmas on the page prior to my sharing with you a beautiful yet simple practice for connecting with nature.
It’s a nature-connection practice but it’s so much more than that as I’ve discovered. What’s most interesting about this is that it’s so simple. It’s deceptively simple. But its effectiveness has given me a sense of calm and groundedness amidst otherwise difficult feelings and turbulent energies.
There’s so much I could say about this but, honestly, there’s a really big part of me right now that isn’t interested in over-explaining all the deep contemplations and insights I have around the practice (of which there are many!). I’d like to save that for another time (when I’m feeling more glittery). In honor of winter, let’s keep it short and sweet. Here’s the practice…
Hypothetical situation: suddenly, you feel “off.” You can’t quite put your finger on it. Or, maybe you can. No matter. Something’s off. As soon as you become aware of this…
- Pause. Stop whatever you’re doing, if you’re able. If you’re not able to stop what you’re physically doing, take an internal pause. It’s a thing. Trust me. Try it.
- Find a window and look outside. If you’re already outside, fantastic!
- Look at the closest “piece” of nature. This will be different depending on where you are. Maybe it’s the tree on the corner of two busy streets. Maybe it’s the manicured bushes. Maybe it’s a field, a stand of trees, a pond, a lawn, or a rock.
- Be with that “piece” of nature. There’s a lot I could say about this whole thing called “being with,” but I won’t get into it. The point here is to keep it simple. Quit overthinking it.
- Take a deep breath. Then return to whatever you were doing.
That’s it. Super simple. Do this frequently. When you feel “off” use that as a trigger for this nature reset moment. Make it a habit. Then let’s talk about it.
Seriously, email me (email@example.com) or call me because I’d love to know about your experience. And I’d be happy to share more of my own personal insights and contemplations with you about the practice and how it’s changed my life. Otherwise, may you wait in great anticipation for the day I share at length regarding the tremendous and numerous nuances embedded in the heart of such a simple practice.