“The Wild That Holds Me”

There's a kind of restlessness I've been carrying lately that no amount of sleep can cure. It isn't physical fatigue, it's deeper. My soul is tired. I try to think my way out through the noise, but my heart leads my feet into nature. This type of restlessness can only be cured by standing in a creek with cold rushing water parting around my legs and giant boulders, unmoved in their quiet strength. Then I would dip my hands in the cool water, searching for smooth river stones to carry in my pocket as a tool to ground me back to the earth when I leave this place of solitude. Placing my hands on my head and staring up at the trees in total surrender will somehow release all the pent-up stress and anxiety coiled in my body, mind, and soul.

I wish I could spend an afternoon fishing from the riverbank with my dad, our lines drifting lazily in the current, ice-cold Cokes in hand, glass bottles clinking with salty peanuts at the bottom. We'd talk about anything and everything, or nothing at all, letting the silence stretch comfortably between us.

What I crave is not rest, but realness. I grow weary of conversations that feel shallow, like echoes bouncing around empty rooms. Every day feels like a manufactured day with its emails, deadlines, and meetings, all on repeat. I don't want another item on my Amazon wish list. I want an experience only nature can give me. I yearn for authenticity and movement, something tangible and real.

I want simplicity and a peaceful presence. No more deadlines and emails. I want to feel the sun on my skin and hear the hum of cicadas. I want to gaze at the trees swaying in the wind. I want to listen to the birds singing and the bees buzzing around me. And let the sweet rhythm of nature recalibrate me. No machine, no screen, no factory-made convenience has ever come close to the feeling of standing still in the wild, heart open, soul quiet.