When the noise of existence feels unbearably loud, I spend time in nature. When I can’t sleep, I go outdoors. When I can’t concentrate, I go outdoors. When I can’t make sense of the world (and that’s often, lately), I go outdoors. Whether wading in the ocean, climbing mountains or traipsing through the forest, this nature reset soothes my soul in ways that defy explanation. But I’ll try.

Our chronically hyper-paced world seems to be a never-ending endorphin chase whose finish line is physical, mental and existential fatigue. If we’re bold and brave enough to run our own race, a quiet truth—one that’s been there all along if we’d only look—can sustain us: nature, in its unadulterated splendour, offers a sanctuary.

For me, the simple act of walking amidst trees (the more the better) yields a clarity that often eludes me when thinking my way through a situation. There’s something about how the sunlight filters through gnarled branches, how the patterns of light dance across the grass, casting shadows that move and change throughout the day, like us. Ambling has a bad reputation—people think it is aimless wandering, yet it’s anything but. Its gentle rhythm creates space for reflection and a deeper connection to the world around us. My love of walking deepened last year when I had the pleasure of navigating the Italian and Croatian landscapes for two months. Within days of arriving in Italy, my passeggiata—an after-dinner stroll and an excellent opportunity for digestion, socialising and sightseeing—quickly became habit-forming.

Whether hiking up a rugged trail, navigating a suburban footpath or carving your own path, being outdoors encourages movement. That’s good news for the sloths of the world like me. I never have (and never will) identify as a gym person. I’ve also made it my life’s mission to avoid playing sport (for good reason—I’m hopelessly uncoordinated). This dualism between mind and body has plagued me all my life. But the outdoors connects these two realms in ways I can’t fathom rationally. Perhaps it’s how small I feel when enveloped in nature’s majesty. Or realising that I can push my body beyond limits that are simple constructs of my mind. Maybe it’s the meditative aspect of movement or simply engaging with the earth. I’m not sure, but with each step, my burdens somehow feel lighter and less insurmountable.

Gardening rounds off my therapeutic foray into nature. The act of nurturing life, however small, is an exercise in humility and patience. I’ve learned that cultivating a garden (which requires more wandering than you’d think) compels us to embrace impermanence. Plants flourish and wither, seasons shift and yet the cycle continues, mirroring the ebb and flow of life. Growing up, I somehow missed the circle of life lesson (if it was even offered, it was most certainly without fanfare), so my way of dealing with loss was to fill the empty spaces with ‘stuff’—people, deadlines, experiences, thoughts—anything to keep at bay those pesky emotions that defy processing. Not surprisingly, spending time in nature helps me tap into these often inaccessible feelings and awakens my creative spirit. Outdoors, inspiration can be found in every gaze, from the delicate petals of a vibrant flower and intricate patterns of a spider’s web to the fluttering of a butterfly’s dotted wings and the shifting colours of the sky at dusk. Day after day, nature offers a helluva canvas for our minds to paint their wildest imaginings.

The challenge is integrating nature’s endless benefits systematically rather than sporadically and remembering its restorative power when the relentless pull of obligation draws us back to our screens and routines. For me, the answer, at least part of it, is to appreciate these small, simple moments outdoors, where I can breathe deeply in the open air, placing one foot in front of the other with no destination in mind, freeing my mind of everything other than the fact that I’m here in a slice of time that I’ll never experience in the same way again.