every part of nature belongs, including me
paper collage made as my final project as a participant of culture of respect in 2022, which is full circle as the first cohort of CoR that i co-facilitated just ended this past week. added the photo of little me.
When I was a small child, I lived in a secluded forest. It was a labyrinth to the main road. First, you’d go down a gravel path twisting back and forth across the mountainside. Then, you’d follow the drawn out dirt path past the pond and line of old willow trees. Finally, a lefthand turn onto a long country road parting a giant cornfield. Eventually you’d reach River Road. You might see a few cars drive by.
My early childhood was marked by the emotional chaos of my mother. Along with her boyfriend’s selling of massive amounts of cocaine. As the only kid around, I was often shushed outside in the morning and left to myself until the sun went down. Around the forest, there were distinct places I was forbidden to play. Especially no digging (I learned that the hard way). I’d venture further and further away from that rusted-out-trailer and the people who were supposed to take care of me.
I carried my loneliness into the woods. There, I found a different kind of family.
I spent hours gathering forest treasures– rocks, sticks, flowers, leaves– to adorn the edges of the pond, creating small worlds for the tadpoles and minnows who lived nearby. Sometimes, I’d find an old styrofoam cup, which became a small net once I used a sharped stick to poke holes in the bottom. The frogs provided endless entertainment.
I trampled down paths to places I wanted to return. I learned which berries were safe (enough) to eat based on their bitterness. Water from the creek tasted better than from the pond. I learned how to navigate the silence by listening to the birds and bugs. I was never alone.
When I was tired, I’d build myself puffy beds out of fallen pine needles. Laying there, I learned what it felt like to fully relax my body. I liked the way it felt to be held by the weight of earth’s gravity. I’d deeply rest in that grounding hug, watching the sunlight cast rays through the leaves. Sometimes I’d imagine staying in the woods forever.
My inner and outer worlds were inventive landscapes, and I always had a role to play. Even in a family environment of scarcity and neglect, nature modeled a place where I belonged. The child inside knows that there is magic in our immediate world and that we can take creative action to transform it.
That period shaped me in core ways that still ground me and my work today.
Belonging is survival. Every part of nature belongs. If we cannot find belonging in our immediate human circles, we can learn to look to nature as our guide. Nature shows us there is space for every unique expression. We are part of nature. We can tell new stories of belonging to something bigger than ourselves.
Safe spaces must be intentionally built. Just as I built those pine needle beds to rest and feel held, I now build containers for others to more safely open up their own stories.
Boredom paves the way for imagination to blossom. Despite long hours on my own, I never remember feeling bored. I always found something to observe, touch, listen to, or enjoy– even (especially?) if I was simply laying on the ground. Our brains and hearts need the open space to explore, make sense of things, and play.
Creativity is a tool for liberation. Starting where we are and using what is available to us to make dreamy visions come alive, even in the simplest way, is exactly how we reclaim our power. When we don’t need anything outside of ourselves, our community, and our environment, we are free.
