When I moved to the coast, I turned inward – which isn’t all that out of the ordinary for me. But when I got here, I was especially avoidant. And looking back, I can see why. I had just experienced a sudden and traumatic loss that left me with zero sense of place, belonging, structure, or future. And very much alone.

And as much as I love people, I didn’t have the ability or capacity to dwell amongst new-to-me versions of them at that time. And my friends and loved ones weren’t geographically close. Additionally, I didn’t know where I’d be living, or if I’d still be alive a few years down the road. So integration was hardly an initial thought, let alone an agenda item. And being no stranger to solitude, inward I went.

Eventually, I worked myself up to the fighting edge of functionality and took a part-time job as a Tour Guide/Brand Ambassador at the Tillamook Creamery. Which might not sound like much, but at the time, encountering that many random people discharging such high-caliber sensory inundation for 3.5 hours at a time was a huge step for me. It’s a role I held for only a handful of months, but it served its purpose. I got to do something I love, espouse the virtues of my new home, and make a few friends.

Then I participated in and guided some hikes for a local trail organization I support. Gave some in-town presentations about recovery and healing in nature. And began facilitating a monthly grief gathering at the historic hotel I first called home when I moved here. Did some good, made some more connections, and made some strides with my struggles to reintegrate.

And finally, a few days ago I got to be a guest field lecturer for the kids at a local nature-based grade school. We ran roughshod over the grounds of the school looking for and discussing the glories of mushrooms and their role in the natural world. I’ve given a lot of talks to a lot of groups over the years. And the work I do now that deals with grieving and healing in nature has been perhaps the most personal, rewarding, and important work of my life thus far. But that morning with the kids was especially memorable for similar though meaningfully different reasons.

It wasn’t me helping myself, along with other semi-paused lives, to heal from loss through appreciation of cycles in nature. This was me helping burgeoning lives, along with myself, to appreciate cycles of life while out in nature. And in one class taught in a field by a stream, I was gifted a vision of balance I can strive to achieve in work and attain in life.

I can still spend as much time off to myself as I choose. And I can keep rejecting the aspects of modern life and society that sent me off the grid in the first place – options I need. But I can also put down roots, make connections, and contribute to my community in the ways I am best suited. Things, it turns out, I also need. And I’m discovering that it might be possible to remain outside but still come in from the cold.

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