Re-Rooting
How pressing closer to the ground can help you move through loss
Loss has its downs and further downs, mainly low, lower and lowest. Sometimes you’re so close to the ground, you can feel the cold breath of stone, the earth’s heartbeat under your palm. Are you sinking or simply being pressed to where you began?
Moving through loss — an illness, a loved one’s death, a relationship, a career, all of the above, simultaneously, suddenly, or more slowly, like one domino falling on the next — you wonder: Will it ever end? And when it does, will I rise again?
When my life was in the throes of loss, and I still needed so much physical assistance, immersing in nature was the last thing on my mind. I was just trying to survive: get the kids up each morning for school, ensure we were all bathed and fed, subdue my physical pain with physiotherapy and medication, stomp out my emotional anguish by being too busy to think.
But as I began moving toward more independence, I found myself seeking out small, living gifts: a new plant or a bouquet of fresh flowers, potting an herb, turning to a book set in nature (see ‘Notes from Mel” below for a few of my favourites).
I began to make little trips alone. And as it turns out, these were grand milestones of freedom: an hour sitting outside by my garden listening to the sparrows chirp, a solitary wheelchair trip down to the beach, taking the streetcar to meet my university kid at Grange Park, adjacent to his campus. I’d slip in my ear buds, snap on my seatbelt, don a pair of sunglasses and zip down the street, my own private escape.
I’d forgotten what it felt like to sit in my own silence, and hear nothing more than my own breath, the static of city as if white noise, the hum of activity beyond.
As someone living with mobility challenges, immersing myself in nature isn’t always easy or practical. I will likely never get to Machu Picchu, the Swiss Alps or even the Appalachians. I will live vicariously through others and imagine these experiences.
Yet I’ve learned that I don’t need a grand adventure to feel re-centred. Glimpses of green, a patch of sky, or the feel of rain on my face can re-root my perspective and refill my sense of gratitude.
I’m here. I’m alive. That is enough. I hope you know that you are too.
Notes from Mel:
My interview with U of T School for Continuing Studies is live. ⬅️ Click to read it! In it, I discuss the origins of my writing journey, and rebuilding my life after loss.
Stay tuned for my upcoming interview with Sydney Blum at The Intuitively Aligned Podcast, coming out later this fall. If you want to add a little joy to this otherwise chaotic world, give her ⬆️ podcast a follow.
Crossing my fingers as this year’s judge, award-winning author Cheryl Strayed announces the winner of the Sue William Silverman Prize for Creative Nonfiction! 🥵🤞 (My memoir Little Flames is a finalist!)
A few of my favourite nature-infused books:
Two Trees Make a Forest: Travels Among Taiwan's Mountains & Coasts in Search of My Family's Past by Jessica J. Lee
Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed
Medicine Walk by Richard Wagamese
The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World by Robin Wall Kimmerer
A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson
Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer
Keep writing, I love reading your words, would love.to have it in a book.
"Are you sinking or simply being pressed to where you began?" This stopped me in my tracks @Mel Williams. I am in awe with the way in which you can do exactly that - literally make the world stop spinning with a turn of phrase. You are an incredible writer. Thank you for reminding us that we are enough. It is easy to forget.