I am a homebody. I like quiet activities like reading, drawing, writing, and painting. Yes, I enjoy getting in a hoop, going for walks, dancing, and spinning poi, but really, I was trained to be a couch potato. I am a Gen Xer, and novels and the television were my best friends and my babysitters. Sitting around indoors all day long is something I had to train myself out of, and I’m still not the least sedentary person I know. When stressed, some people go for a run, I take a nap.
Still, I recognize the healing power of being outside. I know that when I get off my rear end and get out the door, everything seems to feel better. My running health anxiety and even my sometimes low bubbling depression lift some when I can feel the breeze on my face, so I make a point of getting out there.
A little over 3 weeks ago, I gave up my lease, moved out of my house, and embarked on a nomadic journey of indeterminate length with my partner and my cats. Together, we live in a very small, hard-sided pop-up camper. This is no 35-foot rolling motor home with all the amenities. It’s just above a tent, really, and that means I’m much more exposed to the natural world every minute of the day. Even though my preferred activities are still reading, writing, drawing, and painting, I am less sedentary, and more importantly, perhaps, I am always exposed to nature…
