Winter sunset by a frozen seaside
The Mindless Task
As a teenager, I had a hard time doing repetitive chores. Whether it was washing dishes, taking out the trash, or vacuuming the floor, I often felt bored doing anything that had to be repeated regularly.
Looking back, it makes sense. At the time, I had very little free time outside of school, a part-time job, and trying to maintain a social life. It was during those years that I first learned how to juggle priorities and responsibilities, lessons I now appreciate.
But back then, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. I think people fall into two categories when it comes to chores: those who get frustrated by repetition and those who find satisfaction in checking things off a list.
Either way, I’ve come to believe that almost every teenager has one chore they absolutely can’t stand. The kind of task you wish you could skip entirely—something that seems to drag on endlessly every time you do it.
For me, that task was watering the plants. It felt like such a mindless job that pushed my patience to the limit—one I could always count on to feel like it would never end.
Plant Murderer
I grew up with a mother with a green thumb. So you could always expect a colorful range of flowers and plants all over our home.
She worked hard to fill our yards with all sorts of shrubs, root vegetables, and fruit trees. Needless to say, the world of gardening and tending to a range of flora and fauna remains an earnest passion of hers to this day.
I, on the other hand, could never get into it. Sometimes, I would drag a sprinkler around the yard, moving it every few minutes while half-watching TV—anything to make the job feel less boring.
But I’d always get distracted. I’d forget the sprinkler entirely, and the garden would end up flooded. My mom was understandably upset, and before long, she started calling me a “Plant Murderer.”
It was obvious I didn’t appreciate nature the way she did. Honestly, I couldn’t understand why anyone would be so drawn to plants and flowers.
What was all the fuss about? I mean, it’s nature — it’s everywhere. What exactly is so special about something so ordinary?
Lifelong Acquaintance
As I grew up, I rarely gave nature a second thought. In many ways, the natural world felt like an old acquaintance—someone who’s always around but easy to overlook.
We might pass through it on our way to work. Maybe we seek it out during weekend hikes or trips. But often, it’s just there in the background, waiting for us to notice.
Perhaps it’s a one-sided relationship at best; like someone we’ve known all our lives but keep forgetting to connect with until we find ourselves at a time of great need.
It’s strange how hard moments in life can shake us awake. Suddenly, we become more aware. We begin to see, hear, and feel things differently; the colors of petals, the softness of leaves, even the grooves in a tree branch—everything starts to feel brighter and more alive.
In those moments of presence, we might wonder: is this merely a singular moment or have I experienced this all before?
Beauty in the Ordinary
If you’ve ever watched a child in nature, you know they don’t see anything as ordinary. Everything is fascinating to them.
Somewhere along the way, we lose that sense of wonder. But maybe it’s possible to get it back—to reconnect with those raw, curious feelings from childhood.
Children love exploring trees, touching their bark, and watching how leaves hang in odd patterns. Sitting in a field, they notice the scent of the grass, the way it brushes their legs. Their senses are fully alive.
These are the moments of quiet and stillness we first felt, taking us back to the rhythms of nature and the original environment from which we evolved. How is it that we could be moved so strongly by something so mundane?
By simply noticing what’s around us, we begin to feel more peace, more calm, and more clarity. Ironically, we often feel more at ease outside in the wild, where children can roam free and roll on the earth, only to get scolded for bringing any crumb of it into the aesthetics of our carefully designed homes.
But in Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Lord Byron writes:
“There is pleasure in the pathless woods. There is a rapture in the lonely shore. There is society, where none intrudes. By the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not man the less, but Nature more. From these our interviews, on which I steal. From all I may be, or have been before. To mingle with the Universe, and feel. What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.”
Enjoying the Simple Things
As we get older, it becomes harder to make time for nature. And the busier we get, the easier it is to forget it’s even there.
It’s not entirely our fault. Life gets full. Work, responsibilities, and routines can keep us occupied for years without pause.
Eventually, we forget what it feels like to be excited by our own surroundings. But often, it’s those little moments that we miss the most. In The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho writes:
“It is the simple things in life that are the most extraordinary.”
When we don’t spend time in nature, we lose something important. Research shows that being disconnected from it can lead to higher rates of depression and even less empathy.
But just a few hours outside can reset us. Studies show that time in nature can boost your mood, improve your immune system, reduce anxiety, and spark creativity.
In The Mountains of California, John Muir writes:
“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of autumn.”
Open Eyes
I must admit that, for a long time, I was neglectful of all that surrounded me. Like so many people, I got caught in the endless loop of staying busy just for the sake of being busy.
In that distracted mindset, I failed to see the beauty in anything. Until one day, in my late twenties, something shifted. I was reading a book on a bench in the park when I stopped and looked up.
And everything changed.
Even now, I can’t fully describe what I saw. The shapes, the colors, the way the light hit the trees—it was beyond words. It made me realize how limited language is when it comes to describing something truly alive.
I remember crying, not because I was sad, but because I finally saw. I wasn’t naming things—I was just noticing them. Feeling them. Being with them.
From that day on, I decided to keep my eyes open, allowing the wonders of the Earth to move me whenever the opportunity arose.
Naturally, it has, and many times after. From the mountains of Austria to the snowy forests in Finland, and even in the memories of my mom’s hydrangeas and fruit trees, I was set free; free from the mind-filled overwhelm of our hectic days and back to the stillness of a soothing landscape that could heal and restore us for the entirety of our extraordinary lives.
