Yes! The spacious valley where I live is such a source of calm and peace. I am eternally grateful to be here while the world explodes.
Until this past weekend, when it filled with pea-soup smoke. We shut the windows and turned on the air filters, and still my body is reacting like a cornered animal, unsure how to be. My lungs hurt and I can’t go out for a walk. My fear is that “suitable habitats” are becoming scarce.
I hear you. It feels surreal to be surrounded by the still of nature while witnessing (mostly from afar) the destruction of so much I/we hold dear.
These wildfires are devastating. I’ve been there. It hasn’t started here yet this season but I fear it’s only a matter of time. Take good care—it’s so stressful and upsetting. 🩵
Wendy - I love the lens through which you view the questions you ask yourself about life itself and how you go about getting a good quality of life if you will. I try to do this in my own way, but the widening of the questions to include how to thrive in the environment we are in and whether we might need different environmental conditions is rather helpful.
Thank you, Bronce. Long before I was trained as an ecologist and could apply an ecological lens, I could feel my environment. I was always attracted to light and natural spaces and profoundly repelled by artificial anything. It’s probably true for all of us: my body knows.
This is such a great perspective, Wendy. How often are we simply asking the wrong questions. Thanks for this. The environment informs every aspect of our lives. Why it doesn't occur to us to question it is mind-blowing! ❤️
Thank you, Mark! Yes, it is interesting that we don’t go there—especially since most everyone, were they to pay attention, would know these answers in their bodies. Societal conditioning once again. ❤️
Totally. The move out here was a little too far remote. But we wouldn’t know what we know if we hadn’t done it. Because of it, we found the place we feel most at home. A lovely mix of all the things that suit our lives. It seems as logical as it is emotional to me. Win/win.
Oh, yeah, definitely a mixture of logic and emotion—but the best moves are often those in which you harness your intellect in service to your heart. So glad to hear you’ve found your heart home.
Yes! I lived in an unsuitable habitat for years. While I was trying to understand how some place I loved so dearly could be the cause of my distress, I knew deep down I was not a native plant and could not thrive in that habitat. I used the native plant metaphor repeatedly as I made sense of the reality! Moving was one of the hardest choices I have made, and the most rewarding. I love how you bridge the environment and habitat and our ability to thrive. Sometimes it can be so simple.
Lindsey, I love hearing this! I totally understand—there are certainly places that seep into our bones and become unshakable. We may feel mostly, but not entirely, complete elsewhere, but that one place still calls…For some, it’s less about place and more about people (or opportunity or…rivers)—and sometimes they are intricately intertwined they become one and the same. I’m so glad to hear you’re in your native habitat! 🩵
Thank you. Eyes and heart wide open. In retrospect, I now see past relationship failures due to incompatible habitats. My space, my world, too cold, too remote, no beach, don’t ski….. I own these failures but with a little less weight. Not the right person for me and not the right habitat for them. Thank you Wendy for easing my conscience. : )
Dave! These are powerful forces--whether we recognize them or not. I'm thinking about one amazing niece of mine (who you know), who broke up with a boyfriend in high school or start of college and declared: I could never marry someone who doesn't ski. All other issues aside, you gotta give it to her for already understanding her suitable habitat!
Wendy, IMHO, this and the column you link to about evolutionary mismatch are your best columns ever. In addition to nature, it’s the architecture we have chosen. The way we don’t live intergenerationally with kin and chosen kin in shared spaces or with third spaces (little courtyards right out our doors, that create regular opportunities to interact when we occupy them). It’s literally like we couldn’t have done more architecturally to keep ourselves siloed, isolated, divided.
Wealth inequality (inevitable result of late-stage capitalism) puts this on steroids. The wealthy can distract themselves constantly—never risking any relationships (and the friction that makes them both challenging and authentically human and connecting) that don’t depend on their wealth to create a power mismatch and one-way control. So atomizing. Architecture, distance—both of which correlate to wealth— have come at the cost of our communities, and our humanity. Your term “evolutionary mismatch” is so perfect.
Thank you so much, Liz! I so agree with you—we’ve designed an architecture of alienation. The shared spaces and courtyards that still exist in some parts of the world (though waning to capitalism) serve as vital looms for the fabric of family and community. Even in our small town, where connection to each other and the natural world is relatively easy (I could literally walk to your house and speak rather than write these words to you), we lack immediate community and connection with the planet. I felt this schism most profoundly when I returned from time living in a wall tent in Kenya.
Your efforts to weave community are so important. XO
For a while, I’ve had “find your tribe” bumping around in the recesses of my mind, but I infinitely prefer find your habitat. Thank you!
I hadn’t thought of it this way, but finding your habitat will put you in the places where you’ll find your tribe. 🩵
I'm putting this here instead of the Note:
Yes! The spacious valley where I live is such a source of calm and peace. I am eternally grateful to be here while the world explodes.
Until this past weekend, when it filled with pea-soup smoke. We shut the windows and turned on the air filters, and still my body is reacting like a cornered animal, unsure how to be. My lungs hurt and I can’t go out for a walk. My fear is that “suitable habitats” are becoming scarce.
I hear you. It feels surreal to be surrounded by the still of nature while witnessing (mostly from afar) the destruction of so much I/we hold dear.
These wildfires are devastating. I’ve been there. It hasn’t started here yet this season but I fear it’s only a matter of time. Take good care—it’s so stressful and upsetting. 🩵
Wendy - I love the lens through which you view the questions you ask yourself about life itself and how you go about getting a good quality of life if you will. I try to do this in my own way, but the widening of the questions to include how to thrive in the environment we are in and whether we might need different environmental conditions is rather helpful.
Thank you, Bronce. Long before I was trained as an ecologist and could apply an ecological lens, I could feel my environment. I was always attracted to light and natural spaces and profoundly repelled by artificial anything. It’s probably true for all of us: my body knows.
This is such a great perspective, Wendy. How often are we simply asking the wrong questions. Thanks for this. The environment informs every aspect of our lives. Why it doesn't occur to us to question it is mind-blowing! ❤️
Thank you, Mark! Yes, it is interesting that we don’t go there—especially since most everyone, were they to pay attention, would know these answers in their bodies. Societal conditioning once again. ❤️
Totally. The move out here was a little too far remote. But we wouldn’t know what we know if we hadn’t done it. Because of it, we found the place we feel most at home. A lovely mix of all the things that suit our lives. It seems as logical as it is emotional to me. Win/win.
Oh, yeah, definitely a mixture of logic and emotion—but the best moves are often those in which you harness your intellect in service to your heart. So glad to hear you’ve found your heart home.
Feels like we have.. I’ll keep ya posted!
Yes! I lived in an unsuitable habitat for years. While I was trying to understand how some place I loved so dearly could be the cause of my distress, I knew deep down I was not a native plant and could not thrive in that habitat. I used the native plant metaphor repeatedly as I made sense of the reality! Moving was one of the hardest choices I have made, and the most rewarding. I love how you bridge the environment and habitat and our ability to thrive. Sometimes it can be so simple.
And now?! I'm home! I swim in rivers almost every day for nine months of the year.
Lindsey, I love hearing this! I totally understand—there are certainly places that seep into our bones and become unshakable. We may feel mostly, but not entirely, complete elsewhere, but that one place still calls…For some, it’s less about place and more about people (or opportunity or…rivers)—and sometimes they are intricately intertwined they become one and the same. I’m so glad to hear you’re in your native habitat! 🩵
Thank you. Eyes and heart wide open. In retrospect, I now see past relationship failures due to incompatible habitats. My space, my world, too cold, too remote, no beach, don’t ski….. I own these failures but with a little less weight. Not the right person for me and not the right habitat for them. Thank you Wendy for easing my conscience. : )
Dave! These are powerful forces--whether we recognize them or not. I'm thinking about one amazing niece of mine (who you know), who broke up with a boyfriend in high school or start of college and declared: I could never marry someone who doesn't ski. All other issues aside, you gotta give it to her for already understanding her suitable habitat!
This is a such a powerful lens to look at life through. Thank you for sharing these thoughts!
Thank you, Angie!! 🩵
I’m still trying to find mind.
Looking—and asking the questions—is an important part of the journey.
If we stop asking questions, we die.
Indeed!
Wendy, IMHO, this and the column you link to about evolutionary mismatch are your best columns ever. In addition to nature, it’s the architecture we have chosen. The way we don’t live intergenerationally with kin and chosen kin in shared spaces or with third spaces (little courtyards right out our doors, that create regular opportunities to interact when we occupy them). It’s literally like we couldn’t have done more architecturally to keep ourselves siloed, isolated, divided.
Wealth inequality (inevitable result of late-stage capitalism) puts this on steroids. The wealthy can distract themselves constantly—never risking any relationships (and the friction that makes them both challenging and authentically human and connecting) that don’t depend on their wealth to create a power mismatch and one-way control. So atomizing. Architecture, distance—both of which correlate to wealth— have come at the cost of our communities, and our humanity. Your term “evolutionary mismatch” is so perfect.
Thank you so much, Liz! I so agree with you—we’ve designed an architecture of alienation. The shared spaces and courtyards that still exist in some parts of the world (though waning to capitalism) serve as vital looms for the fabric of family and community. Even in our small town, where connection to each other and the natural world is relatively easy (I could literally walk to your house and speak rather than write these words to you), we lack immediate community and connection with the planet. I felt this schism most profoundly when I returned from time living in a wall tent in Kenya.
Your efforts to weave community are so important. XO
https://splashed.substack.com/p/hermetically-sealed-a-bird-in-captivity
This makes so much sense to me, I'm never happy with out trees all around me and lots of space to and time to be in nature
Same here, Joan! (As I sit in the sun, drinking my coffee, and listening to birdsong and rustling aspen leaves, green all around.) 🌳