The forest makes me feel small

And that's precisely why I like it

All around me I seem to see an inflated sense of self, an exaggerated perception of human value and importance. Of course we are all individuals and should be treated as such, but I don’t agree with the modern persuasion that we should bend over backwards to accommodate everyone’s every desire, wish, or preferred pronouns. Sorry if that offends you - but there are much more important things in the world, in our climate, in our governments, and in the Metaverse, than your gender identity.

Sometimes I like to go into the woods alone because it helps me to breathe. I breathe in the fresh air, the sight of the trees swaying in the wind, the rich warm colours, and the sound of birdsong, and I breathe out all of the nonsense I might have inhaled since my last visit. Things which are probably far too controversial to be discussed here on Substack - gender is one thing, but there are lots of topics I get riled up about. I try to avoid getting worked up about them by not seeking out the news and instead actively avoiding it. This works quite well, even though it frustrates the people I live with to no end when I always put the news on mute.

I see people everywhere trying to fit in just so they can stand out. Belong to a ‘core’ so they can have a more stable sense of self. But it doesn’t work that way - life doesn’t work that way. You don’t find yourself when you find people like you; you find yourself when you are alone, somewhere desolate, and you like who you are becoming.

Or, more likely, you find yourself when you don’t like who you’re becoming. I’ve had those moments too; they are much worse. You’re finally alone somewhere wonderfully remote and you hate yourself. You hate the person you are when you’re around other people, and now, now that you’re alone, you can see yourself from a third-person point of view, and you don’t like what you see. It is terrible to be out in nature and filled with existential dread at the prospect of staying you. Sometimes times like these are the most motivating to change, because you realize you have to change in order to like yourself again. To use the cliché example, you decide you have to take the road less travelled. At least, I’ve had that experience.

The forest makes me feel small, and that’s precisely why I like it. My husband and I are on a mission to explore all of the trails in our local forest, and it’s quite a feat. Due to time constraints and weather permitting, we’ve only been able to get around less than a quarter of the tracks so far. But I enjoy going back, and every time we do we start where we left off before, and continue along the pathways wondering: what will we see? What wild animals might we encounter? Who might we bump into? It’s thrilling to be out in nature on an adventure, no matter how uneventful it may eventuate to be. Sometimes I feel like Winnie-the-Pooh in the Hundred Acre Wood, stomping about looking for heffalumps.

When I look up and around me, all I see are the tops of trees, and suddenly I feel I do not matter at all. This forest will live on a long time after I am gone; I am a mere footprint, here today, gone tomorrow. I hope I can leave a legacy that will somehow benefit these beautiful big trees, as well as the smaller saplings that wilfully push themselves up towards the sunlight. Feeling small in the forest is a privilege in this self-obsessed age we live in today. It is a privilege to be humbled by the hugeness of nature.

The vastness of creation never ceases to amaze me, and nor should it. I am reminded, when I am walking in the forest, that I am but one, and no matter how important or valuable I am in the human world I am still one of the smallest things on the forest floor, and there is something intimately and intensely humbling about that. I am no more important to the trees and the ecosystem of the forest than a rock or a blade of grass. And the trees will keep doing their thing, protected as they are, in all their glory.

Some say that neurodivergence is an advantage, a gift, others a disadvantage. I’m not sure where I sit on that scale, but I do know that I am no more or less important, or have any greater or lesser worth as a human because of (or despite) my neurodivergence. It is simply a part of who I am, and just because I have needs and neural pathways that make me different from the majority of people on this planet, I am no more or less special than anyone else.

I am autistic and ADHD, and I don’t think that is something to be especially proud of or, equally, ashamed of - it is simply a fact. I cannot speak for everyone, but I think it would do most of us good to get out in nature more, to marvel at the sights and sounds of creation, to explore the sensory aspects of it and get back in touch with it. Maybe then, we can get back in touch with ourselves. I think all of us - neurodivergent and neurotypical alike - can learn a lot about humility from standing on the forest floor, and looking up.

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