The Trail That Listens: Why I Walk

(A peaceful, forested path my Mother and I recently visited.)

I love nature and the outdoors. I always have—my mother lovingly nicknamed me her “Greenpeace Child,” among other things. When I was younger, camping and trail walks were a near-weekly ritual for our family. We’d stuff a backpack full of sandwiches, juice boxes, water bottles, and whatever else we could think of, then hop in the car and head to a new hiking spot for the day. Most times, the dogs came too. That was its own brand of chaos—off-leash pups charging through the woods, little kids chasing after them, while our parents laughed and called out from behind.

Though those hikes and camping trips have slowed as life has shifted, my love for being outside hasn’t. Recently, my mother and I have started walking again—not the full-pack, dog-chasing kind, but gentler strolls through fields and along rivers. The chaos has quieted, but the magic remains.

I’ve rediscovered my love for nature-walking, and I’m eager to share this calming, grounding experience with you.

Walking as Emotional Practice

As I said, nature is just something that brings me joy. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’m happy when I’m out there. Sure, walking has physical perks—basic movement, a little cardio—but for me, it’s the mental “unclogging” that really matters.

I’m a hot mess upstairs. I’ve got a few mental illnesses that like to throw raves in my brain, but anxiety and depression are the headliners. Mostly anxiety, though. Nature walks help quiet the chaos. If I’m having an off day or life’s just being a gremlin, stepping outside helps.

In my case, it’s the magic of distractions. Having an overactive squirrel brain in a human body is both a blessing and a curse, but out in nature, it’s a blessing. My brain locks onto the sound of a bird, the color of a weird mushroom, or the way the wind rustles leaves—and suddenly, the tornado of thoughts gets paused instead of fed.

But walking isn’t just a distraction. It’s a place to process. Nature gives you a quiet, neutral space to let your brain do its thing. Sometimes that means crying. Sometimes it means ranting like you’re arguing with a ghost. Sometimes it’s just silence. But it helps.

I’ve had walks where I’ve unearthed old memories, run through messy emotions, or just let myself breathe. Nature doesn’t judge. It just holds space.

And then there’s creativity. Nature walks spark ideas—stories, drawings, weird little plans. Watching animals interact with the world has inspired more than a few doodles and short stories. The outdoors is basically a living Pinterest board.

Walking With Limitations

So, the gist of what I'm trying to say is: nature is awesome, and walking in it is healing. But what if you don’t drive? What if trails aren’t nearby or just aren’t accessible? That’s okay. There are still ways to get outside and soak up some green space.

Personally? I don’t drive. Between disabilities and the fact that cars are terrifying metal death-traps that go way too fast, I’ve opted out for now. I’m working toward a permit (slowly, like a turtle with anxiety), but in the meantime, I’ve got my walking buddy: my mom. She’s kind, patient, and always down for a nature stroll.

If you’ve got someone willing to drive or walk with you, lean into that. You might even enjoy it more with company. Public transportation can help too—buses and trains might not drop you at the trailhead, but they’ll usually get you close. Taxis are another option, though you might need to help with directions.

And if none of that works? Look closer to home. If you live in a suburban or rural area, your backyard or a nearby patch of public land might be enough. Even cities have parks and community gardens. They may not be deep wilderness, but they still offer green space, quiet paths, and a breath of fresh air.

Nature doesn’t have to be far away. Sometimes, it’s right outside your door.

What the Trail Teaches You

Nature is sneaky. It teaches you stuff without ever saying a word.

It teaches patience—like when you’re waiting for a chipmunk to stop pretending it doesn’t see you. It teaches presence—because if you zone out, you’ll miss the cool bug breakdancing on a leaf. And it teaches you to notice the small things: the way moss grows in spirals, or how birds have their own little gossip circles.

Walking has also deepened my connection to conservation. When you spend time in nature, you start to care more about it. You notice when a trail’s been trashed, or when a stream’s running low. You start to advocate—not just with words, but with action. You want to protect the places that have protected you.

From my studies in animal behavior and conservation genetics, I’ve learned how ecological rhythms shape everything—from migration patterns to breeding seasons. But walking reminds me that those rhythms shape us, too. We’re part of the system, not just visitors.

Rituals and Recommendations

Everyone walks differently. My ritual? I like to walk early-ish in the morning—before the world gets loud—and again in the late afternoon, when the heat’s backed off and everything feels golden. Those are my sweet spots, and mom shares that sentimentality in most cases.

And for the gear I use? There are some essentials that should be considered year-round.

• Water. (As someone who is a key member of the "I forgot my water bottle again" club, the threat of dehydration is now non-negotiable.)

• Phone. (For safety and adorable picture-related reasons.)

• Bug Spray. (If you are a bug buffet like me, they find you regardless of what time of year it is.)

• Hiking Boots. (Perfect for handling all kinds of weather and ground coverage. Besides, it's just more comfortable to wear hard-soled, supportive footwear outside.)

As for more seasonal gear? Yeah, I've got some suggestions.

• Spring: One word: Layering. Because the weather can't make up its mind. Also, allergy medication will save your life.

• Summer: Lighter and less clothing, because it's hot. Extra water, also because it's hot. Sunscreen for fellow pitch-white ghosts, and a hat (especially if you have a wimpy scalp that burns like mine).

• Fall: Now we need thicker clothing, and add some layers again. Maybe some gloves. Also, a thermos if you want to be fancy.

• Winter: Definitely thick clothing, lots of layers (thermal socks, gloves, hats, scarves- the works). Insulated boots, too. Basically, you become the bane of existence to frostbite.

Honestly? More power to you if you actually WANT to walk during winter. You crazy for that. But you are also awesome for that, so you do you.

Now, after a walk, I like to scribble stuff down. Sometimes it’s a journal entry, sometimes it’s a list of weird things I saw (like a squirrel screaming at a rock). Sometimes it's just random little doodles of plants. It helps me stay connected.

If you’re new to nature walking, start small. A ten-minute loop around your block. A visit to a local park. Let your senses lead the way. You don’t need fancy gear—just comfy shoes and a little curiosity.

Want tools? Try a nature journal, a plant ID app, or even a voice memo to record your thoughts. These little prompts can turn a walk into a fun ritual.

Remember - The Trail Listens

Walking has given me space to breathe, to feel, to create. It’s taught me that healing doesn’t always come in big, dramatic moments. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet crunch of gravel underfoot, or the way sunlight filters through leaves like stained glass.

The trail doesn’t ask questions. It doesn’t rush you. It just listens.

So I’ll ask you:

Where does your path begin?

Enjoying what you're reading? Nice! I love writing it~