Reflection

Reflection

I used to think connecting with nature meant going somewhere—like standing on a mountain or swimming in the ocean. But for me, it happened while lying flat on my back, staring at the ceiling after tearing my hamstring from ballet. No more stretching or practicing in front of the mirror. Instead, my days were filled with ice packs, physical therapy, and silence. Even though I had to slow down, the world outside kept moving. The tree I used to ignore now seemed to stare back at me, shedding its leaves until only bare branches remained. Fragile but unbroken, it swayed in the wind. A few weeks later, it looked at me again: new buds were beginning to push through. Once bare and dainty, it was quietly growing. It hadn’t rushed because it didn’t need to. I didn’t realize it right away…but the process of letting things break apart and rebuilding them showed me what I was going through. Nature wasn’t something separate from me; to me, it was in how I healed. In how I stopped trying to immediately “bounce back” but rather let things take the time they needed to. I found reassurance, purpose, and stability in the quiet—watching, noticing, creating. Not performing. Not controlling. Not proving. And finally, I realized I didn’t have to do anything to belong, because I already did.