People, Turtles, Gazelles, Solitary Confinement--It's Complicated

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Sometimes I think about what solitary confinement must be like. Some of those rooms lack windows to the outside — no human connection, no nature connection. No sky — nothing. The ultimate penalty.

Why then do we impose it on ourselves so often? We evolved to be among natural surroundings, yet we trap ourselves inside buildings for most, or all, of our days. No nature? Isn’t this against our nature?

I guess eating gummy worms is against our nature, too. And phone scrolling our lives away — but we do it.

But I can’t do it, or I’ll go crazy. If I’ve been in self-imposed solitary confinement for too long, I start to act like an odd koala or an errant bumblebee. A weird tuna.

You’d take one look at me, pull out your phone, and take pictures. I don’t want to be the errant bee that went viral on social media. I’d rather be inside after a thirty-minute walk on the local trail, feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the various pages on my laptop again.

The other day, I saw a pack of a hundred gazelles run across the path in front of me. It was a day with bursts of wind and a coming storm. As I made my way along the trail, a burst let loose, and with it, a pack of gazelles swooshed by. You would have thought they were leaves if you were there, and to be fair, they were. But in my mind, they reminded me of gazelles, so I kept that imagery with me, because when you’re in nature, you can conjure anything you like.

The trunks of dead trees seem like sleeping bears. The clouds drift by like a crowd of ladies chatting together on a self-absorbed stroll.

Being outside can spur the imaginative mind toward curiosity, humor, and gratitude. These things encourage me to see the outdoors as a friend, which enables me to feel safe. But being outside can easily spur the opposite — the unknown, the on-guard, the ready to pounce or flee. The trees no longer seem friendly bystanders who exude innocence and a happy-go-lucky stance. Instead, they’re foreign towers who insist I tell them why I’m there, who I am, and what I want. Friendship turns to hostility. The woods stare me down with malice. I think, “I don’t belong here.”

But the thing is, I belong in this world because I’m here. Whether the trees are friend or foe has no bearing on my belonging. Nor theirs. It’s so easy to think something on this planet doesn’t belong, but the logic of that couldn’t be more flawed. It’s like saying the air doesn’t belong here, nor the sun, which, relatively, is practically touching us.

The other day, I was on a longer walk than usual, which meant I had an extra-eventful experience. I usually run into people I know along my route and pause for a little human — and dog — connection. (Here’s looking at you, Mango, my Doberman buddy.) I see birds, plants, clouds, plane contrails, trees, and often deer or foxes.

That day, I saw a turtle rescue. At first, I didn’t know why the rescuer was stopping his car in the middle of the lane on the neighborhood street, but when I saw him get out, walk in front of the car, and bend to pick up a rounded, compact object, I understood. He was saving a turtle from an untimely demise.

I was overcome with happiness. The man wasn’t older than my kids, who aren’t kids, but who are still young to me. He was at the age when you begin to accept the transfer of the world’s responsibilities from older people like me. He was one small indication that the transfer might go well. He cared.

But we all care in some way, don’t we? The friend or foe designation comes into play when we care about opposing things. Or when we seem to. If we care, we’re inherently friendly, though. Sort of? It’s complicated — because the world is complicated. But this never means we don’t belong.

A car came up behind the turtle rescuer, and the driver couldn’t pass the rescuer’s car because it was blocking part of the road. It didn’t mean the turtle shouldn’t have been rescued or the driver shouldn’t have wanted to be prompt. It did mean that I called over to the turtle rescuer, asking if I could close the driver’s side door that he left wide open so the other car could pass. He called back, “Yes! Thank you!”

All was well. The turtle was saved. The other driver carried on. I got a shot of joy. The rescuer felt useful. We all belonged in that moment through a little juggling of logistics.

It’s so easy to walk through the woods and feel uneasy. The isolation alone will haunt you. The trees are tall and dense. The creatures that wander through startle you. The trail extends to nowhere in front of you and behind. Yet, it’s the most beautiful and friendly place. It just depends. Sometimes, it depends on reality. Is the wind high? If so, the trees are not to be taken lightly. Sometimes, it depends on mindset. Am I fearing what I don’t know yet? If so, give it time, and soon the woods will be a place I seek.

We’re as much a part of nature as a tree. And we can be as sought after and as feared. We need nature, and we need each other.

Solitary confinement in prison exists for a reason. But for the rest of us, we can put ourselves out there. If someone seems as scary as the deep woods, perhaps we look like the deep woods to them, too. If the deep woods are scary, perhaps it’s because we’re not used to being in the outdoors. Once we grow accustomed, we’re able to take walks with ease and imagine leaves as gazelles. We’re able to imagine others as ourselves. Maybe we’ll even be able to imagine ourselves as an eternal turtle rescuer.

We don’t need to hide from the woods, others, or ourselves. We can go out there and be where we belong — here on this planet for this tiny moment. This is our better nature.

This is what life is supposed to be.

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Be well, friends.