Yesterday, I saw a friend for the first time in too long. We sat on the grass and caught up on each other’s lives. When he asked me how I’ve been lately, the first thing I said was that words aren’t enough to share the journey I’ve been on. They feel hollow and trite. Words cheapen feeling. Despite that, I will attempt to describe what I shared with him and what nature has taught me about myself.
This is the tenth and final email in my ten-part series that I began in September last year. I’ve been documenting the ten most significant changes I’ve made in my life that have made me feel so powerful and aligned. Again … words. Fuck. I wish I had better ones.
I feel like a completely different person. Every aspect of how I live my life has changed. I have softened and learned myself. I chase my joy. I choose hard things. I am transformed—physically and mentally. The way I think has changed. My behaviour has changed. What I’m prepared to tolerate has changed. I stand tall in who I am—in my vulnerable, messy, imperfect humanity.
That change started on the day I marched myself down to the beach and threw myself in the water as a means to FEEL anything. I was so frustrated with myself. I was sick of feeling weak and powerless, unfit and unmotivated, and sick—it seemed I had some lingering cold, flu, or virus every other week. I craved change with all of my heart and soul.
I don’t even recognise the person I was. 2023.
I felt so good after my initial swim that I made a pact to swim every day—no matter what. A daily swim at the beach became my first anchor, a non-negotiable check-in with myself.
At first, my swims were cursory: a quick walk over, a dip, and rushing back home to the babies.
Then, I began to extend my time a bit—just a bit. I’d sit on the sand for a few minutes or prolong my swim.
I’d observe myself at the beach. I started my daily practice in Spring when the water was still cold and the weather unpredictable. One windy day I found a lot of resistance and irritation in my mind. I was being whipped with sand, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to swim – it was cold. I wanted to be at home in a warm shower or rugged up in my trackies. I watched my inner dialogue and yet stayed in the discomfort of my environment. That was the first day that I realised how bad it is for us to be comfortable all of the time. Comfort steals joy. It steals growth.
The first time I saw blue bottles on the sand, I observed my fear. I didn’t want to swim. I was scared of being stung. I reluctantly went into the water, vigilantly checking for blue bottles. I was tense, I couldn’t enjoy myself. With my awareness, I decided I would choose something different. I realised that I could get stung or not get stung, but either way, I couldn’t control the outcome with fear. So I let the fear melt away and swam like it was any other day.
Five months in, I started a daily breathwork practice—at first, a few minutes, and now twenty-five. Sitting on the sand with the sun on my skin and mindfully breathing gives me more self-connection than anything else in my day. I overflow with energy. I neutralise my emotional state, pass what needs passing, regulate my nervous system, and come out of my practice with a deep appreciation of the world around me.
It must have been around that time that I started bringing my journal down. Then, I started collecting shells. Then I added a walk. Bit by bit, I increased my beach time from 5 minutes to 2 hours. Some days, I can only spare 1 hour, and others, I have 3.
Now, nothing is more important than the connection the beach gives me.
Nature, whether at the beach, in the forest, or even in a park, always puts things into perspective.
Because nature is neutral, it is neither good nor bad. It just is. Nature doesn’t give a shit for our problems, who’s in power, who’s at war or any of the far less important trivialities that consume our thoughts.
When I walk onto the sand, I feel a deep sense of peace, perspective, and gratitude—feelings that most humans need more of.
Windswept, sun worn. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When I leave the beach and observe others, it feels surreal. I’ll watch people road rage and wonder – how has it come to this? All the crap that determines who we think we are, all the heaviness that’s around. The judgment, the pettiness, the stress, the attachment … I feel separate from it when I spend time at the beach. The more time, the better.
So when my friend asked me how I’ve been, I could only say I have found peace in solitude. I still love and appreciate my friendships, but I feel most alive and most understood when I’m alone on the beach. I have found myself there.
Today is a funny day to be writing this post. My bleed has just started. Usually, it takes a few days for my creativity to ramp up during this time, but this cycle hit me strongly. Almost to the hour I ovulated, I felt a deep desire to pull away from the world. Usually, there’s a quiet tapering and a gentle retreat. Not this time.
Just as quickly as my urge to retreat kicked in, the urge to create has come back. It feels wonderful to be this connected and to trust my cycle and the lessons it gives me every month. I honour my need to rest as deeply as I honour my need to create. Just as in nature, we were never meant to be ‘on’ 24/7.
This post has felt big to write. I still don’t feel like I’ve done it justice. But I want to offer you some advice.
When you’re next in nature, it doesn’t have to be the beach. I want you to experience it with your senses. Do not use thoughts. Thoughts, like words, can never describe the indescribable.
Instead, SEE. See the tiny miracles unfolding everywhere you look. I like to watch the tiny little crabs as they flit out and hide away. I watch the sunrise and observe the interplay of sun rays with the clouds. I see the waves as they crash onto the shore, leaving a trail of fluffy white foam behind.
A sunbow.
HEAR. Open your ears. Don’t narrate what you hear; just hear it. The rhythmic sound of the rolling waves is a backdrop to my beach experience, but I’ve tuned my ears to hear the rustle of the wind in the branches of nearby trees and the different calls of the local birds.
The sound of the waves rolling in.
SMELL. Don’t think about what you smell. Smell it. Let the smells of nature soothe you. Let them tickle your curiosity. Not everything in nature smells good – but what is good? And what is bad?
TASTE. You’ll need to drop in deeper for this one. I taste the salt on my lips, especially on a windy day. I taste the subtle flavour of sand.
Most importantly, FEEL. Rub your hands up and down the bark of trees and trail your fingers through the sand. Pick a flower, gather rocks and explore their crevices. Explore how your body feels in relation to the environment. Notice what feels good and what challenges you. Is it raining? How does that make you feel? Why? How can you choose differently?
I can still feel this.
Through this, we can learn to become childlike again, filled with wonder and possibility. Time spent in nature expands our time spent in the other world. It slows it all down.
If 3 hours feels unfathomable to you, start with 5 minutes. Be curious. Be brave. Be open. It will change your life.
Love Lauren xx
P.S. If you’ve missed the earlier posts in this series, you can catch up by searching for the subject lines. I’ve so far written about water (“How to Change Your Life”), personal care (“Be a sexy, smelly animal”), fasting (“Fasting: Punishment or Reward”), sleep (“Giving myself a fighting chance”), movement (“Oops, I accidentally didn’t exercise for ten years”), personal development (“Put Yourself in Rooms That Will Make You Question Yourselves”), food (“Hungry and Depressed”), Breathwork (“It’s about Breathwork”), and Awareness (“Awareness).
**Originally published to my email database on the 7th of April, 2025**
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