Taught by the Swamp
Over the past few years, my relationship with nature has grown more meaningful. What began as an interest in walking and hiking has slowly become a deeper practice, one that brings a sense of grounding and quiet connection that’s hard to find elsewhere.
Author’s Note:
This isn’t some deep dive into philosophy or a literary review. I’m not a poet or a scholar, heck I'm not even a writer, I'm just a guy who likes walking, lives close to nature, and stumbled across something that really made me stop and think. Thoreau’s Walking hit me harder than I expected. This is just me reflecting out loud, figuring things out as I go, the way most of us do.
I just finished listening to Walking by Henry David Thoreau for the first time. I’ve heard of him, of course, and I’ve picked up bits and pieces of his thinking over the years, but I’d never sat with one of his full works before. I didn’t expect it to land so squarely. It was simple, sure, but it carried a lot of weight. I paused the recording more than a few times just to let it sink in.
Over the last few years, nature’s taken on a bigger role in my life. What started as walking to clear my head or get some fresh air has turned into something that feels a lot more important, like something I need. I live in a place where I can step outside and look at fields, trees, open sky. There’s a quiet here that feels real, not like the silence you get from shutting out the world, but something deeper. That quiet’s become part of how I stay grounded.
Listening to Thoreau, I was struck by how he didn’t just like nature, he saw it as something essential to being alive. Not a nice-to-have, but something we need. He wasn’t trying to romanticize it either. He just told the truth, plain and strong: the wild matters.
There was one part that really stuck with me, his take on swamps versus gardens. He talked about how gardens are neat, controlled, planned. Swamps are messy, unpredictable, alive. And he preferred the swamp. That hit me.
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to keep things neat and orderly in my own life. There’s comfort in control, in knowing what’s coming next. I used to think that if I kept things in line, schedule, goals, routines...I’d be okay. But life doesn’t usually go that way. There’s always something messy in the mix. Something you didn’t see coming. Something that doesn’t fit in the row you planted.
That used to frustrate the hell out of me. But I’m starting to see it differently now. Swamps may be muddy and full of bugs, but they’re also some of the most alive places on earth. There’s a richness in that wildness. And maybe, just maybe, there’s wisdom there too.
Walking for me isn’t some big spiritual ritual. It’s just something I do. Sometimes it’s a quick loop at lunch. Other times it’s a longer hike into the woods. I’m not tracking miles or chasing a goal. I just like how it clears my head. I breathe better. I think more clearly. I feel more present. That’s enough.
Thoreau reminded me that walking isn’t just about movement, it’s about paying attention. To the land, to yourself, to whatever thoughts or feelings rise up when you’re not staring at a screen or trying to win the day. It helps me slow down. Not just my pace, but my whole outlook. Things start to make more sense when I’m out there moving without a plan.
The older I get, the more I appreciate the honest, raw stuff in life. The parts you can’t polish or put on display. And maybe that’s the wildness Thoreau was talking about, not chaos, but something real and alive, that doesn’t care about being tidy.
It’s easy to aim for the garden, neat rows, everything in its place. But it takes something else entirely to accept the swamp. To realize that sometimes things are meant to be a little messy. That growth isn’t always pretty. That some of the best parts of life don’t follow a map.
What Walking really reminded me is that there’s power in slowing down. In walking instead of rushing. In noticing instead of fixing. In listening instead of talking. It’s not about running from life. It’s about walking through it, eyes open, heart steady, willing to meet it where it is.
And maybe that’s the bigger message. It’s not just about walking. It’s about seeing, really seeing the world for what it is. Messy. Wild. Swampy. And learning to let it be. Maybe even letting it teach you a thing or two.
Always remember... Just Breathe.
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