Value Your Experiences in Nature
make time for stillness instead of social media
If you liked reading this, feel free to click the ❤️ button on this post so more people can discover it on Substack 🙏
The other day an old clip of comedian George Carlin came across my social media feed. If you're near my age, you'll know Carlin as the immensely popular irreverent, counter-culture stand-up comic delivering biting social commentary from the 1970s into the 1990s. Like all great artists, poets, and court jesters, Carlin could see the flaws in society and us and act as a mirror showing us our hypocrisy, idiocy, shortcomings, and ridiculousness. Bitter medicine served with a side of humor, so we could swallow it and ultimately be healed of some of our maladies.
In the little snippet of Carlin's routine that floated across my feed, he's mercilessly mocking camcorder users in the 80s. The camcorder was the first handheld video recorder. It prompted people everywhere to hoist it on their shoulders and record practically everything, little league games, bar mitzvahs, weddings, dance recitals, graduations, family vacations, concerts, backyard BBQs, etc.
Carlin wonders aloud if anyone ever experiences anything anymore without seeing it through the lens of a camcorder and trying to "frame the shot" or "get the angle."
With smartphones in our pockets with excellent cameras and video recording capabilities and apps that bring all of a recording studio's photo and video editing tools into the palm of our hand, have we lost the ability to actually experience our world firsthand without looking through a lens?
Carlin commented that no one actually watched the footage from the camcorders. It just sat on a shelf, a useless recorded memory. Today the incentive for recording life is driven by the hope of going viral, getting likes and clicks, and the pot of gold at the end of the social media rainbow, monetizing your content with sponsors and ad revenue.
I thought about all of this yesterday as I sat in my yard while taking a break from weeding, digging a few holes, and installing two beautiful native shrubs (St. John's Wort and Summersweet) meant to support our native bee population.
It was an absolutely perfect May day in southern New England. The sky was a pristine blue, not a cloud in sight. The air moved in puffs creating a very light breeze now and then. The trees have leafed out, but the leaves are still miniature in size and delicate in color. The oaks are a creamy yellow with a slight tinge of green, the sweet birches are bright lime green, the maples are still reddish, and the hickories are a shade of green that's a bit bluer.
As I pondered, I realized how my own relationship with experiencing nature was changing. If you scroll back through my Instagram feed to previous years, you'll see tons of photos and videos of nature. Then, go back further; you'll see many sketches from my nature journals.
Carlin's words rang in my head. Doesn't anyone just experience anything anymore? Do we always have to document, record, edit, share, and comment?
Have we, have I, lost the ability to, as Ram Dass reminds us, be here now? Am I so socially driven, so addicted to sharing, that I can no longer become still and experience myself in nature, as part of nature, to enjoy and relish that experience without being driven to document my experience for others?
As I sat quietly on a bench beneath the crab apple tree, which is in full bloom, I observed a bluebird pair who, again this year, set up housekeeping in the birdhouse over the garden gate. They fly into the woods, catch insects and deliver them to their hungry babies. As Mama poked her head into the house, the male, with bright blue wings and back and russet breast gleaming in the sun, clung to the branches of a nearby dogwood tree, clutching another serving in his beak. As I watched him, he was as perfect as a picture in a wildlife magazine. I realized that photos like that evoked a feeling in me that could only be felt if I had already had experiences like these. Photos recall the times I was completely present and keenly paying attention to the life around me. I wondered what it was like for others who see beautiful magazine photos or nature photos online without firsthand experience.
If this had been last year or any year prior, I would have reached for my phone and felt compelled and excited to capture and share this scene on social media. Or I might have reached for my sketchbook, documented it in pen and watercolor, and then shared that. But why?
Why do I do that, and how does it impact my life experience?
Of course, there are many compelling reasons to photograph and sketch nature. First and foremost, it feeds your love of nature and teaches you how to observe. Second, it piques your curiosity, causing you to learn what that bird or tree is called. Third, sharing your photos or sketches can educate and inspire others to become aware of nature's wonders. Finally, what causes awe ignites appreciation, and what we value and appreciate, we protect.
Clearly, nature photography and nature journaling can and do play a vital role in our lives.
But what about the critique Carlin offers? Why don't we engage with life fully present and with intimate participation instead of behind the lens of a camera or through other artistic mediums?
Have we, in fact, lost the ability to just be? Have we come to a place where our experiences are only valid and genuine if someone else (random strangers on the internet) sees what we did, where we went, and what we experienced?
Have we become so owned by the constant validation of likes and comments that nothing we experience or do has meaning in and of itself? Do we no longer live our lives for ourselves but find meaning only if someone else sees us and gives a thumbs up of approval and validation?
This is a much bigger question and gets to the heart of what social media and being constantly online can do if you're not mindful and aware of how, why, and when you use it.
I want to affirm that your experiences of stillness and presence in nature are incredibly valuable, healing, and spiritually expanding, even when private. As much as my, or someone else's, nature photos, videos, or nature journal sketches can help inspire and educate you about nature, they are always meant to propel you outdoors and into profound experiences of your own. Your experiences do not have to be documented and shared to be valuable or authentic. In fact, when you encounter the aliveness of nature through direct contact without the distraction of a camera or even a sketchbook, your experience will be the most immediate and meaningful it can be.
Being in nature is its own particular experience, and it is also its own reward. I saw a post the other day made by someone commenting that if you're recording yourself meditating to post to your Instagram or Tick Tok, your not actually meditating. Truth. The same goes for developing a relationship with nature. If you're filming, photographing, etc., you're attending to your creative activity and, at the very least, less present to nature or possibly not really present to nature at all.
I will be taking George Carlin's critique and weaving it into Ram Dass' advice regarding my time in nature. Occasionally, I will take photos and videos, and sometimes, I will practice the lovely art of nature journaling and share what I have created on social media. However, mostly I will become incredibly still, very quiet, keenly observant, and bring my full awareness to the living, breathing, growing, and changing natural world around me. I'll do this for me, for all of the benefits to body, mind, and soul this simple practice of being present in nature offers.
This shift is part of a more significant transition I'm going through. Perhaps I'm just getting old and feeling nostalgic for the "good old days." But I suspect it's more than that. I've been thinking a lot about how my life was different before the advent of mass social media. Back then, I was more focused, more confident, had more faith in my own experiences and opinions, and was generally more content.
This is why I love writing to you via Hedge Mystic. It feels like honest, old-fashioned communication, a conversation. Not just a short tweet or a photo with a brief caption, but an actual meeting of the minds.
I hope you will consider taking time to experience life, nature, and relationships without the urge to validate them by documenting them for social media each and every time.
Join me in this little experiment that asks us to be fully present for the experience of being present for ourselves and for no other reason.
As always, I value your thoughts, ideas, and comments. The comments section is a safe, welcoming space for conversation and community.
You are much appreciated and loved.
Timely and potent thoughts, Jan. I had a conversation, recently, about whether taking photos somehow robs the subject of autonomy, and steals the magic from the moment. As someone who was drawn to photography long before social media existed, I felt myself pushing back against that notion but understood the importance of needing to more fully consider what was taking place in that exchange. Simultaneously, I've been thinking about how, despite all the ways we are so-called connected, we are experiencing an epidemic of loneliness. Your piece gets to the heart of that. Social media is a false, unfulfilling relationship. True connection is more about experiencing ourselves as part of the beauty of nature than it is about getting a "vote" of approval from someone on the other side of a screen. Thanks for bringing all of this to my attention today. Also, your garden -- with all of its "quiet places" is spectacular!
I enjoyed your perspective and the pics of your beautiful land. I have fallen off the social media train and quite like it. Sometimes I feel the fleeting urge to get back on. I’ve noticed I also like to spend time hiking alone so I can deeply connect with nature. I do take so many pictures but keep them to myself. When I’m hiking with friends I feel I’m missing a lot of nature’s communication so I try to balance the two lately. Times are changing or maybe returning.