Finding Comfort
I ache for comfort and calm. I know I’m not alone in that right now. There’s a collective longing for things to settle; to sleep deeply, to wake without fear, to stop bracing for what might come next. I don’t think there’s much calm to be found in the world at large these days, which is why community and connection feel so essential.
Being on my own for some time now, with only my art and my pup to keep me company, I’ve leaned heavily on nature. It’s been the one constant in this journey, even as the landscape itself keeps changing. From the balmy rivers of Nashville to the cool lakes of Minnesota. From the dryness of the high desert to the moisture-laden air of the Pacific Northwest. I’ve seen a lot of what this land has to offer, and it has given me inspiration, solace, and time to reflect.
That’s been especially true in Seattle. Barkley requires his walks, and the landscape here reveals itself sheepishly, in stages, throughout the day. After my first week, I suddenly realized there were mountains all around me—and an ocean so close I could see massive container ships unloading in the distance. I knew these things were here, intellectually, but knowing and seeing are different things. When the clouds part and Mount Rainier suddenly blazes in the glow of dusk, it takes your breath away.
That happened last night on my way home from the shop. I kept driving—looking for a hill, a vantage point, a better view, something that might let me hold onto the moment a little longer. I am so in love with this mountain that when I went back to the shop I tried to capture what I felt. That’s been my experience lately: an overwhelming sense of awe that demands to be translated into ink and paper.
Throughout the day, these are the moments that bring me comfort and peace. The natural world continues on in the face of everything. It shows up for me wherever I go. From the great horned owl calling outside my rental at night, to the frosty crow feathers I find on my morning walks.
I am scared. I am sad. I am lonely. And all of that is okay—it’s a wave I’m riding, not something I need to fix. For now, I’ll keep walking Barkley. I’ll keep letting myself be enamored with the world. And I’ll keep finding comfort in nature, again and again.
