Shared Solitude

“It is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.” [Mary Oliver]

It’s truly hard to believe that mid-November is upon us, and somehow 2020 has flashed us by. Whether you’re stuck on March 256th, or on another measurement system of time entirely… no doubt that the experience of time has been vastly different this year than ever before. I hope you are all holding up okay, and have remained as safe and healthy as possible!

In September, I was privileged and fortunate enough to have the opportunity to take a very Covid-cautious, socially responsible trek into the glorious mountains of Canada’s West Coast. In a normal summer, I make it a priority to plan a couple of different backpacking trips between festival hopping (and I’m also extremely fortunate to often end up in some pretty gorgeous natural locales for work!). I love getting out and exploring our beautiful world, and those short adventures into the wild are really invigorating and refreshing, giving me rejuvenated physical strength and mental clarity for a pretty demanding (in the best way!) career. Obviously, this summer looked very different, and 99% of it was spent at home, in the same book-lined room, recording, teaching, sharing livestreams, etc. while taking very seriously my responsibility to my family and my community to stay isolated and help stop the spread. For the entire summer, I grappled with feelings of depression and anxiety, and, the desperate desire to get away from everything and spend some time in the wild. After much careful planning, I figured out a way I felt comfortable and safe about to experience the joy and relief of nature in person.

I find extended time in nature really helps me reframe my mind. (There is science behind that; there are many books and articles one can read about what exactly our brain goes through in different natural environments and why — and conversely, the difficult things we go through when our brains spend too much time in front of a screen/indoors/generally in unnatural settings.) A few walks in the woods each day definitely help keep me sane, but pale in comparison to backpacking for days on end, and being entirely in sync with the cycle of the sun and the elements of the outdoors. It’s not all positive — part of being in nature is getting reacquainted with actually having to think about the simple necessities of survival — but there’s something so refreshing about that, as well. About realizing my own mortality, being more aware of my surroundings, and experiencing the full realm of mother nature.

Many of you know I love to read, and from my Instagram posts as well as my recent album release with Fall for Dance North, you also know i have a particular affinity for poetry. Occasionally when I’m out on the trail, certain poems pop into my mind. This was one of them:

the earth is a living thing
by Lucille Clifton (1936-2010)


is a black shambling bear
ruffling its wild back and tossing
mountains into the sea

is a black hawk circling the burying ground circling the bones picked clean and discarded is a fish black blind in the belly of water is a diamond blind in the black belly of coal is a black and living thing is a favorite child of the universe feel her rolling her hand in its kinky hair feel her brushing it clean

This trip was a big deal in many ways — not the least of which was that I got to tick off a long time bucket list dream — of experiencing fall in the Rockies. I’ve seen stunning photos of the striking golden larches and aspens in front of stoic rocky backgrounds, but boy is it ever something else to take it in in person. I spent most of those couple of weeks picking my jaw up off the dirt floor, absolutely overwhelmed by the incredible beauty in front of me.

This trip also gave me a chance to reflect more deeply on the past several months of our lives. I don’t need to tell you that we’ve all endured so much this year; whether experiencing things collaterally or personally, we have seen and been a part of so much pain and loss. We’ve also faced harsh truths and devastating realities, and hopefully awoken to the necessity of listening more deeply, facing parts of ourselves that we are ashamed of—and recognizing the parts of ourselves that we have been blind to, and doing real, dedicated work to dismantle systems of oppression that permeate not only our society at large, but all of our personal circles and every day lives, and actively hurt millions of human beings. I always find reflection is clearer and deeper in a new setting, where none of my habits — even thinking habits — exist and I can see a much clearer picture.

Over a month since returning from my trip, I’m still reflecting on all the lessons I learned on this particular exploration; still practicing the patience and awareness I worked on in the wild; still working daily towards being a better, more thoughtful, more selfless person than I was yesterday. A few things nature constantly reminds me of: there’s no time like the present, every moment is fleeting, you must be able to simultaneously grab onto what matters and also be able to let go, everything has it’s place in the world — things we take for granted (like insects) matter deeply, attention is central to life — and undivided attention is the greatest gift and highest honour anyone can give, resilience is a practice, and life can change in an instant.

One final poem to leave you with tonight:

Sleeping in the Forest
by Mary Oliver (1935-2019)

I thought the earth
remembered me, she
took me back so tenderly, arranging
her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds. I slept
as never before, a stone
on the riverbed, nothing
between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated
light as moths among the branches
of the perfect trees. All night
I heard the small kingdoms breathing
around me, the insects, and the birds
who do their work in the darkness. All night
I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling
with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.

Stay safe, my friends. Keep looking forward to and working towards a better tomorrow!