Strong and Gentle – Living Simply with Nature in Chaotic Times

Lately, the world feels loud. So much is shifting, unraveling, rushing forward. And yet, each morning, the birds still sing. The tide still moves in and out. The moon continues its slow, silver dance above Mt. Tam where I live.

In the early hours, I hear the soft hoot of an owl in the distance. Finches flit through the manzanita. A deer sometimes appears at the edge of the path, watching, still and calm. Even when the world feels uncertain, the animals live as they always have—present, responsive, and quietly wise. They remind me to return to my breath, to the moment.

Living simply isn’t about withdrawing. It’s about coming closer—to the essentials, to our own rhythms. I brew tea with fresh ginger and lemon. I stretch barefoot on the wooden deck, the boards warmed by the morning sun. I walk among the redwoods and let their silence hold me.

Simple doesn’t mean easy. It means true. It means allowing space—for rest, for feeling, for slowing down.

And strength—real strength—isn’t found in tension or force. It’s in our capacity to remain soft. Like the redwood that sways but does not fall. Like the robin who sings even in the fog.

The strongest people I know are gentle. They listen—to their bodies, to the wind, to the pauses between words. They speak with kindness. They notice the hawk circling overhead, the fox slipping through the trees at dusk.

So if the world feels too fast, come back to your own rhythm. Follow the birdsong. Watch the clouds drift. Let the dog rest her head on your lap. Let your nervous system remember:You are part of nature, too.And that, in itself, is your strength.