My nose is just centimeters from the wet bark as I try to focus my eyes directly on the slug that evades my first glance with its perfectly evolved camouflage brown. I watch his little body squishing and stretching as leaves fall gently around me and raindrops plop on my head, only every few seconds. It is early, the sun just barely lighting up the clouds.
But I am very awake, invigorated by the incredible complexity of life I have already witnessed just a few feet away from my front door. My persistent potato plant that has shoved its way through the soil, the moss emerging through the crack in the sidewalk, the tree whose intoxicating aroma I am inhaling, and this beautiful, precious, fragile slug, making its way up the uneven trek of the bark pattern. All of these miracles (and so, so many more) are unfolding in my front yard on a seemingly average street in Salt Lake City. And to think about all of the other front yards I will pass on my walk to the bus stop! And the back yards! And the parks and trails and gardens! Considering the enormity of life that pulses everywhere around me brings tears to my eyes and a softness to my heart as I walk down my average, precious street. Life in its many forms is an absolute miracle. I forget this so easily, as it is always surrounding me.
“Save the planet!” we say, “protect the environment!” we plead. But what exactly are we referring to? When I hear these statements repeatedly, I start to forget what the “environment” actually is, what this word means. It starts to feel very far away, somewhere precious out there that we need to save. National parks and forests, endangered species, serene wilderness, these all come to mind when I think about the “environment” that we are all desperately trying to save. These pieces of the environment don’t get attention for no reason, they are indeed so important and worth saving. However, when we fixate on the dramatic, the novel, the rare, we separate our own everyday experiences with what we conceptualize as the “environment” or “nature.”
What if, while still fighting for national parks, endangered species and the like, we started honing in on the environment that is always right here in front of us, surrounding us. Beginning to reawaken our senses and notice the incredible beauty of the spaces we work, play, and live in can help us to develop a truer connection to the environment and the webs of life it is constructed of. Allowing ourselves to experience awe and gratitude toward the life forms we connect with every day reminds us that what we are saving is indeed precious, but it is not “out there.” Rather it is right here, it is everywhere.
When we pay attention to what we can see, touch, smell, hear, taste in our everyday life, we develop true respect and relationship to the environment that goes deeper than relationships with photos of faraway places. Saving those faraway places is important, but the webs of life that are far away are connected to the webs of life we navigate through each day. So, instead of first grasping for what is out there, let us slow down and feel for what is right here. Only when we are connected to what we already have can we effectively work our way outward.