Canada: Friendship with Nature, Connection with Friends

Days before the 4th of July, my friends and I fled to Canada for a respite. I will start this blog and finish it by saying how blessed I am for the people in my life.

There were six of us on the trip, all of varying gender identities and backgrounds. We crossed the border into Canada with the consensus that borders are more damaging than they are worth, leading to a construct of separation.

We spent one full day in Tobermory. Some of my friends went on a boat tour. I elected to hike an eight mile portion of the Bruce Peninsula. I was able to do this with ease thanks to the kindness of my friends, who dropped me off at the trailhead and were there to pick me up when I returned.

This hike was one of the most breathtaking and staggering hikes I’ve ever been on. I was happy to do it on my own. I’m someone who is largely accustomed to an insular life; spending much of my time alone. Hiking alone felt normal to me.

The photos capture the pure wildness of the Georgian Bay, how the waves of Lake Huron crash into jutted rock. Turquoise waters, cold and unencumbered. Seagulls in pops of white dropping from a cobalt sky to meet the water. At Grotto Bay (pictured below), Palestinians and Middle Easterners stood out on the rocks, shocked into smiles each time the waves reached them from the lake, smothering them in cold water. I was content to be alone among them, and I didn’t feel alone at all.

I’d watch the waves and think about the concept of violence, because nature is just being nature yet we can attribute its ways to a kind of violence. How my friends had deep discussions about violence as a way to further social justice. They were not condoning murder, homicide or assault in any way, more speaking of fighting a system that suppresses and murders its own people.

My views differ. Peace and joy to me are the best form of anarchy, as displayed most accurately after we took a ferry to Manitoulin Island, where we stayed at a cabin on the lake thanks to one friend’s generous gift; a cabin that had been in her family for decades.

For a few days we remained there by the lake, just the six of us, mostly secluded. I could’ve sat and watched that lake all day, its constant movement like an ocean in the afternoons, and its immediate stillness upon waking in the mornings. How it offered me the gift to pull away from my body all the stress I didn’t even know I was carrying. How being in close proximity with five other humans-the intimacy and vulnerability of that-led me to realize how isolated my life had become. How nature reminds us of our connection to one another. How when we take a chance to step away from the plugged-in world, we get a taste of what is real and true.

In finding a tribe of humans with whom I could be myself, I found what Brené Brown calls the opposite of shame: connection and vulnerability. In our friendship with earth and nature we can find that authentic vulnerability-it’s safe to be ourselves.

Upon my arrival back home, after dropping off the last of my friends and stepping into my empty house (save one Lucky cat), I quickly began missing my friends. I missed the dinners we shared together. Communion in nature. Sharing and community. Laughter and kindness. I realized how much all of this was missing from my own life. How I’d become way more isolated than I realized. I had my head down, buried in the flurry of writing books, seeing clients, hyperfocusing on my own stuff that I’d almost forgotten there is a world out there to discover. I’d become so self-reliant I have Canada and my friends to thank for reminding me of my priorities.

I will be blogging about the importance of friendship and connection, and how these themes interplay with my writing, more.

For now, I end with Elton John: “I thank the Lord for the people I have found.”

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