Overflown by gratitude
Reflecting on a year of learning from nature
As you are reading this, I am likely on my way home after a week in the woods. Hacking wood, bow-drilling fire, and showering with sweat.
Packing for the week made me think about gratitude as one of the most precious gifts of last year. Gratitude that flows like a river. That doesn’t need to be trained, biohacked, or squeezed.
Sharing with you today a short text that wrote itself after four days in December forest.
The art of mopping the floor
When I was around 10, my grandmother took the time and patience to instruct me in mopping the floor.
One of the core skills she taught me was properly wringing out the rag. There was a special methodology and sequence to it: how you grab, hold, and squeeze.
If I got it right, with enough physical effort, I would be able to squeeze the rag almost dry.
As I was thinking about my relationship with gratitude for most of my life, this process came up as a fitting analogy.
Gratitude was always requiring effort. Techniques. Formal practice. Hacks. For keeping it trickling.
And then this happened.
Surviving 4 Days in the winter "wilderness"
Give me some adversity so I can be overflown by awe and gratitude.
Back from Module 2 of the Wilderness Education program:
Experiential winter learning and being.
My biggest insight is asking to be let out.
So, let me picture it as a story.
Imagine you are in the woods:
The trees are naked, the sky is overcast, and darkness swallows them in the early afternoon.
You depend on the fire for food and warmth:
Preparing wood for the fire, lighting it amidst the mist, becomes a pressing need.
Your tent feels like an island of incredible comfort:
And then you realize—spending a night in a self-constructed, wet-leaf-filled, moss-infused hut, alone, is on the menu.
You end up spending the night in the tent.
In a sleeping bag, wet from rain and a lack of planning.
It’s not the best, but hey, you are protected on your comfort island.
And then, in the dark hours of the morning, getting up feels like a treat.
You work on lighting the fire—splitting the wood, hunting for anything dry, blowing life into tiny sparks, on your knees.
Finally, the fire is on, the coffee is giving out its intoxicating smell, and the sky is lighting up.
Oh my god, this feels totally ecstatic:
I am alive.
I feel my body aching from carving and sawing wood, collecting 3.5 tons of leaves.
I am getting warm.
I am spiked by the coffee.
I am flowing into this experience with people around the fire.
My whole being is overflowing with love and gratitude for this life.
It feels like a good answer to the question I’d been getting:
“Why are you doing this wilderness thing?!”
So I can be totally in love with this life—
And the challenges that are “a feature, not a bug,”
As I have it in me to overcome them,
As I know there will be a next day, with light, with warmth, with people who have my back.
That’s it for today. Thank you for being here ❤️
PS You’ll hear from me on Wednesday with another guided experience (those are bi-weekly now). I’ll let myself be surprised by what wants to get out.
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Ways to further explore together:
Listen to the podcast:
The Breath of Life: featuring live conversations on Substack with people who are spreading aliveness and interconnectedness.
Life in Flow: exploring concepts fundamental to Flow in Life in improvised unedited conversations with two flow-co-creators.
Join an experience with me: in Berlin and Zoom room!
Join my old-fashioned private email list for exclusive experiment invites and ongoing events.
Book a Nature Team Walk for reset, fresh perspectives, and systemic insight
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