June Journal Prompt: Recreation

How has spending time in the great outdoors helped you to cope with stress or find peace?

Well, first off, let me confess—May’s journal prompt? Completely ghosted it. Vanished. Poof. I didn’t even pretend to journal it, but I’m calling it a win because, hey, I was busy living it. Between the 31-day mental health challenge and pouring my heart into those daily reflections, I basically wrote a journal without the title. Sometimes you’ve got to let the universe fill in the blanks and just call it good enough. So… win.

Now, let’s talk about June. It feels like the perfect month to dive into recreation—the very word feels like a sigh of relief, doesn’t it? June is packed with reasons to get outside: we’ve got National Great Outdoors Month, Camping Month, Parks & Rec Month, Picnic Day, Rivers Day, and probably a National Hug a Tree Day in there somewhere. (If not, there should be.)

For those of you who are new here (or those who’ve been lurking in the back like it’s a middle school dance), let me tell you: nature has been my secret weapon in coping with grief. After losing my son, Dakota, I spent months barely functioning. The thought of going outside? Ha! I could barely open the blinds some days. But eventually, I had to try something—because lying under a pile of blankets binge-watching Netflix can only get you so far.

So I let myself go outside. We went to Kananaskis, and as I pulled into the parking lot, this giant raven—like, the size of a small dinosaur, waddled right up to my door. Just stared at me. Like it knew. I’m sitting there in my grief haze, and here’s this bird blinking at me like, “Hey, lady, you coming out or what?” I said hello, had a brief one-sided conversation (as one does with mystical ravens), and asked it to please back up so I could get out of the truck without being pecked. It obliged. Nature’s full of surprises.

We started our hike, and as I walked, I couldn’t help but remember all the times I’d taken Dakota into the outdoors when he was overwhelmed by life. He wasn’t a hyperactive, run-around-the-forest kind of kid, but he loved being out there—walking in the trees, breathing in the fresh air, just being. And on that hike, I started noticing. I mean, really noticing. The tiny wildflowers pushing up through the cracks. The way the trees make space for baby trees (unlike some humans I know). And then I saw it: this scrappy little tree growing straight out of the side of a rocky cliff. No dirt. No obvious support system. Just clinging on, leaning at a weird angle, like, “Yeah, life’s tough, but watch me thrive anyway.”

And it hit me like a ton of rocks (pun intended): if that tree could make it in the harshest, rockiest, most unlikely place, then maybe-just maybe - I could, too. That little tree became my symbol. It reminded me that you don’t need perfect conditions to grow. You just need to start. I snapped a picture, stood there for a long time soaking it in, and thought about how I could take that lesson with me.

That hike didn’t magically fix everything, but it planted the seed. Now, every summer, I make a point to get outside—walk through parks, breathe in the mountain air, stand by rivers, and just listen. The peace I find in nature? You can’t buy that at Target. It’s a soul-deep peace, the kind that seeps into your bones when you realize the world keeps turning, the trees keep growing, and you—yes, you—get to keep going, too.

So, yeah. The great outdoors? It’s my reset button. It’s where I can take my grief, my worries, my mental clutter, and just let it drift away on the wind. And honestly? I think we could all use a little more of that these days.