Finding Space

Grasping the vastness of Canadian provinces can be challenging. British Columbia's provincial parks span 35 million acres, surpassing the size of Greece. This figure does not account for the national and municipal parks also within the province.

With a population of only five million, if we distributed the residents evenly, each person would have seven acres—more than five football fields—just to themselves.

In the fiscal year 2018-2019, over three million visits were recorded at BC's provincial parks, and that was before the pandemic. Now, with international travel limited, locals are re-embracing the natural beauty at their doorstep. As a result, securing a camping reservation has become as competitive as gaining entry into an elite institution.

Already, individuals are reselling camping spots online at inflated prices to those who didn’t act fast enough.

A Desire for the Outdoors

Especially after a year of confinement, the urge to escape is palpable.

Each time I go camping, I'm reminded of the irony. I have a home with modern conveniences—a comfy bed, running water, and entertainment—but on my wife's suggestion, we willingly leave it all behind to immerse ourselves in the wilderness for a few nights.

And it's not just us. Families, groups of friends, and even entire offices are drawn to temporary disconnection from their everyday lives, sacrificing comfort for a taste of nature. We work hard to afford our expensive homes, only to abandon them at the first sign of decent weather for poorly prepared meals and chilly nights in tents.

The only logical explanation is that we crave the wild. Nature is essential; while screens provide distractions, they ultimately leave us feeling empty.

Often, they exacerbate our emotions, leaving us angry, sad, or disappointed, exposing us to the darker aspects of humanity. Disease, poverty, and hatred linger in the background, the sorrowful soundtrack of our lives that we often tune out.

Yet, on the trails, smiles are exchanged. People greet one another, shedding their urban facades and becoming better versions of themselves.

This is reality.

Make no mistake: your job, your home, your possessions, and your societal status—none of it holds true significance. These constructs only have value because we choose to assign meaning to them. Yet we toil tirelessly to uphold these illusions, hoping that when our time comes, we won’t reflect on what it all truly meant.

> Soldiers on the battlefield sometimes discuss this. Sailors navigating rough waters catch glimpses of the sublime. They experience awe and the overwhelming silence of what has always been there while they ignored it in the pursuit of profit.

The true world is the one inhabited by every other creature. It's the ever-changing weather we cannot control and the forests that seem to possess knowledge beyond our comprehension.

This year, millions of British Columbians will eagerly venture into nature at the first opportunity, sighing with relief as they escape the walls that have confined them for far too long, re-engaging with reality after months—maybe even years—of detachment.

Forgetting Who We Are

In a recent piece, Mike Alexander pondered whether we are losing our ability to appreciate nature. Our gaze fixed on screens, we are increasingly blind to the world, even as technology offers us more.

Despite this, the rush for camping sites suggests otherwise. Living in British Columbia inherently attracts those who value the outdoors. Even city dwellers in Vancouver cannot overlook nature's presence.

The immense coastal rainforest of Stanley Park occupies a significant portion of the downtown area. In winter, bald eagles can be seen soaring through alleys, and occasionally, pods of orcas swim into the city.

It’s difficult to overlook the wilderness when it looms above in the form of majestic, snow-capped mountains.

However, cities haven't existed long enough to eradicate wildlife and strip away forests completely. In older regions, nature requires more effort to be appreciated. One must actively seek out the remnants of the natural world.

> Nature offers something that screens cannot: it brings us back to ourselves. Our bodies remember. We share the same senses as our ancestors, who lived in harmony with the world.

Though I've spent my life in cities, that’s not where I find my truest self.

What Nature Provides

The advantages of nature are numerous. A 2012 study indicated that air pollution in heavily industrialized regions of Europe could reduce average life expectancy by up to three years. Forests purify our air, generating oxygen and sequestering carbon, a process that has sustained life on Earth for millions of years.

There are no elevators in nature. Being outdoors compels physical activity, promoting cardiovascular and mental wellness.

Spending just two hours a week in a natural setting has been shown to enhance feelings of health and happiness. Richard Louv’s influential book, Last Child in the Woods, emphasizes the significance of nature for children. The author highlights Nature Deficit Disorder, linking it to obesity, attention issues, anxiety, and depression.

You don’t need scientific evidence to recognize your need for nature; each breath of fresh air beneath the canopy of tall trees or the sound of waves crashing on the shore tells you so.

Deep within your primal brain, which never left the forest, you understand what is real and what you need: an uncontrollable world, a sky that cannot be muted, stars that twinkle for their own sake.

This is the world for which you were created—the one your body remembers. It's easy to mock city dwellers who camp in cars as if embarking on a grand adventure when, in reality, they are merely a few hours from a temporary community of strangers. However, even these curated experiences help us reconnect with ourselves.

Nature provides not just the air we breathe, the food we consume, and the water we drink; it restores our souls, healing the wounds inflicted by the relentless tide of bitterness, envy, success, and failure.

The beauty of the world outside our doors lies in its indifference. It challenges us to adapt rather than bending to our will.

I’m Not an Optimist

Humans possess bright eyes but heavy hearts, coupled with an uncanny ability to turn triumph into defeat. We have created a world that caters to our desires, yet we find ourselves unsatisfied. We ventured to the moon only to discover emptiness.

Our nature is to seek but not to find. We gaze like deities into the universe's mysteries and ponder how to manipulate them for social approval.

Yet, as campsites fill with eager visitors braving rain, wildlife, and poor sleep just to appreciate a lake, a tree, or a flickering campfire, I hold onto a glimmer of hope. The natural world restores our essence, liberating us from the self-imposed confines of our lives, reminding us of our humanity and wholeness.

There remains a wild part of us that has never forgotten the forest, ocean, and sky. This part longs for the true world, pushing aside screens, barriers, and webs of technology. Perhaps this is the aspect that can ultimately save us.

Thank you for reading.

© Ryan Frawley 2021. All proceeds from this article will be donated to Doctors Without Borders/Medecins Sans Frontiers.

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