As with most adolescent children in this time period, my connection to the outdoors could be best described as something along the lines of, " a sporadic affair". I recall one memory of me as a child where I did truly fell as if I was one with nature.
It was a windy Saturday afternoon, my dad sleeping on the couch, and me gazing at the window glass, trying to catch a ghostly reflection of myself out of curiousity. I tried to touch the mirror, hoping to grasp on to my own reflection, until suddenly, the window slowly opened, like as if an invisible man opened it from the other side. As I felt the light winds grazing on my face, I gradually crept out of the window, unnoticed by my lethargic father.
The first thing I felt as I descended down to the ground was the blades of grass under me. Blades sharper than screeches , yet smoother than jazz music. As I wandered into the forest called my backyard, I could literally feel the grasp of my childhood gradully dissappearing, replaced with this unforeseen fascination for what was literally, out there.
I began to feel the winds, abrasive yet, subtle. I began to hear the winds, the smooth noises of created by the strokes of enormous palm trees, surrounding me like a dome with it's even bigger fronds. These noises almost seemed to have a type of rhythm to it within it's sporadic nature. I remember raising my hands whenever the winds came, as it was gently going through my back, returning to the vast skies above me. I started to make swinging movements with my arms as I raised them, almost like a maestro in an orchestra, the orchestra being the nature around me. I remember whenever I put my arms down, the winds and the noises that came with it, stopped abruptly, and then when I raised them again, the winds came back, a cacophony of noises, but at the same time, that's just what made it more beautiful.
I pretended to have my own little concert with nature, controlling the winds with the swinging of my arms, almost like Mickey Mouse in " Fantasia". It was a very magical moment, where I felt like I could have conquered anything after that, a surge of confidence per se. Surprisingly, my father awakened from his everlasting slumber, rushed outisde, and commanded me to come back inside, back to reality. Like any good 5-year old, I returned, acknowledging my father's orders. When I came back inside, I went back to square one, me, once again, gazing at the window, but not to see my spectral reflection, but to imagine what it could have been like if the magic didn't end with my father's unwelcomed arrival. I slowly crept away from the window, the portal to my imaginaton, the gateway to my possibilities, my door to nature.
That one moment alone, that one magical moment, inspired me in a way that no one, or nothing, had after that one moment; nature inspired me to be more confident. Just like how I controlled the winds and nature with the rhythm of my hands, I could also control what happens to me, my destiny, and that I could tackle any challenge given to me. It inspired me to be more assertive of my actions, and that you could put any given situation into your favor with just enough of that assertiveness.
Nature inspires all of us.
It inspires works of art, film, and dance
For me, it inspired
to aspire.