Why I Left Nature

The unexpected peace of city living

Wanna awaken your inner artist, let your inner kid play, and join a loving community?? That’s what we’ll be doin’ over here :)

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For the past four years I’ve been tucked away in nature.

In LA, I lived in Topanga in a literal treehouse up in the hills.

Topanga Treehouse

Last year, after six months of travel, I settled in a cabin in the woods in Austin.

Austin tiny home

But after many years of much-needed cocoon living, I felt a deep yearning for humans. Not just friends, but strangers too.

So back in May I moved into an apartment in the Bonanova neighborhood of Barcelona. It’s calm. Mostly local. Lots of families. When I walk outside now, I’m no longer greeted by birds chirping or leaves rustling. Instead, it’s traffic and chatter.

I thought the move would be rough, that I wouldn’t last a week. I was convinced I’d become too soft, too sensitive for the concrete jungle.

What I didn’t expect was for city living to offer a whole different kind of peace.

If I’m having a hard day and I walk outside, I’ll often see someone who is clearly having a much rougher time. An elderly person bent over grimacing in pain, their joints no longer supporting them. A homeless man with nothing but a blanket, a cup, and a radio. The mother feeding yogurt to her disabled son in a wheelchair. I see these people every single day. It breaks my heart. But it’s also the most incredible lesson.

Look at what you have. Look at what there is to be grateful for.

And for some reason, there’s this one thought that comes up for me nearly every time: Wow, I can walk.

From there, the gratitude builds: I’m healthy, I have people in my life who love me, I live in a place of peace and have never seen war.

It’s all so easy to forget.

Isolation blinds us to the truth of our fortune. Staying inside, away from physical reality, removes us from the struggles of so many. Commuting in cars does that. Scrolling online does that. Hiding out in nature for too long does that.

Back in the US, I rarely saw anyone over 70. That’s not surprising since Barcelona hosts nearly double the amount of 65+ year olds that Austin and LA do.

There’s a generational nature to this city I’m still getting accustomed to. Grandparents walk their grandkids home from school. On weekends, three generations of families hang out in the parks together. One out of every five people is over 65. What a treat.

It makes me miss my grandparents.

Thankfully though, I have Isa.

Isa is my Spanish buddy. She’s a petite yet outspoken 91 year old, with a subtle sweetness and a remarkable memory. For an hour every Sunday morning we go on a walk around her neighborhood and chat about all sorts of topics—her travels to Egypt, China, and the US when she was younger, my romantic life (and hers—Isa writes beautiful poems to her crush), and her life growing up in Galicia, in a family with eleven siblings.

The organization that connected us helps older people feel less lonely. But my walk with Isa brightens my Sundays like nothing else. Her companionship is just as valuable to me.

To spend time with older generations, to see the realities of life around me, is a breath of fresh air for my soul. It reminds me of my blessings, my fragility, and ultimately my need for others.

It shows me that peace isn’t just found in the trees, but in the streets, in the wrinkled faces, the messiness of it all.

And if the noise gets to be too much, the mountain is only a five minute ride away.

Love,

Matt