Dear Nature: Do you hate me?
I’ve been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while, Nature. The animals may love you, but I still have mixed feelings. What was once a childhood playground has now become a hotspot for scary, gross insects, and grass and trees that do not bode well for my sinuses.
We’ve had a complicated relationship ever since I found out that I’m allergic to most of you. Even before then, sometimes I ditched you to play Pokémon inside (Although this summer, you’ve robbed me of that, since Pikachu, Weedle, and all the other Pokémon are now largely found outdoors….).
I’ve seen you at your highs and your lows. Literally; Rocky Mountain peaks covered in snow — and Ocean beds deep below. You’ve taught me that humans are afraid of what we don’t know.. Still, it’s worth it to take a deep breath and dive deep to discover new sights and perspectives, and to persevere even when things might not match with expectation.
I am entirely convinced of your beauty. For me, your grandeur has never been in dispute. I respect that you are a sum of many diverse and unique parts.
Other humans have tried to monetize and steal your beauty. They have stolen your water and your trees and have not cared to apologize, so despite our complicated relationship, I’d like to offer you an apology on their behalf — although I do understand if you won’t accept it. I can’t change everyone, but I can control my impact on you — and I wish that that were enough to let the two of get along. But we both know that just isn’t the case.
Given the way that others have treated you, maybe it’s no surprise that you’ve elected to lash out from time to time.
I also think that you like to be a bit deceptive sometimes. Sometimes when I’m walking around town a fly zips past me, but its humming sounds a lot like a wasp, sending me off into a maniacal public dance. I do not appreciate the practical joke.
You’re really strong, and I envy that. Even in the face of adversity, you don’t give up. You always come back — your form might be altered at times, but you always try to stick things out.
Despite this, you’ve crumbled a bit. I know you’re trying to remain strong and that the animals have your back (most of the time), but I’m fearful that you’re losing your will to persevere. I am afraid for the future because I know that I can’t exist without you — even in my angriest moment when I wish that I could.
I know that there is an in-between. When I was small, you and I seemed to co-exist beautifully, perfectly even. But that was before my grass allergy kicked in.
There must be a way for us to get a long — a means for us to find a balance in this relationship. I know it’s possible but just like any good thing, it won’t be easy.
We can do this. We can be kinder to one another. We can be more understanding of the other’s needs (i.e. please don’t ever send a wasp up my sleeve to sting me five consecutive times again). We can, and I believe that we already do, appreciate what one another brings to each other.
You’ve pushed me to challenge my fears, and you’ve forced me to adapt.
And I guess what it comes down to, as I finish this letter, is that I have just two words for you: