When I was growing up, we never went to the coast. We lived in an urban area, about an hour from the nearest shore. Back then, I didn’t yearn for its peace because I didn’t need it. Our concrete-jungle neighborhood offered places to play and a loving community. Years later, after I started dating my wife, my horizons expanded with outdoor adventures. Her childhood involved a lot of time in nature. She spent her childhood near the water and loved being outside. Her house had a grass backyard, a swing set, and a trampoline. Even though we connected online, her experiences influenced me and taught me to stay present while in the natural world.

Our first official date was at the waterfront. We sat, ate lunch, and enjoyed the views. That memory marked the beginning of our being official. I remember how awkward it was for me there, but I felt calm by her side. Those moments were serene. They served as the path to our tender beginnings. We talked for two years about being in a relationship. Our beach date sealed the deal. It’s a favorite recollection of mine. I felt so relieved after all the buildup of becoming a couple. Fate paid off in the end.

It didn’t stop there. That date set the groundwork. Afterward, it continued to flourish in similar settings. In particular, being near the water possessed healing powers I never knew I was missing. The stillness of the horizon in the distance calms me. When my brain craved solace from my worried mind, I found it by being outside and watching the stream move around me.

Fast forward to 2020: the world came to a screeching halt. Just shy of my 31st birthday, and only months into our marriage, my anxiety shifted from manageable to a daily disruption. When the usual coping mechanisms disappeared because of the pandemic restrictions, my wife and I had to return to the basics.

She knew I needed to get out of the house and my head. She started taking us for walks around the local cemetery. The sun’s rays soothed my worried mind while we remained away from others. Once it was safe to visit people, we dropped our dog off with my in-laws. We then walked around any park we could. The movement of my body and the peaceful setting gave the impression of a warm hug from the sun. Those times became a way to get out of the house and my head. I also spent time with my new bride.

When the world reopened, I recalled the simplicity and peace I found near water. During challenging times, I’d find solace outside by the lake or ocean. For simple celebrations, a picnic at the pier was enough. These moments taught me to appreciate the little things and my closest relationships. I never imagined such important lessons would come from someone I cherish.

It’s easy to get lost in phone scrolling and overlook what’s right in front of us. As a city kid, I never understood nature’s power to anchor me in the present. I fell in love, healed, and built a foundation of consistency, communication, and care. Sometimes, the quietest moments lead to the best outcomes.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero