A friend of mine recently mentioned to me a book called "Nature Deficit Disorder" by Richard Louv, a child advocacy expert, who links many of the "problems" with children (and adults) today - ADD, ADHD, obesity and depression to our current disconnection/alienation from Nature. His is not the only book to address this, but the title speaks perfectly to me. I don't have to read the book (though I may), because I am acutely aware in my own body and by my own moods of this disorder.
I am on my own today in New York City. Some would jump at the chance to be here, but not I.
The problem is not that I am alone. When I was younger, I routinely flew or drove to places like Santa Fe, Taos, Sun Valley, obscure towns in Wyoming, Colorado and Utah, for work or work-related conferences (yes, I know, tough job, but someone has to do it!) where I would explore the area on my own for a few days after the job or conference was done. I even went to Seattle for a conference, then drove to Vancouver and took an Alaskan cruise by myself. My biggest solo adventure, though was fourteen years ago when, for our twentieth wedding anniversary, I flew to Italy and drove across Italy - all by myself - to meet my husband in a small town in the Dolomites, where he was completing a four day, 60 mile per day bicycle ride over the mountains. That, however, is another story.
The difference between NYC and all the other places I have ventured on my own is that the other places have an abundance of nature and, for the most part, clean, breathable air. NYC does not seem to have much of either (though another day I will try to find Central Park). What it does have is a lot of traffic with concomitant exhaust fumes, sidewalks crowded with people (some of whom smoke!), and tall buildings that stretch endlessly and that (from my experience in NYC a few years ago) block out any sun.
Yes, I know. NYC has a lot to offer - theater, some architecturally interesting buildings, museums and shopping. If it had occurred to me sooner, I might have been able to get theater tickets for today, but no such luck. I admire a lot of architecture - the feat of genius and talent that it can take to design, engineer and construct some buildings (especially cathedrals). The problem with architecture is that I have to walk (which I love to do) on crowded streets reeking of exhaust fumes (which I don't love). Besides, nothing man made is as beautiful or awe-inspiring to me as nature (or my daughters and granddaughter). Museums are tolerable to me for short periods of time and that assumes I actually like what is being exhibited. Shopping is something I only do out of necessity (like for groceries or if I have to get something to wear to an event or it is someone's birthday). Nonetheless, I am here and have to make the best of it.
Having arrived last evening to rain, traffic snarls and exhaust fumes, I was pleasantly surprised this morning to see some sun shining outside our 30th floor hotel room and wondered if any might possibly be reaching the ground. At noon I decided to go out, get something to eat and explore the city. That desire lasted less than two minutes after I was outside the hotel. There was the crowd of people again, the looming buildings, and the rank smell of automobile exhaust and tobacco smoke. I ducked into a building to get some air that I could inhale and to quell the already arising anxiety.
The building turned out to be Grand Central Station. This is one of those places tourists visit, because it is old and quite elaborate and has some lovely architecture, as well as shops and places to eat. I wandered a bit inside and then found a place in the food court to get a salad and fruit smoothie (those of you who know me understand that this was perfect for me). Finished eating, I told myself to suck it up and get back out there!
I wondered two more blocks and saw a sign for a park (yeah!), the location of which was not obvious. So I went into the not-tall but old and quite elegant building to inquire about the park. Besides walking the two blocks had left me anxious again. The building turned out to be the NY Public Library, another tourist hot spot, so I decided I to investigate in the hope that I could conquer the anxiety.
The library is a very impressive building - lots of marble and winding staircases. I was confused by the fact that there didn't seem to be a book in sight - just a few rooms with people on computers. In my search for books I discovered a small art collection of some lithographs. Fortunately, the lithographs were of scenes from the West - Yellowstone National Park and the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, Wyoming and Utah. The relief I felt just looking at those lithographs! I then explored a bit longer, finally found the "book room" but by then I just wanted to find the park.
Having been told that the park was just on the other side of the Library, I made a bee line for it. Now, I knew this park was not going to be anything like Rocky Mountain National Park, but I thought there would be a lawn where I could lie down and feel the Earth or at least a tree I could hug to settle me down. No such luck. There were a few rows of flowers and then stalls of food and trinkets and photographs. The lawn had been converted to an ice rink, which I understand makes some sense in a place where it gets and stays cold enough in the winter to ice skate, but it did me no good..
So here I am back at the hotel, writing this You see - and to get back to the point of this - I feel the nature deficit in a city like New York. At home I can walk on open space with my dogs, dig (or lie down) in my garden, hike in the mountains, feel the Earth beneath my (often bare) feet, hear the birds and prairie dogs and coyotes out back of our house, breathe the clean air. In the mountains there is the scent of pine and the deep woodsy smell of soil and humus, none of which can be replicated by candles or perfumes (which generally evoke a gag response from me). At home I am not hemmed in by towering buildings or jostled by crowds. At home I can see for miles and, even if my view is obscured by a building here or there, I can always look to the west and see the Rockies.
I need that - my connection to Nature, to what is wild and free and spacious. When I am in those places, then my whole body feels wild and free and spacious. In the city, though, especially a city like NYC, I feel as though I am compressed, squeezed, pressed down - hence the anxiety. It is indeed a nature deficit disorder. The good news is, it is curable - I will be home again soon, and in the meantime, I will have to get to Central Park. I hear there are trees and grass (the kind on which to lie down) there.
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