My Love Letter to Nature

For the past year, I’ve been sharing the inspiring stories of my Macs Adventure colleagues and our customers – honest, moving accounts of how walking and the great outdoors have helped them heal, reset, and reconnect. To sign off our Walking & Wellness campaign, it felt only right to share my own story too. 

Mine is less of a story, more of a love letter to nature. The great outdoors. Which has a funny way of making all my problems feel smaller somehow, even if just for a while. Nature is the listener I wish everyone else could be sometimes. No offerings of thoughts or opinions. No secret judgements or unsolicited advice. It remains quiet, allowing me to sit with my feelings and form perspectives, while wrapping me in an invisible blanket of comfort. And sometimes that’s the best antidote to any problem.  

So, here’s my message... 

Kirsty in Porthleven on the South West Coast Path

Dear Mother Nature

It’s funny, isn’t it? 

All the over-the-counter meds, treatments and prescriptions out there… yet nothing soothes the soul quite like you. 

A medical professional once told me that you could be the fittest, healthiest version of yourself, but if your nervous system is constantly wired, your mind forever clouded, and your thoughts whirling faster than the propellers on a jumbo jet, you’re never really going to “heal”. 

That one landed like a ton of bricks. 

Because on paper, I do all the right things. Decent nutrition. I don’t smoke. I rarely drink. Regular exercise, yoga, meditation. My self-care box? Very much ticked. And yet, something always feels a little… off. I can never fully relax. Constantly overthinking, playing reruns of that slightly awkward thing that happened the other day. Paranoid that I've upset someone or done something wrong. I never truly slow down. Even in my downtime, I feel this constant urge to be doing something – anything – to make the most of it. 

Then you come along. 

Kirsty on Offa's Dyke Path

Stepping Into Nature, Stepping Into The Present 

The moment I step into nature, all bets are off. 

I’m happy to go where the wind blows. To linger and watch branches dance in the breeze. To fall into a deep, absent-minded stare as waves lap the shore and hypnotise me. And when the sun appears? That dappled light through the trees never fails to make my breath slow, and a grin appear. 

Woodland walks with my dogs. Quiet countryside lanes in the pouring rain. Blustery beach saunters with rosy cheeks and cold hands. Wherever I am, nature gently pulls me into the present – into what’s right in front of me. 

And for me, that presence is everything. 

Kirsty in St Ives on South West Coast Path

Because anxiety has a habit of showing up like an unwanted house guest. The kind who doesn’t read the room, misses all the cues, and stays way longer than is socially acceptable. 

The tightness in my chest – hi anxiety. What a surprise! 
The knot in my stomach – oh, it’s you again. 
The heart palpitations – any chance you could leave now? 

And to be honest, this part? It’s still very much a work in progress. Anxiety hasn’t magically disappeared. It still makes surprising, very unwelcome appearances when I least expect it, in the form of overthinking or paranoia. But I’m learning. I’m fine-tuning the stay away sign, adjusting it little by little, so it gets the hint and doesn’t hang about quite so long. Some visits are better than others. Some days I feel steadier than I ever have. Others, not so much. 

But with you, Mother Nature, by my side, it no longer feels like a solo struggle. It feels like a team effort. Us against the anxiety. 

Kirsty in the Lake District on the Coast to Coast Walk

Walking Forward, One Step at a Time 

I first really noticed the impact of this when I started walking. Before that, my time outdoors was mostly weekend ambles – still precious, still grounding. But pairing nature with walking for consecutive days? That’s when the benefits doubled. That’s the Macs Adventure effect. 

My focus shifts to the mission at hand – like a road closure forcing me onto the scenic route. I start wondering what my limits really are. Have I bitten off more than I can chew? Or is there a little more left in the tank? 

You never really know until you push them. 

The wind quietens the thoughts playing on repeat in my head. Swaying trees slow my breathing. Trickling water releases tension I didn’t even realise I was holding in my jaw. The chaotic hustle of my mind – like a shopping mall at Christmas time – softens into quiet. 

Peace. 

Kirsty on the Great Glen Way

Space to notice the tiny details: the pitter-patter of rain on my hood, the smell of damp soil, the give of spongy moss beneath my feet, the steady rhythm of my breath as I tick off another mile. 

Without you, my mind is loud – thrumming and restless like the London Underground at rush hour. But with my walking boots on and my coat zipped up to my chin, I step outside, and it’s as if someone presses mute. 

Ahhh. That’s better. 

No painkillers. No calming medication. No essential oils. Just the great outdoors… and the walk ahead. 

You do so much without doing anything at all. In your own time, in your own way. Through the darkest storms and driest summers, you return steady, unrushed and still as beautiful as ever.  

I think there’s a lesson for us all in there somewhere.