A Lesson in Three Trips
Experiencing the Joy of Community and Connection in the Forest
“When we travel, we actually take three trips. There’s the first trip of preparation and anticipation, packing and daydreaming. There’s the trip you’re actually on. And then, there’s the trip you remember.” (page 303)
I read these sentences in Suleika Jaouad’s memoir, Between Two Kingdoms and related immediately to the sentiment. While I associate it with geographic travel, during this reading, my mind went more immediately to a different form of travel - - “traveling” through the woods as a guide for forest therapy. When guiding, I take three trips as well.
Regarding the first trip of preparation and anticipation, I consider: Where will we walk? Will there be a specific theme? I physically walk through the forest and discern how the land is calling to me. There may be a particular spot that feels good for a nature invitation, and there may be a portion of the walk where I feel we should stop and regroup with a poem or quotation.
I anticipate the needs of participants, both known and unknown, and I visualize how individuals will respond to my energy, to the nature surrounding us. I will likely visit the location on at least two separate occasions - first walking the site to explore its offerings, then spending time away from the site in contemplation and preparation. I will then return the day of the guided forest therapy event to participate in a solitary pre-walk.
Secondly, there is the trip I am actually on - - the moment when I greet participants, receiving them warmly and doing my best to shake off my own fear of incompetence or failure. As we start to move through the forest, I am keenly aware of how the group forms and norms, their engagement with specific invitations, whether an individual chooses to walk beside me, seeking companionship, or staying farther away from the group, wanting solitude. I am also being intentional to seek joy and richness in the presence of the forest, delighting in my senses, while also being present as a guide for others.
Finally, there is the trip I remember. It is the experience that remains in my core, the people that I carry with me through my next walk on that trail - alone, with my family, or as a forest therapy guide. It is the comments shared during that unique engagement and the connections made. It is the knowing and confidence I recall. Through my senses, I remember each trip through the forest. The feel of humidity on my face. The sound of a woodpecker high in a tree. Two trees growing so closely together that they appear in a warm embrace.
On my most recent community walk, I was guiding a group who came to me through Lancaster County Chooses Love. I had agreed to lead a no-cost forest bath in recognition that my own LGBTQIA+ community needed the experience of love and belonging in the safe space of a local forest. Before the walk, I could feel my heightened sense of awareness for perfection, wanting to perfect pronouns and also an authentic place of welcome for 10 people, coming together on a Saturday afternoon, most unknown to each other.
As the walk proceeded, I internally questioned their interest, my ability. I was challenged to stay present, doubt overshadowing the early peeks of spring. And then - - confirmation bias. We gathered as a group to reflect, but there was very little open sharing. Certainly, I must have made these folks feel uncomfortable. They are not connecting to the experience.
We walked down the trail, and the chatter amongst participants increased. While never required, the forest baths I lead previously were often more quiet and contemplative. With each footstep, the conversation became more energetic, and we were rivaling the chatter of the spring birds. I feared again - - this isn’t working - - and I wondered what I was doing wrong. We had one final invitation, then concluded with tea and conversation, as usual.
Over the next few days, I traveled through my memories of that forest bathing experience. The physical trip I had been on became more clear, and I recognized how I had deceived myself. I looked at photographic memories. I visualized that walk. It was not a walk of quiet contemplation, and there were no large-scale revelations in a group circle.
Instead, most beautifully, there were community connections. There was a father sitting on a tree stump, talking to his two teenagers. There was a participant who, every time I think of her, I grin unforced. She darted off the trail to inspect anything that piqued her attention. In the forest, she had shared the freedom she was feeling reclaiming her identity after an abusive relationship and an addiction. There were two moms who, coincidentally, had children enrolled in the same preschool. There were nurses returning to jobs after absences, and a federal employee who did not know if their job would exist the next week. There was another forest therapy guide curious to meet me.
We were all there in the woods together. A sanctuary. When I was on that trip, I doubted my impact. Yet, on the trip I remember, all I can see is connection, and my heart is full.