We’ve all had moments when shadows grow larger than life. A shape in the dark, a sudden rustle in the woods, a fleeting thought that spirals into something much bigger than it is. Fear can turn the ordinary into the ominous faster than we realize.

Earlier this summer, my partner and I were at Letchworth State Park in New York. The waterfalls there are nothing short of magnificent—roaring cascades framed by emerald cliffs and early morning mist. It’s the kind of place that humbles you, that reminds you of your size in the grand rhythm of things.  

On the day we were leaving, we hitched up the camper as usual and began to make our way through the circular campground road. As we passed a sleepy-eyed youngster walking along the lane, he stepped aside politely, lifted a hand, and waved. We waved back—because really, who doesn’t wave back at a kid?  

We paused a little farther down to adjust the mirrors, then started forward again. But as we approached the boy once more, something unexpected happened—he turned, looked right at us, and began to RUN!  

Eyes wide, arms pumping, he bolted down the road as though we were chasing him. Every few seconds, he would turn and look over his shoulder, eyes wide as saucers, checking to see if we were still following. 

We weren’t speeding. We weren’t close. We weren’t doing anything threatening. We don’t look scary in the least!

But in his mind, something terrifying was happening. 

We slowed to a crawl, unsure what to do. We hadn’t changed speed or direction, but something in his mind had. What he *thought* was happening was very different from what actually *was.*  

And isn’t that how fear often works? We react to a story we’ve told ourselves, not the truth in front of us.  

And there was nothing we could do but drive slowly, calmly forward, until we finally turned different directions.  

We still laugh gently about that moment—but it also made me think: how often do we, too, start running from something that only *seems* dangerous? How often do our own fears turn harmless shapes into imagined threats?  

Seeing Clearly: Nature’s Reality Check  

In daily life, we’re surrounded by noise—social media misinformation, deadlines, misunderstandings, assumptions. The mind fills in gaps with stories, and sometimes those stories become monsters.

Yet nature has a quiet way of cutting through illusion.  

When you step outside, your senses recalibrate. The smell of pine needles, the rhythm of waves, the rustle of leaves—each reminds you what’s real. There’s no judgment in a forest, no conspiracy in a sunrise. Just truth.  

In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.” – John Muir

 

Often what we receive is clarity—the realization that the bear (or RV) we thought was chasing us was only our imagination.

Fear Lives in the Mind, Not the Forest  

Nature offers endless metaphors for fear. A twig snaps and your body tenses. A shape moves in the trees and your heart races. But then the truth reveals itself—a bird taking flight, the wind shifting the leaves, a harmless shadow.  

“Nothing is so much to be feared as fear.” – Henry David Thoreau

It’s not the sound in the woods that traps us—it’s our own interpretation of it.  

When you’re out in nature, you start to notice this difference more clearly. The forest doesn’t lie. It doesn’t whisper stories of danger unless you project them there.

The Power of Presence  

Our modern lives are filled with false alarms—emails that seem urgent, headlines that raise panic, passing glances we take personally. Stepping into nature re-calibrates the nervous system.  

When you listen deeply—the real kind of listening that comes when you pause long enough to hear your own breathing—the imagined threats begin to fade. The mind softens. The body remembers safety.  

In that presence, you realize how often the “bear” chasing you isn’t real—it’s just a collection of assumptions and unexamined thoughts.  

Nature’s lesson is simple: reality is rarely as frightening as our imagination makes it.  

Listening Instead of Assuming  

Nature teaches us patience. The wind doesn’t hurry its song; the heron doesn’t rush its hunt. When we apply that same patience to human interactions, we discover how often our fears were misunderstandings.  

Maybe the co-workers at the water cooler weren’t talking about you. Maybe your boss’s scowl had nothing to do with your performance. Like the boy at the campground, we interpret through the lens of our own stories. Sometimes all it takes is a deep breath, a moment of grounding, and a willingness to ask—not assume.  

Reset in Nature

The next time your heart starts racing over what “might be,” step outside. Feel the earth beneath your feet. Look up at treetops, the stars – something larger than your thoughts.  

Ask yourself gently: *Is this a real bear, or just a shadow in my mind?*  

When we let nature help us see clearly, we stop running from imaginary threats—and start walking, calmly, toward truth and peace.

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Journal Prompts

1. Think of a time when fear or anxiety made you “run” before you had all the facts. What did you later learn was actually true?
   
2. When you spend time outdoors, what sensory details (sounds, textures, smells) help you feel grounded in what’s real?
   
3. What “imaginary bears” seem to chase you most often—self-doubt, judgment, uncertainty—and how might you face them with clarity rather than panic?