A man in the park

A man in the park 

He sits alone on the edge of the park, though “alone” feels too harsh a word. He is not idle. He is quietly, almost unconsciously, seeking something he cannot name—a balm for the rawness inside him, a refuge from a world that insists on measuring worth by things he no longer cares for.

The trees stand around him like old friends, their branches swaying gently, offering a kind of shelter he has not found in years. The birds do not mock him; the wind does not demand that he justify his presence. Here, in this quiet green, he can simply be.

He feels the soft rhythm of the world—the rustle of leaves, the slow drift of clouds, the distant splash of water—and it fills the hollow spaces inside him. Nature does not ask for performance. Nature does not ask for achievement. It only asks him to breathe, to notice, to feel the small, profound comfort of being held in something larger than himself.

In this park, he is both pilgrim and sanctuary-seeker. He is drawn to the mother he never fully knew, seeking the quiet, unconditional nurture that human hands sometimes fail to give. And yet, in these moments, he is reminded that he belongs—to this world, to its beauty, to the slow, forgiving pulse of life that keeps moving, even when he feels still.

Here, on a worn bench or beneath the shade of a quiet tree, he is not lonely. He is simply learning again how to be.

For a man on his journey of self-discovery,

nature is not merely a pleasant backdrop; it is an active, essential force for healing and transformation. Before any deep psychological work can begin, the nervous system, often frayed by chronic stress and anxiety, needs to be regulated. Nature is a powerful medicine for this with a direct and measurable effect on the body. It lowers the stress hormone cortisol, reduces blood pressure, slows the heart rate, and eases muscle tension. This physiological calming is the first step toward creating the internal space necessary for self-reflection. This is why I spent and still do so much time in the park. And why I ended up buying a property in Costa Rica. To nurture my soul.

Sacred act of healing

The man in the park is not just idle. He is engaged in a quiet, instinctual, and sacred act of healing. He is seeking refuge in the arms of the one mother who will never turn him away, allowing her silent, nurturing presence to soothe the wounds that the human world inflicted and that he does not yet have the words or tools to name. 

Just Be

Parks serve as crucial “third places”, neutral, accessible public space outside of home and work. For a man whose home life may be strained and who faces challenges at career, the park is a sanctuary where he can simply be without having to perform a role. A tree does not judge his lack of job. The birds do not sing about his failures. Nature simply holds space for him, offering a non-judgmental presence that is profoundly healing. 

Parks are pockets of nature that offer an escape from the overstimulation of urban stress, providing space for the nervous system to down-regulate. The lonely man in the park is self-medicating with the calming effects of a green environment.

The gentle rustling of the leaves, the movement of clouds, or the sound of water are inherently fascinating and capture our focus without effort, restoring the ability to concentrate and think clearly, and viewing nature scenes also softens our emotional defenses, connecting us to more compassionate feelings, both for others and ourselves.

The lonely man in the park is on an unconscious pilgrimage. 

Seeking the great mother as nature offers him the nurturing of being held, protected and valued that he may never have received from his human parents.  In a world where he feels he doesn’t fit in, nature reminds him that he is part of something bigger.