Midlife Growth Rings
I’ve always been a nerd, so when I enrolled in The Forest Therapy School as my 50 birthday approached, it felt like the kind of midlife crisis I was destined to have. Driven by the awareness that I no longer have endless years to fulfill my childhood dream of earning at least some of my living through a connection with the rest of nature. I committed to going “all in” with FTS.
I welcomed the assignment to journal, since that is a lifelong passion and part of my professional identity. However, I wanted to go beyond words in FTS. So, in addition to writing in my journal, I decided to engage in a mindful photography practice with the land near my home in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Mindful photography involves being present, slowing down to observe one’s surroundings, and intentionally composing a photo. It’s not about technical perfection; it’s about connecting with one’s subject. And what better way to deepen my forest therapy guide training than by encouraging myself to connect more deeply with the nature around me?
April through July are months of rapid change in my region. On a hunch, I decided to see what I would discover over the course of FTS if I took a photo of the same subject at least once a week. The subject of my photo series? My favorite fallen tree. She sits on the edge of a steep cliffside that stretches down to the creek below my mountainside neighborhood. I wondered what I would learn from intentionally revisiting her and recording my observations with images and words.
The photos capture dramatic seasonal changes. The earliest spring buds on both sides of the valley have transformed into the lush leaves of summer, hiding the view beyond them. The sky, the plants, the scenery are perpetually transforming and shifting. That frenetic pace feels vastly different from my steady everyday midlife routines.
However, when I reflect on my photos and their corresponding journal entries, what stands out is how much I’ve changed over these months, too.
At first, I approached my mindful photography practice as a self-imposed assignment. Grab my phone, walk out to the tree, take a photo, come back home and check it off my to do list. It was just a pleasant activity and a fun project.
But spring? Spring captivated me with her magic. How could there be a visible difference in what I was seeing day to day, sometimes even from morning to evening? And how could changing clouds bring out such different colors and shadows, moment to moment?
In no time, I was hooked: heart and spirit. Instead of just being cognitively interested in the scene, I was in a relationship with this little piece of land. I looked forward to visiting her, sometimes several times a day. I felt myself opening to whatever I might find, without expectations or demands of the land or myself.
I see now that honoring my commitments to FTS has begun to shift my ordinary impatience with myself, my preoccupation with accomplishment and outcomes, my tendency to chase shiny objects. I’m no mindfulness guru, but I’m learning to accept that the pacing of my growth will unfold in its own seasons and cycles. My timing is just fine.
Best of all, I’m experiencing a new kind of reciprocity and dialogue with the land, one in which I feel the relationship as a two-way connection. The land has long been waiting for me to just slow down, be present, and open up to a deeper relationship.
My intuition was right: I needed to come back, over and over again, to the same places: this fallen tree. My sit spot. The land. Only then could I learn these important relational lessons. It’s shifted how I see myself, how I want to guide others, and how I can envision a different future for all of nature.
Nerdiest midlife crisis ever, and I couldn’t be more excited!
This Growth Rings reflection is written by Lori Cangilla, April 2025 Cohort. Near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.