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Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ, USA

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Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ, USA

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Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ, USA

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We acknowledge that Arizona State University’s four campuses are located in the Salt River Valley on ancestral territories of indigenous peoples, including the Akimel O’odham (Pima) and Pee Posh (Maricopa) Indian Communities, whose care and keeping of these lands allows us to be here today.

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Instructions for "Our Connection to Mother Earth" Padlet

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Stanford University, Serra Mall, Stanford, CA, USA

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Stanford University, Serra Mall, Stanford, CA, USA

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Stanford University, Serra Mall, Stanford, CA, USA

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Understanding Psi Ability and connection with remote learning:
"Psi is an inherent ability that enables us to describe and experience non-inferential objects and events in the distance and in the future. While some may not have this inherent ability, others may have it at varying degrees of proficiency––from a once- in-a-lifetime experience to giftedness that enables psi on demand".

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Arashiyama, 嵐山元録山町 Ukyo Ward, Kyoto, Japan

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Shinrin-yoku, or "forest bathing"' is a traditional Japanese practice  of walking in a forest, breathing in the air, and watching the trees. This practice has been shown to decrease stress levels, and during my time in Japan, I definitely felt these effects of the forests. For me, I'd like to bring this practice into my daily life. If you would like to find out more I recommend checking out these resources:
Effects of forest bathing (shinrin-yoku) on levels of cortisol as a stress biomarker: a systematic review and meta-analysis https://doi.org/10.1007/s00484-019-01717-x
https://time.com/5259602/japanese-forest-bathing/

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Poem by Chief Dan George
Painting by Sarah Bathe

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Living in the desert for my whole life has made me so grateful for rain, and the ways the earth provides a gentle reminder to listen.  This song, especially with headphones on, gives me the feeling like I am in a gentle rainstorm, listening to the world,. My mother has always taught me to dance in the rain, and thank the universe for these little moments.

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Attached is a gratitude journal entry I wrote for mother earth. When I was in Hamakuya, South Africa, I made a dedication to myself to be authentic and self compassionate. I thank these lands for allowing me to begin this journey of self love.

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Brené Brown's research and writing speaks to me in a way  that has helped me grow and live a life with courage and curiosity. This is one of my favorite pieces by her and she is from Texas where I lived for a few years.

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In my late thirties, my intuition had tried to warn me about the possibility of a midlife struggle. I experienced internal rumblings about the meaning and purpose of my life. I was incredibly busy proving myself in all of my different roles (mother, professor, researcher, writer, friend, sister, daughter, wife), so much so that it was difficult for any emotion other than fear to grab my attention. However, I do remember flashes of wondering if I'd always be too afraid to let myself be truly seen and known.

But intuition is a heart thing, and until recently I had steamrolled over most of my heart's caution signs with intellectualizing. In my head, I had always responded to the idea of "midlife angst" by scoffing and coming up with some politically and therapeutically correct way of saying that midlife whining is pathetic. The entire concept of the midlife crisis is bullshit. If you're struggling at midlife it's because you haven't suffered or sacrificed enough. Quit pissing and moaning, work harder, and suck it up.

As it turns out, I was right about one thing - to call what happens at midlife "a crisis" is bullshit. A crisis is an intense, short-lived, acute, easily identifiable, and defining event that can be controlled and managed.

Midlife is not a crisis. Midlife is an unraveling.

By definition, you can't control or manage an unraveling. You can't cure the midlife unraveling with control any more than the acquisitions, accomplishments, and alpha-parenting of our thirties cured our deep longing for permission to slow down and be imperfect.

Midlife is when the universe gently places her hands upon your shoulders, pulls you close, and whispers in your ear:
I'm not screwing around. All of this pretending and performing - these coping mechanisms that you've developed to protect yourself from feeling inadequate and getting hurt - has to go. Your armor is preventing you from growing into your gifts. I understand that you needed these protections when you were small. I understand that you believed your armor could help you secure all of the things you needed to feel worthy and lovable, but you're still searching and you're more lost than ever. Time is growing short. There are unexplored adventures ahead of you. You can't live the rest of your life worried about what other people think. You were born worthy of love and belonging. Courage and daring are coursing through your veins. You were made to live and love with your whole heart. It's time to show up and be seen.
If you look at each midlife "event" as a random, stand-alone struggle, you might be lured into believing you're only up against a small constellation of "crises." The truth is that the midlife unraveling is a series of painful nudges strung together by low-grade anxiety and depression, quiet desperation, and an insidious loss of control. By low-grade, quiet, and insidious, I mean it's enough to make you crazy, but seldom enough for people on the outside to validate the struggle or offer you help and respite. It's the dangerous kind of suffering - the kind that allows you to pretend that everything is OK.

We go to work and unload the dishwasher and love our families and get our hair cut. Everything looks pretty normal on the outside. But on the inside we're barely holding it together. We want to reach out, but judgment (the currency of the midlife realm) holds us back. It's a terrible case of cognitive dissonance - the psychologically painful process of trying to hold two competing truths in a mind that was engineered to constantly reduce conflict and minimize dissension (e.g., I'm falling apart and need to slow down and ask for help. Only needy, flaky, unstable people fall apart and ask for help).

It's human nature and brain biology to do whatever it takes to resolve cognitive dissonance - lie, cheat, rationalize, justify, ignore. For most of us, this is where our expertise in managing perception bites us on the ass. We are torn between desperately wanting everyone to see our struggle so that we can stop pretending, and desperately doing whatever it takes to make sure no one ever sees anything except what we've edited and approved for posting.

What bubbles up from this internal turmoil is fantasy. We might glance over at a cheap motel while we're driving down the highway and think, I'll just check in and stay there until they come looking for me. Then they'll know I'm losing my mind. Or maybe we're standing in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher when we suddenly find ourselves holding up a glass and wondering, "Would my family take this struggle more seriously if I just started hurling all this shit through the window?"

Most of us opt out of these choices. We'd have to arrange to let the dog out and have the kids picked up before we checked into the lonely roadside motel. We'd spend hours cleaning up glass and apologizing for our "bad choices" to our temper tantrum-prone toddlers. It just wouldn't be worth it, so most of us just push through until "losing it" is no longer a voluntary fantasy.

Many scholars have proposed that the struggle at midlife is about the fear that comes with our first true glimpse of mortality. Again, wishful thinking. Midlife is not about the fear of death. Midlife is death. Tearing down the walls that we spent our entire life building is death. Like it or not, at some point during midlife, you're going down, and after that there are only two choices: staying down or enduring rebirth.

It's a painful irony that the very things that may have kept us safe growing up ultimately get in the way of our becoming the parents, partners, and/or people that we want to be.

Maybe, like me, you are the perfect pleaser and performer, and now all of that perfection and rule following is suffocating. Or maybe you work hard to keep people at a safe distance and now the distance has turned into intolerable loneliness. There are also the folks who grew up taking care of everyone else because they had no choice. Their death is having to let go of the caretaking, and their rebirth is learning how to take care of themselves (and work through the pushback that always comes with setting new boundaries).

Whatever the issue, it seems as if we spend the first half of our lives shutting down feelings to stop the hurt, and the second half trying to open everything back up to heal the hurt.

Sometimes when the "tear the walls down and submit to death" thing overwhelms me, I find it easier to think about midlife as midlove. After two decades of research on shame, authenticity, and belonging, I'm convinced that loving ourselves is the most difficult and courageous thing we'll ever do. Maybe we've been given a finite amount of time to find that self-love, and midlife is the halfway mark. It's time to let go of the shame and fear and embrace love. Time to fish or cut bait.

...it seems as if we spend the first half of our lives shutting down feelings to stop the hurt, and the second half trying to open everything back up to heal the hurt.

I don't think midlife/midlove is on a schedule. I was forty-one when it hit, but I have friends and I've interviewed people who found themselves smack dab in the middle of the unraveling as early as their mid-thirties and as late as their fifties. The only firm timing for midlife/midlove is that it ends only when we physically die. This is not something you can treat then dismiss. The search for self-love and acceptance is like most of the new ailments that hit at midlife - it's a chronic condition. It may start in midlife, but we have to deal with it for the rest of our lives.

And, just in case you think you can blow off the universe the way you did when you were in your twenties and she whispered, "Pay attention," or when you were in your early thirties and she whispered, "Slow down," I assure you that she's much more dogged in midlife. When I tried to ignore her, she made herself very clear: "There are consequences for squandering your gifts. There are penalties for leaving big pieces of your life unlived. You're halfway to dead. Get a move on."

Once the shock of the universe's visits wears off - and you get over thinking, Oh my God! I'd prefer a crisis! - there are several ways to respond:

I hear tell that there are actually people who pull the universe closer, embrace her wisdom, thank her for the opportunity to grow, and calmly walk into the unraveling. I try to spend limited time with these people, so I can't tell you much about how this works.

Another option is to deny that any of this ever happened. Of course, denial is not so easy at this level - it is the universe that we're talking about here. Pretending that midlife is not happening requires active denial, like putting your fingers in your ears and singing la-la-la-la-la. As sweet and childlike as that may sound, these folks are normally not so sweet and childlike.

After the ear-plugging and humming, the only way to maintain your denial of the midlife unraveling is to become even more perfect, more certain, and more judgmental. For these folks, allowing just one ounce of uncertainty or doubt or questioning to bubble up could cause rapid, involuntary unraveling. They can't be wrong - their lives could spin out of control. They march through life, teeth and butt cheeks clenched, without flinching and, often, without feeling.

There's also the numbing option. If there's one thing that we've mastered by midlife, it's how to take the edge off of feeling pain and discomfort. We are so good at numbing - eating, drinking, spending, planning, playing online, perfecting, staying really, really busy. If every midlifer who "only drinks a good glass of wine with dinner" stopped drinking, there wouldn't be a vineyard left in business. Unfortunately, what makes midlife different from the other stages that we've managed to survive, is that the symptoms don't improve over time. Choosing to numb the midlife unraveling is choosing to numb for the rest of your life.

Last, there's the "no holds barred" resistance response. I liken it to existential cage fighting. You and the universe go into the ring and only one person comes out. This, of course, was my option.

When the universe came to me, I listened. And when she was done whispering, I pulled back, looked into her eyes, and spit in her face.

How dare she ask anything of me! I had worked and sacrificed and paid enough. I had spent my life saying "yes" when I wanted to scream, "Hell no! Do it yourself!" I had met every deadline, expectation, and request possible. I had earned every bit of my armor and I was enraged by the idea of giving it up.

I expected her to walk away like the dejected mother of an angry teenager, but she simply stood in front of me, wiping the spit off of her cheek.

We stared at each other for a minute, then I said, "I'm not afraid of you. I know what you're asking and the answer is no. I've spent my entire life building these walls and digging these moats - do you really think a little whisper is going to intimidate me? Do I strike you as the unraveling type?"

I'm not ornery or rebellious by nature; it's just that I spent thirty years trying to outrun and outsmart vulnerability and uncertainty. The fact that the almighty universe had descended and asked me to turn myself over to her custody didn't mean a damn thing to me. I'm not the surrendering type.

She was quiet.

I didn't back down. I was my own little emotional militia. I put on my most serious game face and said, "I know what you're trying to do and it's not going to work. I'm prepared. I've spent a decade researching and writing on shame and vulnerability and all of the hard shit that you throw around to scare people. I'm ready."

She looked back at me with loving eyes, then said, "I'm sorry it has to be this way, but clearly this is how you want to do it. You leave me no choice."

Her calmness was unsettling. I was afraid. She wasn't backing down. So in this moment of sheer terror, I did the only thing I knew how to do when confronted with fear - I bullied her. I gave her a small shove and said, "Then bring it!"

Her loving eyes didn't change one bit. She just looked at me and said, "I will."

I put up the fight of my life, but I was totally outmatched. The universe knew exactly how to use vulnerability and uncertainty to bring down this perfectionistic shame researcher: a huge, unexpected wallop of professional failure, one devastating and public humiliation after the next, a showdown with God, strained connections with my family, anxiety so severe that I started having dizzy spells, depression, fear, and the thing that pissed me off the most - grace. No matter how hard or far I fell, grace was there to pick me up, dust me off, and shove me back in for some more.

It was an ugly street fight and, even though I got my ass kicked, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. There was a significant amount of pain and loss, but something amazing happened along the way - I discovered me. The real me. The messy, imperfect, brave, scared, creative, loving, compassionate, wholehearted me.

Maya Angelou writes, "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." I've always honored the power of story. In fact, I believe so strongly in their power that I've dedicated my career to excavating untold stories and bringing them up to the light. In some miraculous way, I feel as if this midlife unraveling has taught me - in my head and my heart - how to be brave. I'm still not good at surrendering or "living in the question," but I am getting better. I guess you could say I've graduated to "writhing in the question." Not exactly Zen, but it is progress.

As far as my relationship with the universe . . . well, we've actually become very good friends. I even came to love and trust her when, in a quiet moment, I looked deeply into her eyes and realized that she, the universe, was me.

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In my late thirties, my intuition had tried to warn me about the possibility of a midlife struggle. I experienced internal rumblings about the meaning and purpose of my life. I was incredibly busy proving myself in all of my different roles (mother, professor, researcher, writer, friend, sister, daughter, wife), so much so that it was difficult for any emotion other than fear to grab my attention.

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Hi, I am Angela! I am one of the contributors to this project. I am currently pursuing a Ph.D. in sustainability at Arizona State University with plans on becoming an educator that will bridge the gap between academia and the applied.
I am also the Executive Director of GreenMichigan.org. This is a fun photo of me recording one of our sustainability radio segments on WYCE.
This will always be home. The place where I have grown. The lake is my mother, it grounds me and will always be my most cherished place.

I am a descendant of the the Little and Grand River Band of Ottawa (Odawa) Indians. West Michigan is also home to the Peoria, Ojibwa, and Potawatomi tribes.

I acknowledge and pay respect to Indigenous elders--past, present, and future – whose care and keeping of this land allow me to call this beautiful place home.

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Hi y'all! My name is Sarah Bathe and I am a contributor to this project. I am currently pursuing my Masters of Science in Global Sustainability Science at ASU. I am a settler American, born in and raised near St. Louis, Missouri.
The land that I call home, is situated on the ancestral homelands of  Kiikaapoi (Kickapoo), Kaskaskia,

𐓏𐒰𐓓𐒰𐓓𐒷 𐒼𐓂𐓊𐒻 𐓆𐒻𐒿𐒷 𐓀𐒰^𐓓𐒰^

Osage, Myaamia, O-ga-xpa Ma-zho (O-ga-xpa), and the

Očhéthi Šakówiŋ peoples. I acknowledge and pay respect to Indigenous elders--past, present, and future – whose care and keeping of this land allow us to be here today.

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Hi!!! My name is Ashley Cole and I am a settler American raised in San Marcos, CA, which is situated on the ancestral homelands of the
Kumeyaay and Payómkawichum (Luiseño) peoples. I would like to acknowledge and pay respect to the Indigenous leaders who lived on and took care of this land so that we could continue to live on it today. I hope to support the past, present, and futures of the bands that live here through advocating and learning. I am a senior studying sustainability with a minor in dance at Arizona State! I am really interested in community building and connecting with others, which can often be a way to connect back with the earth! I really like finding new music to listen to and keeping a little variety in my life. I also love taking care of houseplants and I hope to get into outdoor gardening soon as well! Many hugs and much love for everyone here! I hope this can be a tool for others to begin thinking about their connections in the world and how valuable those connections are.

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Hi Friends! My name is Kylie and am one of the co-contributors to this padlet! I am American Settler born in Steubenville OH. The land that I call home, is situated on the ancestral homelands of the Kaskaskia
𐓏𐒰𐓓𐒰𐓓𐒷 𐒼𐓂𐓊𐒻 𐓆𐒻𐒿𐒷 𐓀𐒰^𐓓𐒰^(Osage)
Shawandasse Tula (Shawanwaki/Shawnee) people. I would like to acknowledge and pay respect to them and the Indigenous elders--past, present, and future – whose care for this land.
I currently a Senior at Arizona State University studying Sustainability and minoring in Anthropology! I am going to be graduating this upcoming May and beginning a career at ChargePoint soon after graduation. I became interested in this class and our project topic through this idea of connection with both physical space and emotions. I think it's as important as ever to feel grounded to our sense of self, as well as the environment we find ourselves in. I hope this project presents itself as an opportunity to feel like we are all holding hands with one another and being able to connect in time when we need it most.

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Hello! My name is Andie Wilkerson and I am a co-creator of this padlet. I am a senior at ASU, soon to be graduating, with a degree in Sustainability and a minor in geological sciences. I love hiking, watercolor, and exploring the wonderful world we live in. Sustainability to me is so much about connection and empathy and my hope is through this map we are able to not only connect to the earth, but also to one another as we go on this journey of life.

I am a settler American, born in Cottonwood, AZ and raised in Scottsdale, AZ. The land that I call home, is the ancestral homelands of  O’odham Jeweḍ, Yavapai Apache, Hopitutskwa, Hohokam, and Akimel O’odham peoples. I acknowledge and pay respect to Indigenous elders--past, present, and future – whose care and keeping of this land allow us to be here today.

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Oceanside Pier, The Strand North, Oceanside, CA, USA

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Oceanside Pier, The Strand North, Oceanside, CA, USA

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Oceanside Pier, The Strand North, Oceanside, CA, USA

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I love where I live so much and I will forever cherish that land, makes me want to work harder to take care of it and to connect more with it. Emotions of gratefulness and protectiveness for the land came up for me. I also feel like I want to share those experiences with others and also gain experiences from others about other lands too. I feel gratefulness in my heart and love even deeper. My desire for connection is a longing feeling that stretches my heart out in front of me. I want to service those feelings by talking to others and connecting with them through conversations and being open to sharing deep. Maybe I can be an encouragement for others to reconnect with the earth and all of its parts, and maybe also I can be a person that others can fulfill their own desire for connection. I want to share with people my plants and planty knowledge. I also want to share the food I cook and the ingredients I buy or grow. I want to share a big, open heart and big, open ears. I also want to open spaces for people to feel loved and cared for, always.

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I am grateful for the earth and the deep healing it provides. I know that the earth offers everything we need in our lives and it facilitates every single thing that we do. When we are lost and separate from nature, we can find our way back through reconnecting with the world around us. The sounds of the wind and of the water, and the feeling of the air and of the sun is healing in the purest and most memorable way possible. Here is a video I took at a small creek behind an airbnb I stayed at near Sequoia National Park. I feel generally separated from nature in my behaviors so walking and enjoying the view and sound here made me feel so grateful for my life that I could experience perfection like this.

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This is my hometown and after leaving and living in another place for four years, I recognize how much I miss it every day. When I come back to visit, I notice tiny things, like the smell of the air, the look of the sky, the color of the hills, the fact that there are hills! I recognize the streets and I know how to get around like nowhere else in the world. This place teaches me and reminds me about where I come from and what/who I cherish in this life. I yearn for the feeling of belonging in a community and this is the only place on earth that I feel that that is possible. I love my home!!! Picture was taken from my backyard; can you see the faint double rainbow?

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At my lowest points, I want to be hugged by the surroundings of the place where I feel at my highest.

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As I sit, stand, wait with heaviness of drowning filled with gasps The water is pooling around swarming from my stomach and then on to my chest I am sitting, standing, waiting as the heaviness begins to drowns the ga-2

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To the place where I have grown the most, thank you for letting me find myself. I resonate with this poem by Rupi Kaur by its ability to help me understand the power within myself. The strength I have to delve into my being and understand my own ability, strength, courage I can set fourth in life. That by being whole within myself I can be whole with others and the connections it forms in life. The personal, the spiritual and the grounding of them all. To be whole with yourself is the ability to hold on to yourself and that beauty you are.

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The place where I have felt most alive

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Here is a quote for Oren Lyon that I love and a gratitude journal entry I wrote while out in California last summer. Journaling has been a strong tool for me and has allowed me to explore my feelings and recognize the things I am grateful for both within myself and outside of myself.

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Since reading about mourning, I have found myself going back to this quote time after time. With so much going on in the world I sometimes find myself numb to losses we are experiencing, I block them out because I am worried they will be too much for me to handle. However, I have been on a journey of recognizing and accepting all emotions, whether they are traditionally thought of as "good" or "bad." Taking the time to mourn what is lost to us has allowed me to regenerate my spirit and bring a deeper connection to the parts of the world we still have. There is a time and place for everything, and I am learning to remember even grief needs its time.

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The beauty of driving through the trees and having that feeling of letting go and being part of life itself. Please enjoy this song that played during my road trip to Sequoia National Park.

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A home like no other. Forming a sense of place through the childhood memories of growing up across the world. Delving into a culture unlike my own, never batting an eye at it then but being forever grateful for it now. Being connected to the place it creates with the busy street life, the beautiful language of the people, the delicious smell of food and breathtaking views of the city and mountains that go beyond. Thank you for teaching me about family, place and people.

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The lake wakes up with you. In the early morning, the water is glassy and smooth the world is slowly awakening but still quiet. As the day begins the water begins to ripple, responding to the interactions it has with all other living beings. It is here, in the water, I feel renewed. Water breathes life into me, and specifically, this lake feels like home. Being here brings not only a connection to the planet and the ecosystems I am a part of, but also to my fellow humans. A day on the lake is a day of bonding with one another. Together we laugh and play and talk without feeling the pressures of our everyday lives. Lake Coeur d'Alene reminds me to take each day as it is, and embrace the little pleasures in life. No matter how things turn out, there is value in going through the motions.