The Forest, the River, and the Blank Page

When I was at my lowest, when I felt the most isolated, both geographically and emotionally, I didn’t seek out a grand, complicated solution. I drove to the nearest forest and sat in nature. I drove to the nearest river and sat on the shore. I went to my local cafe, sat there reading a book, and I started writing about my life.

For most of my 58 years, my focus has been pointed outward. Through a career of writing, spanning 17 books, scientific research papers and 18 columns for Australian Geographic, and building an archive of over 100,000 wildlife photographs, I have spent my life documenting the intricacies of the Australian bush. But when the compounded weight of burnout and depression hit, heavy layers added to a lifetime of navigating chronic respiratory disease and anxiety, the outward lens was no longer enough. I had to turn it inward. Writing about my life wasn’t an act of ego; it was an act of survival.

Those quiet moments by the water and in the stillness of the trees became my lifelines. In Japanese philosophy, there is a concept called ichigo ichi-e, the practice of treasuring the unrepeatable nature of a single, fleeting moment. Alongside it sits mujo, the gentle reminder of impermanence, that neither the brightest days nor the darkest exhaustion will last forever. When the depression or the exhaustion felt too heavy, anchoring myself to the rustle of a single branch or the steady flow of the current was the only way to keep the darkness at bay. It wasn’t a clinical cure. It was just a way to survive the day.

If you scroll down through this site, you will find many older dispatches in the archive (imported from my various blogs). They represent the long, winding path I have walked to get here. But this post, and the opening of The Imperfect Naturalist, is the true beginning of a new chapter.

I am not here to offer perfect, polished answers. I am not a guru who has conquered burnout or mastered physical health. I am simply a fellow traveller making my lived experience available to you.

This publication is our shared digital cafe table, our quiet spot on the riverbank. It is a place to share the honest, messy realities of our minds and bodies, alongside the profound healing found in wildlife, mindfulness and the quiet acceptance of imperfection.

If you are carrying your own heavy load, you do not have to carry it alone. Pull up a chair, and let’s just sit here for a while.