How grounding in nature reset my Derry, Ireland visit.

Happy Thanksgiving week! 

I’m thankful that you’re reading this newsletter. And as always, I am grateful to the natural world for all the guidance, support, and enlightenment in 2023. 

With a recent trip to Europe on my mind, I’ll share an experience that taught me gratitude — at the beginning of my Irish tour:

After a two-hour delay, the woman at the Belfast City Airport Avis/Budget counter did her best to rush me into my rental car. 

I found my Dacia Jogger in the lot and jumped in. With two solid hours of daylight left, I hoped to get to Derry before Europe’s largest Halloween festival began at dusk. 

My hotel was just within the ancient city’s ramparts. Like many historic enclaves, there was no place to stop in front of the hotel, and the police were busily ushering cars away from the event spaces. 

I pulled around the corner and temporarily parked to enter the lodging and learn about my vehicle’s options. The hotel’s parking was unavailable, so I had to drive to a nearby overflow lot. 

Feeling disoriented, I jumped back into my rental car and pulled forward to make a three-point turn on the one-way road. 

Finding the reverse with the manual gearshift didn’t feel quite right. Eventually, I felt confident (enough) that the Dacia Jogger was engaged to go backward, and it’s neutral roll indicated it was time to decide, so I hit the gas.

Crunchhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! 

As festival-goers streamed around me heading toward a giant blow-up goblin, my mini-SUV sat crunched into the corner of the car park. 

Panic set in. I still didn’t know how to reverse this car, and traffic accumulated behind me. A crowd began to gawk, perplexed by the American with Dublin plates driving into a wall. 

A puzzled man walked up to my window and I rolled it down and begged him to tell me how to put the car in reverse. He leaned through the passenger window to show me two secret buttons underneath the gearshift that engaged the reverse feature. He helped me ensure I was indeed in reverse this time, and I peeled out of this predicament in frustration.

A part of me hoped the crunching sound was more dramatic than the actual impact, but a quick assessment of the dented hood and bumper proved otherwise. (The rental car company later estimated the damage at $2,700.)

Once I was securely in my hotel room, a wave of emotion came over me. I felt embarrassed, ashamed, worried, guilty, fearful, and doubtful… I was experiencing shock. 

What felt like an eternity was likely just a few minutes of a fight or flight reaction. I could:

Fight: Reset the scene and throw on a jacket and find solid space outside… 

or

Flight: Take a cab to the nearest airport and fly home.

I chose to fight and set out to climb the 17th-century city wall. Dodging monsters, princesses, and vampires, I started walking toward a greenspace I noticed on the map across The Peace Bridge. 

It was dark when I reached the terraced lawns flowing down to the River Foyle. I located a bench and perched, looking at the lights of The Peace Bridge reflecting on the calm water. 

First, to reset, I focused on awareness of the land and what it meant to me — I was in the port city of Derry, on the border between Northern Ireland and the Republic (or “north and south” as they say it). Two of my great-grandparents had left from this site to start a new life in America. Other Irish ancestors were from territory only an hour’s drive away. 

Next, although my mind was racing with questions about the fine print of the rental contract and worries about getting back in the car to drive for the next week, I asked my allies in the natural world to help me reconnect with “my nature” and “reset.”

I worked on staying present to the gift of visiting Ireland. The Halloween festival was ramping up, and I chose to consider my surroundings. People-watching helped me — it was fascinating gazing at the costumes while taking in all the Northern Irish accents. 

When I slowed my mind down enough to let rational thoughts enter, I felt grateful that no one was injured in my fender bender. The incident was only with my vehicle. I had purchased some form of insurance. I was okay. 

After about an hour of sitting with nature, taking in the glow of the peaceful water, I felt ready to wander up the steps to see the Samhaim Spectacular. I felt supported to stay grounded and present — to get back up and embrace all the night’s experiences. 

Emboldened by two days in Derry, I steered my rust-colored Jogger away and drove for the next week, thankful every day to be on my ancestral Emerald Isle. I even became very skilled at using the secret buttons to go in reverse! 

This experience reminded me of the importance of finding regular grounding or “reset” while traveling. Even with the best intentions and plans, mistakes, misunderstandings, flight interruptions, and even disasters happen on the road (or in daily life, for that matter!). How we prepare for, and then react to them is up to us. 

While still being gentle with myself, I could reflect on missed opportunities that might have prevented my accident. For example, despite the rushed atmosphere, I could’ve enquired more about my rental car. 

I then asked myself, “What was I thinking attempting a complicated maneuver in the middle of a narrow street?” Well, I wasn’t. Amidst the frenetic energy of arriving in Ireland, I’d let myself get too distracted from being grounded.

Last spring, I wrote an article explaining why attention to deeper nature connections can transform any travel experience. I used those fundamentals to plan and enjoy this current adventure, and they played a crucial role in my imperative “reset,” as explained in this story. 

The natural world provides a robust environment to practice grounding in times of unicorns and faeries. But practice doesn’t mean perfection. Devils and zombies are inevitable, so developing instincts to work with the land to help “reset” any scenario is even more valuable.

Have you had a high-flying experience where your broomstick was too far off the ground? How did you get back down to Earth? 

With gratitude for you — and nature’s lessons — in this week of thanks,

Matthew