On Nature

How do we define progress?

Some of the deepest realizations are the ones that are right in front of us but we never see them. I recently spent a few days in nature, and it was an incredibly grounding experience. My thoughts were clearer, my sleep regulated itself, and I was simply a happier human.

For as long as I can remember, progress has been my default operating system. If there’s nothing to improve, optimize, or build, something feels missing. To many people that probably sounds exhausting. To me, it’s always been deeply fulfilling.

That time away in nature couldn’t have been more different.

Between the mountains, the fresh air, and the wildlife exists a quiet, confident realization: there is progress in the stillness of nature.

With each sunrise and sunset, from the very same place, I could see change unfolding. Not dramatic change. Quiet change. And somehow, by observing it, I could feel something changing within me too.

Perhaps that’s why the story of Newton sitting beneath an apple tree inspired his theory of gravity has endured for centuries. The breakthrough wasn’t born from frantic activity, but from quiet observation. I’ve had my own “aha” shower thoughts, I wonder what they would have looked like if I spent more time outside.

Some people call this slow living. I think it’s something different.

Until recently, I had only ever associated progress with action. Progress meant shipping something. Building something. Solving something.

Nature introduced me to another kind of progress. Not through action. Through observation. Perhaps awareness is a better word.

For whatever reason, this idea was difficult for me to accept. It feels like I’ve unlocked a new skill that was hiding in plain sight. At the same time, there’s a sadness that comes with it, as though I’m mourning all the years I never knew this existed.

Since then I’ve found myself asking: Can we be quick without being in a hurry? If we spend our lives sprinting, are we allowing life itself to quietly pass us by?

There’s an internal tension I’ve been wrestling with. On one side is the thrill of building, a feeling I’ve happily chased for more than a decade. On the other is the quiet strength that comes from simply paying attention.

I’ve started observing more. I arrive sooner. I get out of my car a little slower. I leave my phone on silent a little longer. I mute Slack more often.

None of these have made me less productive. If anything, they’ve made me more present and more confident when I move.

I didn’t think progress could exist without action, that stillness was wasted time. That changed after spending a few days in nature.

Maybe this piece isn’t really about nature. Maybe it’s about redefining what progress means. I’ve spent most of my life learning how to move faster. Perhaps the next lesson is learning how to observe better.

P.S. As expected, my brain still started thinking about businesses in this space. Some habits die hard. If you’re building here, I’d love to hear from you.