Rewilding in Small Ways: Finding Nature in Military Life

Written by Latosha Walker
Founder & CEO, Wondering.Waves | Military Spouse | Creator | Storyteller
Published: November 24, 2025

Day 19 of Our Mindfulness Series: Exploring how “rewilding” can be gentle, portable, and possible—even in the middle of military life.

What Does “Rewilding” Really Mean?

When I first heard the word rewilding, I pictured something dramatic.

I imagined people disappearing into the woods with nothing but a backpack and a knife, building shelters from branches, and learning how to live completely off the land. It sounded intense, a little intimidating, and honestly, not very realistic for my life as a military spouse who moves often and lives on or near base.

But the more I read and reflected, the more I realized that rewilding doesn’t have to mean abandoning modern life or moving into a cabin in the forest. At its heart, rewilding is about something much simpler: remembering that we belong to the natural world—and then choosing, in small ways, to reconnect with it.

The book excerpt that inspired this post talked about how modern life pulls us away from nature. So many of us live in cities or suburbs, surrounded by concrete, screens, and stuff. We spend our days indoors under artificial light, moving from one climate‑controlled space to another. Nature becomes something we “visit” on vacation, not something we live inside every day.

And yet, research keeps telling us what our bodies already know: being close to green spaces, fresh air, and natural light makes us feel better. We sleep better. We think more clearly. Our mood improves. We remember that we are not just minds and schedules—we are bodies and breath and senses.

As a military spouse, I’ve felt that tug away from nature in a very particular way. Orders dictate where we live. Housing options are limited. Sometimes the landscape is stunning; sometimes it’s…less so. But over time, I’ve learned that rewilding doesn’t require the “perfect” location. It just asks me to pay attention to the wildness that’s already there—no matter where the Navy sends us.

Today’s post is about that kind of rewilding: the small, portable, everyday kind that fits inside real life.

Rewilding in military life doesn’t have to be dramatic—it can be as simple as standing barefoot on a patch of grass at sunrise, holding a small token from nature, and remembering that we belong to this wild, beautiful world no matter where we are.

Learning to See the Wild in Ordinary Places

When we were stationed near the ocean, my connection to nature felt almost effortless.

The wildness was right there in front of me—the sound of waves crashing against the shore, the smell of salt in the air, the way the water shifted from deep blue to gray to green depending on the weather. I could stand on the sand and feel the wind push against my body, reminding me that I was tiny and alive and part of something much bigger.

On days when the schedule was heavy or deployment felt especially close, I’d walk to the water and just watch. The tide came in. The tide went out. Over and over again. No matter what was happening in our little corner of the world, the ocean kept its rhythm. That steadiness soothed something in me that I didn’t always have words for.

Later, when we moved inland, I worried that I’d lost that easy access to wildness. There was no ocean to run to, no waves to drown out my thoughts. Instead, we had a state park, some walking trails, and a lot of sky.

At first, it felt like a downgrade. But then I started paying attention.

On the trails, I noticed the way the dirt changed under my shoes after it rained—soft and springy instead of dry and dusty. I noticed how certain trees held onto their leaves longer than others, how the wind sounded different moving through pine needles versus bare branches. I started recognizing the calls of a few local birds, and I’d catch myself scanning the sky to see who was singing.

The wildness didn’t disappear when we left the coast. It just shifted from the dramatic to the detailed. Instead of crashing waves, I had spiderwebs catching the morning light. Instead of endless horizon lines, I had tiny wildflowers pushing up through cracks in the sidewalk.

Rewilding, I realized, wasn’t about where I lived. It was about how willing I was to look.

Sunrise as a Daily Rewilding Ritual

One of my favorite ways to reconnect with nature—no matter where we’re stationed—is to watch the sunrise.

There’s something sacred about that thin slice of time before the base fully wakes up. The air is cooler. The world is quieter. Even if I’m just standing on a small patch of grass outside our home, I feel like I’m witnessing something intimate and important.

On stressful days—PCS days, deployment days, or the kind of days where my brain wakes up already buzzing with a to‑do list—the sunrise feels like a reset button. I step outside, coffee in hand, and give myself permission to just…watch.

At first, everything is a deep, sleepy blue. Then the edges of the sky start to soften into pinks and purples. The clouds catch the light and shift from gray to gold. Shadows stretch and then slowly shrink as the sun climbs higher. Nothing about my schedule has changed in those few minutes, but I have.

The transition from darkness to light is such a simple, reliable metaphor for hope. No matter how long the night felt, the sun still rises. The earth still turns. The day still begins.

Sometimes I stand barefoot in the grass to feel the ground under my feet. Sometimes I just lean against the doorframe and breathe. Either way, that small act of paying attention pulls me out of my head and back into my body. It reminds me that I’m not just a brain juggling logistics—I’m a human being standing under a sky that has seen everything and still keeps showing up.

That, to me, is rewilding: choosing to greet the day with my senses instead of my phone.

Looking Up: Moonlight, Stars, and Perspective

If sunrise is my favorite way to start the day, then looking up at the night sky is my favorite way to end it.

You don’t need a perfect, dark‑sky location to feel the magic of the moon. Even on base, with porch lights and street lamps and the glow of nearby buildings, the moon still finds a way to make herself known.

Some nights she’s a thin crescent, delicate and sharp. Other nights she’s full and bright, washing everything in a soft, silvery light. I love stepping outside, tilting my head back, and just letting my eyes adjust. Sometimes I can make out a few constellations. Other times it’s just one or two brave stars peeking through the haze.

Either way, the effect is the same: my world gets bigger.

Whatever I’ve been worrying about—paperwork, timelines, the next move, the next unknown—suddenly feels both real and small. Not in a dismissive way, but in a grounding way. The sky has been doing this dance long before my current stress, and it will keep doing it long after. There’s comfort in that continuity.

On especially anxious nights, I like to pair this with a simple breathing practice. I’ll pick one star or the edge of the moon and breathe in for a slow count, then breathe out for a slow count, matching my breath to the steady presence above me. It’s a reminder that my body can be a safe place, even when my thoughts feel loud.

Rewilding, in this moment, is less about “escaping” and more about remembering that I’m part of a much larger story.

Tiny Tokens: Carrying Nature from Station to Station

Because military life is so transient, I’ve started to collect small, respectful tokens from the places we’ve lived—tiny pieces of the landscape that help me remember the wildness of each chapter.

From one station, it might be a smooth stone I found on a walk. From another, a small shell from the beach. From another, a pinecone or a dried leaf that managed to survive between the pages of a notebook. Nothing large, nothing that disrupts the environment—just a little something that feels like a whisper from that place.

At home, I keep these in a small dish or bowl. Over time, it’s become a kind of “portable altar” to the natural world—a physical reminder that no matter where we’ve gone, there has always been something alive and beautiful nearby.

On days when I feel uprooted or disconnected, I’ll run my fingers over those objects and remember:

• The sound of the waves where I found that shell

• The crunch of leaves underfoot where I picked up that acorn

• The sharp, clean smell of pine where I found that tiny cone

Each piece is a little anchor, tying me back to a moment when I felt present and connected. It’s a quiet form of rewilding that fits easily on a shelf.

Rewilding the Nervous System: Calm in the Chaos

One of the reasons I keep coming back to these small nature rituals is because they genuinely help my nervous system calm down.

Military life can be loud—emotionally, mentally, and physically. There are alarms, announcements, last‑minute changes, and a constant undercurrent of “what’s next?” It’s easy to live in a state of low‑grade alert all the time without even realizing it.

Nature doesn’t fix everything, but it does offer a different kind of rhythm.

When I step outside and focus on the wind against my skin, the sound of birds, or the way light filters through leaves, my body starts to shift out of that constant “on” mode. My shoulders drop. My jaw unclenches. My breath deepens. My thoughts slow down just enough for me to remember that I have a choice in how I respond to what’s happening.

Rewilding, in this sense, becomes a tool—not just a nice idea.

It’s the five‑minute walk I take before answering a hard email.
It’s the two minutes I spend watching the clouds before tackling a long to‑do list.
It’s the moment I stand at the window and just listen to the rain instead of pushing through another task.

These are small, almost invisible choices. But over time, they add up to a life that feels less like constant survival and more like intentional living.

Accessible Rewilding: Starting Where You Are

If you’re reading this and thinking, “That sounds nice, but I don’t live near anything pretty,” I hear you.

Not every duty station comes with sweeping views or easy access to state parks. Some seasons of life don’t leave much room for long hikes or elaborate outdoor routines. That’s okay. Rewilding doesn’t have to be dramatic to be real.

Here are a few gentle ways to start, right where you are:

• Window Watching:
  Pick one thing you can see from a window—a tree, a patch of sky, a bit of grass, even the way light hits a building. Spend five minutes just noticing how it changes. Is the light warm or cool? Is anything moving? What colors do you see?

• Sound Walks:
  Step outside (even if it’s just onto a balcony or front step) and close your eyes for a moment. Pay attention only to sound. Birds? Wind? Distant traffic? Footsteps? Let your mind catalog them without judging or labeling them as “good” or “bad.”

• Sky Check‑Ins:
  Make it a habit to glance at the sky at the same time each day—morning, afternoon, or night. Notice the clouds, the color, the brightness. Over time, you’ll start to recognize patterns, and that simple act of looking up becomes its own ritual.

• One Small Object:
  The next time you’re on a walk, see if anything small and natural catches your eye—a leaf, a stone, a fallen flower. If it’s allowed and respectful to take it, bring it home and place it somewhere you’ll see it. Let it be a reminder to pause.

None of these require special gear, extra time, or a perfect location. They just ask for your attention.

Reflection: A Gentle Invitation to Rewild Your Day

Rewilding doesn’t have to be about escaping your life. For many of us—especially in the military community—it’s about learning how to weave the natural world back into the life we already have.

It’s noticing the way the sunrise paints your base housing in soft gold.
It’s listening to the wind rush past the flag at morning colors.
It’s feeling the ground under your feet, even if that ground is a small patch of grass between sidewalks.

So I’d love to leave you with a few gentle questions:

• Where is nature already showing up in your daily routine, even if you haven’t been noticing it?

• Is there one small ritual—sunrise, moon‑gazing, a five‑minute walk—you could experiment with this week?

• What tiny token from your current duty station might you want to carry with you into the next chapter?

You don’t have to overhaul your life to begin rewilding. You just have to start looking for the wildness that’s already there, waiting quietly at the edges of your day.

And as you do, I hope you feel a little more grounded, a little more connected, and a little more at home in this big, beautiful, unpredictable world we’re all moving through together.

With Gratitude and Wonder,
Latosha