This time, I’ll dedicate less space to myself and my own journey.
I want to lead you, the reader, to reflect on a verb that seems increasingly at odds with today’s society: to slow down. We are like speeding trains divided between work, family, friends, and various commitments. If we still have some time left, we cultivate a hobby or passion. We stay on the tracks, maintaining total control. But how long can we keep going like this? Do we really have to reach our limit before to slow downand taking care of ourselves? There are countless ways to do it, but I stick to that central thread that runs through every story I tell.

If you read the first article you may remember that I used this expression:
"Human beings and nature are bound by an unbreakable thread. We all need contact with nature and this connection brings us psychological well-being; but it needs to be nurtured and encouraged".
Let’s try to express this innate connection more clearly.
The American biologist Edward O. Wilson talks about biophilia, a word derived from Greek
βίος (bíos) = life + φιλία (philía) = love, affinity.
It can be said that this term means love for life or love for other forms of life.
And nature is a living organism.

According to Wilson, we are genetically predisposed to love nature; it’s in our DNA. We gain physical and mental benefits from contact with it, and being away from it harms us.
Shinrin-yoku is a way to cultivate and satisfy our innate need for connection with nature, as described by the theory of biophilia. 

Shinrin-yoku (*) is an Eastern practice that originated in Japan. The term, coined in 1982, literally means “forest bathing.” To put it more clearly: it is immersing oneself in the forest atmosphere to improve mental and physical health — in particular reducing stress, improving mood and strengthening the immune system.
It is not a form of physical exercise or hiking, but rather about connecting with nature through a simple walk using all five senses.
Hearing: the silence. The absence of all those annoying daily noises. Letting space for the breeze that passes through branches and leaves, creating a soft rustle. The babble of a stream as it flows over rocks. If you listen carefully, you might even hear the wildlife that inhabits these places. For me, water has an almost magnetic effect. I can sense it from afar, and it immediately captures my full attention. I feel the need to find its source, not only to hear it but also to admire it. An irregular flow can feel more rejuvenating than a steady rhythm, which conveys calmness.

Smell: the air is fresh and fragrant. The scent of the forest is intense and changes with every step. It is the plants themselves releasing their aroma through terpenes (volatile organic compounds).
If you wander in Italian forests and take a deep breath, the first wave is resin and balsam — the characteristic smell of pines, firs, and larches. Going further, where small clearings with wild aromatic plants grow among rocks and moss, the air becomes sharper and spicier. After a rainy day, wet soil emits a damp, earthy scent that overpowers all others.

Taste: for lovers of berries and mushrooms, if you find them, why not taste a little? Or collect wild aromatic plants to use in traditional dishes — but only if you have thorough knowledge of the species. Nature can be poisonous too!

Touch: placing your hand on a trunk which may be rough or smooth, hard or soft depending on the species. Immersing it in a cool stream and letting the water flow through your fingers.

Sight: a color palette so varied that it cannot be described, only experienced in all seasons and locations. Every corner of the world is a different painting. (to learn more click here)

I live in an area surrounded by vast fields, while urban parks are small and crowded as soon as the weather permits. If you seek something more peaceful and rewarding, you need to travel — a day trip.
I have never formally practiced this Eastern discipline, mainly because I discovered it only recently.
I have gone on a few hikes, always looking for beginner-friendly trails. Some of my personal traits don’t align with hiking: I suffer from vertigo, so I avoid cliffside paths even if they have railings, as well as ladder-style or grated stairs. Just slightly leaning forward to admire the view makes my legs tremble. I don’t climb — simply having my feet off the ground sends me into a panic! I probably need to stay connected to myself and what gives me a sense of security, as if I need to feel firmly rooted.

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* For a deeper understanding, see Qing Li’s book: Shinrin-Yoku – Immergersi nei boschi