# 57 Being Small in Patagonia is a Great Relief
On nature, anxiety, and the unbroken places where we can simply be.
I’m walking away from the news and into a fairytale forest. Gnarled branches reach down from dark greens and twisted trunks. Camouflaged birds rustle themselves into nothing while red woodpeckers are typing haiku.
I step over rocks and sun-exposed roots, letting the wildness soak into me. My footsteps echo, as though the ground beneath me is a cave with only a thin crust of earth. The wind blows dust into my face, yet once I sneeze, there’s the smell of pines. I no longer live in a world where wars rage and governments kill their own citizens.
I’m in Patagonia, where glaciers calve and pumas hunt, a prehistoric place that appears unbroken.
We travel to sublime regions such as Patagonia to immerse ourselves in a world beyond our current concerns and engage with nature in an embodied way. With the sun on my neck and gravity pulling at my muscles, I’m more than a witness to this land. I’m embedded, part of what I see, hear, smell, feel, and taste. When a caracara preens its feathers during my lunchtime break—behind a rock, away from wind—the distance between us becomes smaller and our boundaries less fixed.
I’m walking away from the news, from my anger and anxiety, but even at the end of the earth I cannot get far enough and encounter them again around the bend. The rudeness of other hikers on the trail reminds me of humanity’s selfishness, and the darkness of our days works on me as much as the grade of the slope.
Look at these magnificent mountain peaks!
Look at this video of an innocent person getting shot!
Patagonia asks for my full presence, yet I’m still preoccupied with what’s happening elsewhere in the world.
I’m failing the escape.
The path takes me higher, across slippery creeks and suspension bridges swinging under my weight. Balance is for ballerinas. What I do with my hiking poles and my boots feels more like a magic trick I didn’t know I possessed.
How can my mind calculate so quickly what my limbs ought to do, where to place my feet, how to avoid falling?
How can I keep writing and believing I’m showing up for the world?
Listen! The winds play flute on the mountain grooves.
Clouds are casting shadows on the slopes that look like herds of animals on the move. Trees give way to golden fields of dry grass and thorny bushes. Guanacas graze as condors soar overhead.
Look! Their wings lift me… and the mountains steal my attention again. Their granite peaks, their white caps, their glaciers carving beds.
The evening light is intimate, infinite.
I stand among air, rock, water, life, and ice, in a vast landscape where change is constant. The roar of a faraway avalanche makes my heart thump. The mountains I climbed in the north of Peru are part of the same Andes I’m hiking now and the ridge continues farther south like the tail of a dragon, disappearing into the freezing waters where the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans meet.
My life is a speck; my body, less than a grain of sand.
I let out a deep sigh and immediately wonder what the sigh was for. Am I frustrated with myself? Disappointed? But, no. Mine was a sigh of acceptance. I’m surrendering to the impossibility of appreciating this wild world enough. There’s too much to take in and so little of me to give it space. I’m a tiny being within an immense universe and also a giant mere hours later when I’m melting grains of sugar in a drop of water to save a bee.
I keep walking. The trail always leads to a top, an end.
Inhale! The sweet honey scent of wild flowers is both dizzying and reviving.
With every step, a calculation; with every calculation, a readjustment and opening. I’m walking toward a different reality, experiencing the world not as I want it to become, but as it simultaneously already is.
Fourteen thousand kilometers away from the place where I was born, I feel connected to the Earth. I’m water and bone, stardust enriched with oxygen and iron.
The smallness of my day measured against the expanse of sky scares me a little, but the ice crystals in my hand inspire hope: The light trapped inside tricks my eyes so gently.
Look! A rainbow connects two mountain peaks still covered in snow.
I’m not failing anything. I’m here for the experience, not the outcome. I don’t need to get anything right. All that’s required of me is to be.
I’m Claire Polders, a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Read about my books and more on my website www.clairepolders.com.
Desk Journeys aka Reading Recommendations
A good way to mentally prepare yourself for Patagonia is by reading the classic travel book by Bruce Chatwin, In Patagonia.
Bruce Chatwin spent six months (November 1974-April 1975) in the region and wrote a meditation upon wandering instead of a standard travel book.
I’m still reading In Patagonia now—I didn’t have much time to read while there—and immensely enjoy every page.
If you buy a book through a link in this newsletter, you support me and indie bookstores at no extra cost to you. You can browse all the books I recommend here.
Author News
The new literary magazine The Bulb Region published my Time Temperament Questionnaire.
“In what dimension do you spend most of your waking hours—the past, the present, the future, or another space-time?
Does your life have a before and after?
Are you waiting for Godot?
Imagine that for each anticipation, you’d have to sacrifice a memory. Would this change the way you direct your thoughts?”
Wanted: Homes in Europe
As nomads, Daniel and I are always looking for housesitting and subletting opportunities. For the summer of 2026, we’re interested in Europe. If you’re away for a week or more and would like us to take care of your place, please contact us! We don’t smoke, won’t bring pets, and are respectful of your property.
References upon request.
Related Essays
Time to Say Goodbye
Daniel and I are now an hour south of Santiago de Chile among the vineyards in the Maipu Valley. I’m happy to just stretch my tired muscles during long yoga sessions and sit at my desk to write.
Next week, I’ll share a lot of practical information on how best to visit Bariloche, El Chaltén, El Calafate, and Torres del Paine National Park. Travel blogs and books had left me unprepared for the reality, so I’ll write about what I’ve learned.
All my best,
Claire
P.S. Are you walking away from the news? How? Where to? Why not?
Beautiful writing Claire. I love the idea that woodpeckers are typing Haiku. Here's one:
The news may break us
But we have ways to escape
By land or by sea
I look forward to escaping by sea again when we sail from here in May. We should be able to leave the news behind hiking volcanos in Vanuatu.
Thank you for a beautiful respite from constant news reels and the horrors of what is happening in this country. For a few moments I can just be and dream of a better world for our grandchildren.