Landscapes That Reflect Us: When the Wild Becomes a Mirror

Paddling alone through the ancient fjords of Newfoundland, I found myself in a landscape carved by retreat and loss—yet what remained wasn't ruin, but majesty. These towering cliffs, shaped by glacial erosion over half a billion years, didn't perform strength. They simply were.

I've just published a contemplative essay on my Substack called "Landscapes That Reflect Us." In this piece, I explore how certain wild places—the fjords of Gros Morne, the Antarctic Peninsula, and Prince William Sound—seem to mirror our own capacity for transformation.

These landscapes don't demand clarity. They've been carved by retreat, formed by loss, weathered by time. And what strikes me most is their honesty—they're scarred, surrendered, and still breathtaking. They don't wear composure like armor or a mask, internal erosion with external momentum.

As I navigate my erosion—this cancer that has been eating away at me—I've begun to wonder: What would it mean to do the same with my scars? With my losses? The land teaches us we don't have to perform wholeness. We can be worn, weathered, and alive until we are no more.

For anyone who has felt the weight of their weathering, whether through illness, heartbreak, or simply the passage of time, this reflection offers a different way of seeing our transformations.

I invite you to read the full piece on my Substack, “The Edge of Now,” in which I explore how the most profound landscapes teach us not to hide our scars but to let them become part of our beauty.

Sometimes the most broken places hold the most wisdom.

You can find it at: Landscapes That Reflect Us.

— Thom