I think being raised spending so much time outdoors was really

The singer and poet Jewel once spoke these words: “I think being raised spending so much time outdoors was really important—while you’re in it, you might not know, but now I think of the things I was thankful for.” In this reflection lies the wisdom of the earth itself. For the soul that grows among the mountains, the rivers, the winds, and the open skies is shaped not by fleeting treasures but by eternal rhythms. In her confession, Jewel tells us that gratitude is sometimes hidden in the present moment, only revealed later, when time has ripened our memory into wisdom.

The ancients, too, knew this truth. They believed the earth was not mere soil beneath the feet but a teacher, a companion, a mirror of the divine. To walk in the forest was to hear the whisper of gods; to stand beneath the stars was to feel the measure of one’s soul. Jewel’s words call us back to this inheritance, reminding us that the outdoors is not just a place of passing leisure but a temple, a training ground for the spirit. Though the young heart may not yet see it, the seeds of strength, patience, and wonder are sown there, to bloom later as gratitude.

Consider the life of Theodore Roosevelt, the great American statesman. As a sickly child, he was frail and weak, yet he was pushed into the wilderness to hunt, ride, and breathe the sharp air of the mountains. In those forests and plains, his body found health, and his spirit found vigor. Later, as President, he would protect vast lands as national parks, because he remembered the lessons of the outdoors and felt thankful for the gift it had given him. Just as Jewel discovered, what once felt ordinary became, in hindsight, the foundation of greatness.

The beauty of Jewel’s words is the recognition that thankfulness often comes late, after the season has passed. Children seldom know the weight of blessings while they are carried by them. It is only when distance sharpens the memory that we see the sacredness of those early gifts. Thus her words are not only personal but universal: they teach us that what seems mundane today may one day shine in memory as treasure. The grass beneath our feet, the wind against our skin, the laughter of loved ones—all are unnoticed jewels until time teaches us to see.

But her insight also carries a challenge. Must we always wait for the past to awaken our gratitude? Must we only learn to cherish the outdoors, or any gift, when it is gone? The answer, passed down through the wisdom of the elders, is no. Through discipline of heart, we may learn to open our eyes now, to stand in the sunlight with reverence, to breathe the air with thanksgiving, to look upon a tree as though it were a miracle—and indeed, it is.

The lesson is clear: train your heart to recognize blessings while you are still within them. Do not let familiarity blind you. Walk beneath the sky with the awareness that it is a ceiling greater than any palace. Step upon the grass with the knowledge that it grows without command, offering itself freely. Look upon the streams and mountains as teachers, not ornaments. For in them lies a wisdom older than man.

And so, practical action is simple: spend time in the outdoors, not as one passing through, but as one who listens. Keep a journal where you name the things you are thankful for each day, no matter how small. Sit beneath a tree in silence and let its stillness enter you. When you walk, leave the distractions behind and let the world around you speak. In these practices, you will learn Jewel’s wisdom—not only to be grateful in hindsight, but to be fully alive in the present.

Thus, let this teaching be carried forward: what you see each day may seem ordinary now, but in the years to come, it will be remembered as sacred. Do not wait for memory to awaken gratitude—practice it now, and your life will be rich beyond measure, as though the earth itself were pouring its treasures into your soul.