Why The Woods?

There are days when the world’s noise gets so loud it feels like it’s clawing at the inside of my skull.

Screens. Deadlines. Conversations that don’t mean anything. People chasing things that won’t matter in five years.

And sometimes... I’m part of it. Stuck in a rhythm I didn’t choose. That’s when I know—it’s time to get out. Not out for a walk. Not out for drinks. Out-out. Into the woods. Off-grid. Off-everything.

I don’t run to the woods because I’m broken. I go because the woods don’t ask me to be anything but real.
No filters. No algorithms. Just the cold ground, the wind in the trees, and the steady hum of nature reminding me I’m still alive.

Out there, I can hear myself again.
My breathing. My thoughts. My instincts.
The same instincts that kept me alive in places people back home didn’t want to know about.

Sometimes, I build a fire just to watch it burn. Not because I’m cold.
Because the crackle and flame make more sense than most of the noise I left behind.

Sometimes I pack light. Sometimes I go heavy. But I always come back lighter.

People ask me what I do out there.
Truth? I un-do.
I undo the tension in my shoulders.
I undo the constant need to respond, reply, react.
I undo the lie that grinding 24/7 is the only path to peace.

The woods don’t care what I’ve done.
They don’t care about rank, resume, or reputation.
They just ask: Can you listen? Can you slow down? Can you survive here—not just exist?

I go because it reminds me that I’m not a machine.
I’m a man. A vet. A human with scars and stories.
And the woods—they know how to hold all of it without saying a damn word.

If you’re feeling it too—burned out, pissed off, or just done with the noise—
try stepping into the quiet for a bit.
Bring a blade. Bring a tarp.
But more than that—bring yourself.

Take the opportunity, there's always a place here for you.