There exists a stark contrast between the neighborhood I live in now, tucked along the edge of Garden Street, and the impoverished, subjugated area I once called home in Tacoma. My old neighborhood was a place where wildlife struggled to survive, and even if it had thrived, it would have still been inaccessible. The streets were more often filled with the remnants of human activity than the signs of nature. An occasional dog would wander the alleys. Sometimes, the aftermath of raccoons would leave a trail—scraps of trash scattered across the concrete, a testament to their nocturnal scavenging. Living in a place like this taught me how to hold immense gratitude for nature, unders tanding that the wealthy and middle classes tend to have more access, snow sports and family vacations that I would never experience myself. This motivated me to carve out time and seek out natural beauty, waterfronts and forest days that I prioritized. I feel immense privilege in having transitioned t...
Comments
Post a Comment