For every human that has walked the earth, their ancestors hunted outside together, built shelters, swam in lakes and rivers, and even migrated to survive together. Nature has always been an integral part of our DNA. Community, belonging and the outdoors are at the core of our being. [Photo above of Anna Le]
It has resonated with me since I was a young child; but it was hiking more than 2,600 miles alone on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) that helped me realize that we all have these portals to our past, and led me to write the book All Humans Outside: Stories of Belonging in Nature.
From the PCT to ‘All Humans Outside’: Finding Our Shared Connection to Nature
The sound of my 4 a.m. alarm woke me each day on the PCT. I’d shuffle for a few minutes in a 10-degree-cold-rated sleeping bag, and although the temperature was near freezing, the morning air mixed with the scent of pine was comforting and warm. As I boiled water to make instant coffee, I was reminded of early mornings camping when my dad would make breakfast on a cast-iron skillet, drinking his Folgers out of a giant Stanley cup as he waited for my brothers and me to get up. Minutes later, fully awake, I would throw a Hyperlite pack over my shoulders, ready to hike another 32 miles on the trail.
When I reached the Trinity Alps Wilderness in Northern California, I couldn’t help but feel a stinging nostalgia. I had run, hiked, played, laughed and cried in these mountains every summer since I was 9 months old, snuggled into a backpack strapped on my dad’s shoulders before my own feet could carry me on the trail. Despite feeling a connection to my family and this mountain range, exploring a wild and familiar place by myself was just as lonely as it was comforting. Throughout the five-and-a-half-month journey, while some moments were scary or unnerving, most of them left me feeling empowered and brave, and sharpened my awareness of how much humans need connection to each other and to nature.
That recognition led me to compile photographs and short stories of 101 people from across the United States. The project, All Humans Outside, encapsulated the theme of not just belonging in nature, but the way human connection exists by way of the great outdoors.
The Heart of ‘All Humans Outside’: Recording Stories of Shared Origin
During interviews for the book, I asked subjects about their connection to nature, and often they spoke about their connection to others or a desire to belong. As I listened and began shaping those voices into stories, the theme of belonging surfaced again and again.
It wasn’t until I was halfway through writing the book that it clicked: Belonging to a place breeds a longing for further connection to each other. It’s why we carry such vivid memories of home, a childhood camping spot or a vista where we watched the sunset. Nature reminds us where we come from, and when we recognize our shared origin, we can’t help but search for deeper connection with those around us. Plus, nature is free and available to us all.
Belonging is what led me to travel across the United States for two years, photographing each person in the spaces that they felt most connected to. While celebrating the individuals and their stories, I was able to record them on land that felt familiar, meaningful, or even like home, to enliven and reiterate that message.
Social media has conditioned us to admire lone silhouettes on a ridgeline. I was flooded with the same praise when I finished my thru hike as if that independence, resilience and solitude were the highest achievements of being outside. But my earliest memories of nature were never about grandiose outdoor accolades, they were about togetherness—much like the people who shared their stories with me. Nature, for me, was about those cast-iron scrambled eggs and bacon and the smell of my dad’s coffee seeping through the nylon tent as our wake-up call—it was always belonging.
All Humans Outside reminded me that a purposeful life is finding connection with other humans in the outdoors and anywhere life welcomes it. Today, the truest lesson I have come to hold dear isn’t how to wake myself up in the dark and hike 30-plus miles a day, but just how deeply human it is to want someone else there when the sun rises and the coffee is ready. The people on these pages have turned their outdoor world into a playground for human connection and true belonging.
