Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost: Finding My Way Through Grief in Nature

“Not all those who wander are lost.

J.R.R. Tolkien

Sometimes, though, I think we wander because we are a little lost.

And perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing.

Sometimes it is in the wandering, in walking, noticing, creating and spending time in nature that we slowly begin to find our way back to ourselves.

That was certainly true for me this summer.

Losing my creative mojo through grief

There are times when you don’t realise quite how lost you’ve become until, slowly, you begin to find your way back.

After losing my brother, grief had taken up far more space in my life than I realised.

I was still doing all the things that needed to be done. Still turning up. Still trying to keep Helen Sanderson Designs moving forward. But underneath it all, I was struggling.

Creatively, I had lost my mojo.

I wasn’t painting as much as I wanted to. I was falling behind with my art business and, although there were plenty of ideas floating around in my head, I couldn’t seem to find the energy or space to bring them to life.

So I went to Scotland.

Not with some grand plan to heal my grief or suddenly become productive again.

I simply needed some space.

Space to walk.

Space to breathe.

Space to notice.

And space to create.

Finding healing in nature

Each morning, while the glen was still quiet, I walked.

I took my camera with me and photographed whatever wildlife crossed my path. Nothing particularly complicated or planned. I simply started paying attention again.

I noticed birds in the trees and movement in the grass. I watched the changing light across the landscape. I stopped when something caught my eye instead of hurrying on to whatever came next.

Those walks became my little pocket of peace.

And alongside them, I gave myself one simple creative challenge:

Paint at least one painting every day.

Not to create something perfect.

Not because it had to become a product.

Not even because anybody else had to see it.

Just paint.

Some days I painted once. Some days twice.

And gradually, something began to shift.

The wildlife I photographed on my walks became inspiration for my watercolours. One painting led to another. Colours appeared on my palette again. Ideas started arriving.

Without really noticing the exact moment it happened, I found my creative mojo again.

When grief stopped being the whole landscape

But something else happened in Scotland too.

My grief changed.

It didn’t disappear. Of course it didn’t.

I don’t think healing from grief means reaching a point where we stop missing the person we love.

But surrounded by nature, walking every day and allowing myself time to create, grief stopped consuming everything.

The best way I can describe it is this:

Grief was no longer my landscape. It simply walked alongside me.

And that felt very different.

I could miss my brother and still stop to photograph a bird.

I could feel sadness and excitement when I spotted wildlife through my camera lens.

I could grieve and laugh.

Grieve and paint.

Grieve and feel peaceful.

Perhaps that is part of learning to live with grief.

Not leaving it behind, but slowly making room around it for other things again.

Beauty.

Curiosity.

Creativity.

Joy.

Nature helped me do that.

Nature, creativity and wellbeing

That experience has also made me think differently about where I want my art business to go next.

As the summer holidays draw to a close, I’m approaching a moment that feels rather strange.

For almost 25 years, this time of year has meant preparing to return to the classroom.

New term. New children. Planning. Displays. Resources. That familiar feeling as August slips towards September and school life begins again.

Except this year, for the first time in almost a quarter of a century, I’m not going back.

Instead, I’m turning towards my art business.

And rather than simply asking what can I sell?, I’m finding myself asking a much bigger question:

What do I want Helen Sanderson Designs to become?

I think Scotland gave me part of the answer.

I want to bring together the things that have helped me so much — nature, creativity and wellbeing.

Walking.

Noticing.

Photography.

Painting.

Slowing down.

Looking properly at the world around us.

Giving ourselves permission to create without worrying whether we’re any good at it.

And remembering that sometimes doing something creative isn’t about the finished piece at all. It’s about what happens to us while we’re making it.

There is a new venture beginning to take shape around all of this, and I’m incredibly excited about where it might lead.

I’ll share much more about that soon.

My 2027 Wildlife Art Calendar

All of that painting in Scotland had another rather lovely result too…

My 2027 Wildlife Art Calendar is now available to pre-order.

The calendar follows beautiful British wildlife through the changing months and seasons, with twelve of my colourful watercolour paintings, including the red squirrel chosen for the front cover, alongside wildlife such as the woodpecker, hare, Highland cow, fox and pine marten.

Many of these paintings feel particularly special to me because they were created during this period of finding my way back to art.

And there’s a little extra thank-you for ordering early.

Every calendar pre-ordered will receive a FREE A5 red squirrel print, featuring the artwork chosen for the calendar cover.

And if you’re one of my lovely email subscribers, check your inbox because you’ll also receive an exclusive subscriber discount for your pre-order.

Calendars are available to pre-order now and will be posted around mid-to-late October.

A new season

I don’t have every detail of this next chapter mapped out.

A few years ago, that might have worried me.

Now, I rather like it.

After so many years of school timetables, terms, plans and knowing exactly where I needed to be next, perhaps this part of my life can be a little different.

Perhaps I can walk it the same way I walked those Scottish paths.

Slowly.

Curiously.

Noticing what appears along the way.

Camera in hand.

Paintbrush nearby.

Grief sometimes walking beside me.

But no longer blocking the view.

Perhaps Tolkien was right.

Not all those who wander are lost.

And perhaps sometimes, when we are lost, wandering is exactly how we find our way home.

Helen x