I’ve always been a treasure hunter. Not the kind with a map and an X marking the spot, but the kind who walks slowly along a shoreline, eyes scanning the ground like something sacred might be waiting to be found. Because it is. Give me a beach, any beach. Ocean, river, lake. Give me a forest floor scattered with stories, and I will find magic. A speckled rock that looks like it was painted by hand. A shell shaped like it was handcrafted. A stick that makes the best walking stick. Coral broken off into a heart shape, like it has been quietly waiting for someone to notice it. I don’t just see these things, I feel them. There is something in me that softens when I’m collecting. Something that exhales. It is like my nervous system finally says, this is what we are doing now. We are safe. We are here. How We Navigate Grief is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. People sometimes laugh and ask what I am going to do with all those rocks and shells. And the answer is always the same. Keep them. Not because I need them, but because something in me recognizes them. Because each one feels like proof that beauty exists without trying. That time, pressure, water, and wind, all the things that can break us, can also shape us into something worth holding. I am not alone in this instinct. The more I pay attention, the more I realize that nature is filled with collectors. Sea otters have their favourite rocks, carefully chosen and carried with them, tucked into little pockets under their arms. They use them to crack open food, yes, but it is hard not to feel like there is something more there. A preference. A familiarity. Maybe even a quiet attachment. Octopuses gather shells and build little fortresses, creating safety out of what they find around them. Decorator crabs turn themselves into walking pieces of art, attaching shells and fragments to their bodies to blend in and protect themselves. Penguins search for the perfect pebble to build their nests, sometimes stealing from one another because even they know that some things are worth fighting for. And then there are crows. Brilliant, curious, wildly intelligent beings that collect shiny objects and little trinkets. Sometimes it is curiosity, sometimes play, and sometimes something deeper. Crows have been known to leave gifts for humans they trust. Buttons, beads, pieces of glass, small treasures offered like tokens of connection. A wild animal choosing you and leaving something behind as if to say, I see you. If that does not feel like magic, I don’t know what does. So maybe what I am doing when I collect rocks and shells is not random. Maybe it is ancient. Maybe it is instinct. Maybe it is a deeply human way of making sense of a world that can feel overwhelming, heavy, and sharp. And now, I also collect for my mom. I will bring pieces of each magical adventure from around the world to her headstone in Winnipeg. Wait, am I a crow? LOL. When you have experienced loss, when grief has moved through your life and changed you, you begin to look for anchors. Small things. Grounding things. Things you can hold in your hands when everything else feels like it is slipping through your fingers. This is something I have come to understand not just personally, but through my work. Grounding does not have to be complicated. It does not have to be a perfect morning routine or a long meditation practice. Sometimes it looks like standing barefoot on a beach, letting the water kiss your ankles, and picking up something that catches your eye. That is it. That is the work. In my world, we call this grounding in the present. It is one of the core ways we begin to move through grief, not around it. It is about coming back into your body, into the moment, into something tangible when your thoughts and emotions feel anything but. When you are collecting treasures from nature, you are not just gathering objects. You are gathering moments. You are collecting proof that you were here. That you paused long enough to notice something beautiful. That even in a world that can break your heart, there are still tiny, perfect things waiting to be found. Each rock, each shell, each piece of driftwood carries a story. Not just of where it came from, but of where you were when you found it. Who you were in that moment. What you were feeling. What you were moving through. They become markers, little breadcrumbs of your life, reminders that you kept going, that you kept looking, that you kept finding. So yes, I will always be a treasure hunter. My pockets will always be a little too full. My suitcase will always be a little too heavy. My home will always have collections of rocks, shells, sticks, and stories tucked into corners and displayed on shelves. Because every piece I collect reminds me of something I never want to forget. We are shaped by the elements. We are softened by time. And even after everything we have been through, even after loss and heartbreak and change, we are still here. And we are still worth finding. Let’s navigate your grief and first last breath together, XX Blair P.S. I offer a complimentary call. If you want to see what it’s like to work with me as a Grief and Resilience Coach, book a time here. Where’s Blair? May 3-5, La Le Jeune, BC Join me, Stacey and Simone this May at the Regulated Retreat. I’m stoked to be speaking at Regulated, a three-day nervous system reset retreat for people who are done surviving and ready to feel steady again because most of us don’t need more motivation, we need regulation. And that’s what makes this experience different. This retreat blends nervous system science, movement, nature, and honest conversation to help your body downshift and reset. I’m honoured to be part of this experience and would love to share it with you! Early bird rates end March 15th! May 11-14, 2025, Vancouver, BC I’ll be attending Web Summit Vancouver so that I can sharpen my skills and spread our mission. August 23-29, Porto, Portugal I will be co-facilitating the Portugal Grief Trip alongside Rachel from Happy Grieving. There is still room for you. Learn more and book your spot! How We Navigate Grief is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit howwenavigategrief.substack.com/subscribe