Living high up among tall buildings, we always feel far away from nature. For the first two years of living in my high-rise apartment, I barely touched the earth. I live in a busy city. The subway is right downstairs, and big shops are just a five-minute walk away. I hardly get the chance to see nature. So I put time with nature into a group of things I have to plan ahead for. I may drive two hours on weekends to hike, or take a trip to a national park once a year.
But here’s the thing. Those few trips a month, or even just once a year, just aren’t enough to keep me feeling alive. Over these two years, my body and mind have been sending me little quiet signals. Not like I’m sick or anything, just this weird, subtle warning that my energy is slowly fading away. I wake up tired every morning, can’t focus for more than 20 minutes, and I don’t even care about the things I used to love anymore. It’s like a part of me is just gone.
Then I suddenly remembered a line I read somewhere once. "The biggest health crisis for modern people is not a lack of exercise or unhealthy eating, but a physical disconnect from the natural environment." And I live on the 28th floor, surrounded by other high-rises. Have I already lost my vitality?
But you don’t have to move away or go on big hikes to get that feeling back. I’ve tried three tiny things myself, and they actually work for anyone living in the city.

❶Keep a Desktop Plant

We have an innate tendency to connect with nature. Long confined to a concrete "box," I often experience an indescribable emptiness and restlessness. So, at this moment, I've decided to grow a plant. It grows, breathes, and photosynthesizes. Caring for it—watering it, observing it, waiting—this process doesn't offer tangible rewards, but it quietly mends the broken connection I've made to the source of life.

Grow a small plant on your desktop. Don't worry about the variety; just place it where you'll see it every day. I set a tiny goal for myself at first—just keep it alive for a month. And when I take care of this little green thing, watching it grow little by little, I get more patient, I notice more things. And these little changes just spill over into the rest of my life, somehow.

❷ Turn Your Balcony into a Mini Garden

In the concrete jungle of buildings, having your own personal "vegetable garden" brings a wonderful sense of joy. Place a small wooden chair on your balcony, along with a few plastic flowerpots, and grow some edible things. A pot of cherry tomatoes, a few sprigs of basil, or a bunch of cilantro.
You get to feel like you’re actually growing something, not just buying it from a store. On nice days, sit there in the sun, watch the seeds you planted grow slowly. I don’t do this to save money, honestly. It just makes me feel so proud. When friends come over, I can bring out a plate of cherry tomatoes and proudly tell them that I grew them myself.
This makes me suddenly understand what it means that "food is part of the land," even if that land is just a plastic flowerpot; I will be healed by the magical rewards that this small plot of land brings.

❸ Observe Birds in a Nearby Park

If you’re feeling tired and drained, you don’t have to go far to relax. Go to the nearest small park, find a bench, and sit for fifteen minutes. Don’t think about work, don’t scroll your phone. Just look for birds. Simply let your eyes leave the screen, follow these little moving things for a while. You'll find your breathing deepens, your shoulders relax, and your mind stops buzzing.

Someday at dusk, I heard a bird call. Not the background chirping, but a series of very clear, rhythmic calls. I looked up and searched for a while among the branches of a locust tree before spotting a small gray bird with a pale yellow tinge on its belly. It stood there, tilted its head, glanced at me, and continued calling. I suddenly realized that I hadn't stared at anything out of curiosity in a long time. And for those few minutes, my brain did nothing but watch a bird. I sat on the bench, watching it fly away with a twig in its beak, thinking: it's building a nest, it's busy. Its busyness is different from mine, but it's still living.


I still live in the same high-rise. The streets below are still full of cars. But now my balcony has over ten plants, a little succulent sits on my desk, and cherry tomatoes grow on my windowsill. My life hasn’t changed big at all. But the five minutes I spend watering the flowers every morning, the three minutes I spend checking the leaves every night, and the quick glance at the locust tree when I walk by—these tiny moments act like little anchors. They keep me grounded, make me feel truly alive.
The city isn’t gonna change, but you can carve out a small, breathing corner for yourself, even in this concrete jungle.