Why I Do What I Do: From Tel Aviv to a Greek Village

When I was 25, I left Israel. Officially. Not just for a trip, not just for “a break,” but for good.

I left Tel Aviv — the city of endless coffee, energy, and noise — and moved to a small village in Greece. Back then, it was East Crete.

Why? Because I had an urge. An inner calling. A magnetic pull to return to nature.

I tried to find it in Israel, looked around for some kind of natural life that would feel right — but nothing clicked. Then there was Greece. Or more precisely, a friend in Greece.

This wasn’t just any friend. This was a soul with the most allowing energy field I had ever met. Someone who didn’t need to “take up space” in any way. And because of that, for the first time in my life, I could just… breathe. I could allow myself to exist without performing. Without shrinking. Without trying.

Looking back now, we had known each other since I was 21. By 25, we trusted each other enough to simply be. And it was in that comfort, that stillness, that I started to discover who I really am.

Learning to Ask “Why?”

Until then, I only knew how to live externally oriented. My life was a constant act of pleasing — people, situations, expectations. I had no inner compass.

One day, that same friend looked at me and said: “I don’t understand why you do some of the things you do.”

That sentence stayed with me.

It planted a seed.

And it grew into a lifelong practice: asking myself why.

Not in a neurotic way — not like “why am I brushing my teeth” or “why am I drinking water” (though you could go there if you wanted a free ticket to psychosis 😅).

But in the big ways:

• Why am I saying this right now?

• Why do I feel the need to take care of everyone?

• Why do I keep choosing this path?

And here’s the thing: the “why” wasn’t negative. It wasn’t judgment. It was curiosity. A joyful excavation of my essence. Because when you dare to ask “why,” you slowly start to see… you.

Nature as the Ultimate Teacher

So what does this have to do with my obsession with nature?

Everything.

Nature, by definition, is the most allowing environment.

Think about it: nature doesn’t care what mood you’re in. It doesn’t care what you wear, what you said yesterday, or who you’re trying to impress.

• It’s not here to impress you.

• It’s not here to suppress you.

Nature simply is. Neutral. Vast. Generous. And in its quiet, non-judgmental presence, you’re free to meet yourself fully.

Returning to Nature: Living Sensitively, Living Fully

Over time, through the embrace of nature, we begin to discover ourselves more deeply. My own journey has unfolded this way—guided by the environment I choose to call home: nature.

I am a sensitive being, an empath. For me, one of life’s greatest lessons has been learning how to manage my own energy field: to know when to open myself fully, and when to gently close, to protect my sensitivity with wisdom. This inner dance depends on the situation, on the love and safety that surround me—or the lack of them. And so, again and again, I find myself returning to nature.

It’s been seven years now since I chose this path. I’m still learning every day. Life here flows with a different rhythm than in the city. In urban life, so much is happening just outside your apartment door. Here, you create everything you engage with. And this shift creates freedom—the space to pause and ask: Do I really want this? Do I need this at all?

The slower rhythm of life

Here, everything moves slower. Days alone at home are sacred to me. They are my time to recharge. Over the years, I’ve also learned to carry this practice of inner focus into busy spaces—amidst duty, amidst the crowd. But true restoration, deep and lasting, happens only in solitude and nature.

In this space, my energy field recovers, my aura regains its vibrancy, and my biorhythm finds its natural rhythm again. But it takes intention. The same environment can invite in chaos and confusion—or it can become a sanctuary of presence.

Choosing presence

In these quiet moments, I turn inward: to care for my body, to connect with my emotions, to listen deeply. I sleep well, drink water and herbal teas, blend plants from my garden, source food from friends nearby, cook slowly and mindfully, and eat in silence—watching the trees sway, listening to the garden breathe.

No phones. No voices. Just the sound of myself returning home.

The joy of simplicity

My favorite moments around the house are the simplest ones. Cleaning my space, tending to my skin with oils, nourishing my hair, practicing yoga freely—sometimes naked, sometimes in stillness. In this space, no one interrupts. If I want to cry, I cry. If I want to laugh, I laugh. There is no mask, no filter, no need to hold back.

Here, I am fully myself.

Returning to nature is not just about living in a certain place. It’s a practice of awareness, of slowing down, of choosing presence. It is the space where sensitivity becomes strength, where solitude restores, and where life moves in rhythm with the heart.