Artemis' Call to the Wilderness
I long for the mountains, the forest, starry skies, and clear waters
Nearly four years ago, I was living in the high desert of Northern Arizona. It was always framed as temporary, a respite from the stifling confines of life at that moment in time. My days were split between the toiling of an archetypal educator and the playful antics of a free-running child of the wilderness. I’d record a podcast episode, teach a class, or work with a client, then I’d scamper off to spend hours amongst nature’s giants—the red rock mountains and towering trees.
I studied symbols and dreams and myths, all sorts of psychologically stimulating material, but it was the starry nights, the howl of the wind, the torrential rains, and scorching sun that made me feel truly alive. So wrapped in nature’s wonder, the land merging with me and I with it, that I think for the first time I truly felt a sense of homecoming.
And so it was with great ambivalence that I contemplated returning to the Bay Area, the musings of which can be found in the post Hiking with Artemis. It’s not that the city is such a terrible place; after all, that is where my community lives, where I can find any imaginable convenience and resource. It was home in a different way, like the well-worn etches of memory upon stone—nostalgic, comfortable, sentimental.
Nearly a month after writing that piece back in 2022, I moved back. Life continued and blossomed. I got married, had a child, continued to grow my business, and stretched the boundaries of my scholarly pursuits. I spent time in the rolling green hills of the Bay Area, backpacked through the Sierras, and camped amongst the redwoods. Time in nature had to be scheduled, planned out; it lacked the spontaneity and ease of what I had before, but I was grateful for any minute away.
There was a sense, however, that some part of me never really returned from my time living in the cradle of Mother Nature’s arms. Artemis played her hunting song upon the horn; she called all willing devotees to the wilderness, and I answered with abandon. How can you scrub the imprints of lightning flashes, river water, and bird sounds from your soul? I suppose you can’t, at least, I have failed to do so.
Like a spiral of unending torment, every few months I start to feel the oppressive squeeze of city life. I begin to long for the mountains, the incredible stillness one finds in the wild, the celestial wonder of a full moon in the back country. But things are different now. Unlike Artemis—the great virginal goddess and eternal maiden—I am a mother now. When I feel the call, I can no longer run off to her world; I have to temper the yearning and draw upon memories to quench the thirst.
For my husband and I, time outdoors and a relationship to nature are more than a passing interest or hobby. I think it feels essential to our well-being. So in my daughter’s first year or so of life, we have strived to maintain this connection. We’ve gone on a couple of camping trips with her, up to Yosemite and the forests of Tahoe. We took her hiking near waterfalls and lakes, showed her snow for the first time. She’s still so young, so I can’t be sure it has much of an impact on her, but I know that my first encounters with the wilderness at a young age is what initiated me into its wonder.
I suppose in someways, the bigger question I’m grappling with now is a sort of inverse to the one I had back in 2022. Then, it was, “Should I move back to the city?” Now it’s, “Would life for my family be better if we left the city and lived closer to nature?” And the same sort of ambivalence emerges—this pull between a resounding yes and absolute no.
I have to be discerning. Too easily I get drawn into Artemis’ vortex, her archetypal power so potent and all encompassing that all other options pale in comparison. She draws me back, beckons me to join her in the hunt, and I long to follow. But would a life on the borderlands of the natural world truly be better for me and my children?
What would it mean to grow up without her grandparents nearby, whom she bonds with each week in their time together? What would it mean to be away from the friends I grew up with, many of whom now have children of their own? Would we be able to foster new friendships, new community? Would it feel as fulfilling?
Maybe it’s a tension I’m fated to carry with me from now till the end of my days. For even if we moved, I might find myself longing for the familiarity of home, for the companionship and ease that only years of deep relating brings. Perhaps there is no place that checks all of the boxes, that satiates my archetypal yearnings. Perhaps I’m coming to the same conclusions that I did 4 years ago:
As a powerful force of gravity, the archetype draws my personal experiences to it and shapes a pattern that I can become more conscious of. With this awareness, I find myself reflecting on this critical life transition. How can I honor the Artemisian principle without falling prey to its negative valence? Perhaps I will take steps back towards community while knowing that I can hike with Artemis as an inner companion, imagining her alongside as I take to the trails, whether I am in the forest or not. I can resist the urge to follow her path towards isolation and open myself to emergent potentials that seek to unite a love of nature with the complicated but beautiful reality of being in relationship with others.
You see, an archetype so activated is not something to be ignored. Its influence reaches into every fiber of inner and outer life, shaping the perspective one has of the world. I think the moments when the impulse is strongest, “I must get to the mountains now! Life would be better if we lived closer to nature!” is when I must strengthen my ego, my sense of self, and truly examine the desire.
Too often, we concretize the impulse, we lose the metaphor in the yearning. What would it mean for Artemis’ call to be held as a psychological reconciliation that did not require such serious action? Maybe I’d see that it’s drawing my attention to a need for more balance in my life, to invite in the care-free playfulness that so easily gets drowned out as a self-employed parent to a young child. Life feels heavy, overwhelming, and Artemis whispers, “come back, come back.”
On the other hand, a life so divorced from natural wonder and power is not one I seek. Concrete and smoggy skies don’t light my soul afire, it drives a disembodied split that I only became aware of after living in the Arizona desert for so long. During that time, when I found myself back in a city, I realized I was in sensory overwhelm from all the noise and intensity of the environment. In response, some parts of me would just shut down, trying to block out the flood. “Is this how I’ve lived for nearly all the years of my life? Half alive, half aware?”
In holding the complexity and nuance of the archetype, I can see how gentle action can be taken to restore a kind of homeostasis. On one hand, embodied in action, movement, and presence by going to the wilderness, engrossing myself in her wonder. On the other hand, holding it inwardly, seeing how it reorients my internal states.
The lingering question of where my family would most thrive still remains. I don’t think resolution or certainty will be found soon. But my dance and conversations with Artemis continue, and for that, I am grateful.
This exploration has landed so timely for me! I also battle with the tension of living in nature vs staying where we are, with our community that our kids have grown up with. I’m pretty new to mythology and Artemis introduced herself to me just two nights ago by the way of an oracle card at a spell casting circle. I know who she is but would love to dive deeper - do you have any reading recommendations?
I loved the exploration of your process through an archetypal lens. I grew up in a farm and had acres of land at my disposal as a child. I loved it and am so grateful that nature was there for me when my overwhelmed parents couldn’t be. I raised my daughters in the city because I needed the community support that wouldn’t be available in the countryside. We made every effort to get out in nature and now they are both mothers who love camping and being in nature - I suspect when the children get older and they don’t need as much support, at least one of them may move out of the city. Until then I am cherishing every moment with my grandchildren!