Why tiny mushrooms matter

The mindfulness of crawling around on the forest floor

Before I tell you about my mushroom fascination, here are a couple of other things worth mentioning:

- We had a technical fumble, so we extended the sale of our self-study courses until Friday.
- I’ve done a few media interviews this week, including Today, The Guardian, Axios, and a radio station in South Korea.

Why tiny mushrooms matter

Listen to me read the post

“If anyone needs me today, I’ll be crawling around the forest floor, looking for tiny mushrooms.” I posted that in the family chat last week, along with a few photos to prove it. (Scroll down for more of those photos.)

I have become obsessed with tiny mushrooms. White ones, pink ones, purple ones, yellow ones and brown ones – with caps of different shapes but few bigger than a quarter of my thumbnail. I can’t get enough of them. There’s little else in my phone’s photo album these days.

Why do tiny mushrooms matter to me? Well... mostly because they delight me. There is no particular reason WHY they delight me, they just do. (I could wax poetic about how interesting mycelium is, but this is less about their complexity under the ground than their appearance above it.) This delight, in tiny mushrooms and other things in nature, is my most treasured spiritual practice. This delight is often what helps shift my focus away from negative thoughts playing on a loop in my brain (see the poem at the bottom of this post).

I’m occasionally asked whether I have a daily mindfulness practice, and I used to answer, rather sheepishly, that I just can’t seem to manage the discipline for a seated practice or breath practice or yoga practice or prayer practice – or any of the practices that are most valued by people of a spiritual/contemplative bent. I’ve tried many times, and I understand the value of such practices, but I just can’t get any of them to stick.

BUT... I no longer feel the need for sheepishness, because my practice is primarily in the woods. My practice is tiny mushrooms. And eagles. And pinecones. And moss. My practice is delight and reverence and mindful presence. My practice is talking to trees and kneeling in the moss next to mushrooms.

I am, in the words of Dacher Keltner in the book, Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life, experiencing the many benefits of everyday awe. “Wonder, the mental state of openness, questioning, curiosity, and embracing mystery, arises out of experiences of awe. In our studies, people who find more everyday awe show evidence of living with wonder. They are more open to new ideas. To what is unknown. To what language can’t describe. To the absurd. To seeking new knowledge. To experience itself, for example of sound, or color, or bodily sensation, or the directions thought might take during dreams or meditation. To the strengths and virtues of other people. It should not surprise that people who feel even five minutes a day of everyday awe are more curious about art, music, poetry, new scientific discoveries, philosophy, and questions about life and death. They feel more comfortable with mysteries, with that which cannot be explained.”

What have I learned from my tiny mushroom practice? Here are some lessons that apply to all of life and not just mushroom-gazing:

· Slow down and be still. Tiny mushrooms can’t be found if you’re rushing down the path – it requires meandering and frequent stops.

· Learn to see differently. Often tiny mushrooms blend into their surroundings and hide under dead leaves so you have to learn to focus differently.

· Don’t be afraid to look at death. Mushrooms love rotting tree stumps. In fact, once you start looking at dead things in the woods, you’ll be amazed at the vast array of species that thrive in the rot.

· Dare to look silly. When people pass and I am down on the ground next to a rotted stump, they look at me with puzzlement. I smile and say “Look! A tiny mushroom!”

· Peer into the shadows. There are few tiny mushrooms in the bright sunlight – mostly you have to spend time in the shadows where they flourish.

· Get down on your knees. Mushroom-hunting requires a certain humility – you can’t do it unless you’re willing to kneel down and get dirty.

· Look for symbiotic relationships. Tiny mushrooms are often found living symbiotically among moss. I start the hunt by stopping at every tree or stump covered in moss.

As I said above, if you’re looking for me, you can find me in the woods. I’m taking a break from social media for awhile, not just to stare at mushrooms, but to work on a new initiative we’re developing for 2025, on leadership and liminal spaces. A lot of it is inspired by what we can learn from nature, so my mushroom-gazing time is especially valuable right now. I look forward to sharing the program with you! Look for an announcement at the end of December.

Here's a poem I wrote earlier this week. (If you value poetry, you might want to sign up for a paid subscription on Substack. I share a poem every Monday – some that I’ve written and some that inspire me – along with writing prompts.)

A praise song for tiny mushrooms

Despair knocked on my door, pushed its way in,
and let self-doubt and shame sneak in behind it.
“We live here now,” they said,
and proceeded to throw a somber party in my brain,
going round and round in a weird circle dance
they wouldn’t let me interrupt,
dragging my old failures into the circle with them.

I ran to the woods
to escape them, but
they insisted on coming with me,
latching on like Velcro,
and continuing their sad dance.

It was the tiny mushrooms that finally loosened their grip.
First it was a white one, barely visible
in the moss on a tree at the side of the path,
then a yellow one on another tree, a pink one on a rotting stump,
and a purple one poking through the dead leaves.

Soon I was deep in the woods on my knees in worship,
and it was only then that I noticed
the only thing dancing in my brain now
was joy.

Here are a few more photos taken with my iPhone (i.e. with limited macro capacity). All of these are from within a mile of my home. If you’re as fascinated by them as I am, you might want to follow this macro photographer on Instagram that Krista discovered.