Returning to What We Already Know: Reflections on Mental Health, Society, and a Simpler Way of Living
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been reading, watching, and reflecting, noticing a thread weaving through it all, a thread that feels both ancient and urgently modern. Two books have been central to this reflection: Sedated: How Modern Capitalism Created Our Mental Health Crisis by James Davies, and Lost Connections by Johann Hari. Both examine mental health, but neither in the way mainstream narratives often present it. Both challenge the dominant notion that anxiety, depression, and distress are purely biochemical problems to be solved with medication, and both highlight the societal, relational, and environmental pressures that shape our mental lives.
In Sedated, Davies exposes the systemic pressures of modern capitalism: insecure work, relentless consumption, social comparison, inequality, and the constant push for productivity. He draws a clear line from these structural factors to the rise in prescriptions for antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications. Yet, the book ends somewhat anti-climactically for me, with a vague call for top-down interventions from governments and public organisations. While I appreciated the detailed critique, I found myself longing for practical, actionable pathways forward, ways to feel agency in a system that feels so enormous.
Lost Connections picks up similar threads but shifts the focus slightly. Johann Hari explores the research of Irving Kirsch, which suggests that much of the perceived efficacy of antidepressants is placebo-driven, particularly for mild to moderate depression. Hari does not dismiss medication entirely, he recognises its role in severe cases, but his emphasis is on disconnection as the root of much distress: disconnection from meaningful work, community, purpose, and even nature. Reconnection, he argues, is often a more effective path to well-being than pills alone. Reading this alongside Sedated, it became clear to me that both authors are pointing away from individual ‘fixes’ and toward societal and relational solutions. The challenge is systemic, but the opportunity is relational.
These ideas resonate with some videos I’ve watched recently. One explored eco-socialism, imagining a society built not on growth and consumption, but on human and ecological flourishing. Another, by Peter Leyden, described what he calls ‘The Great Progression,’ a turning point in which the world may be reimagined and rebuilt around more sustainable and equitable principles. Both of these visions echo Davies’ and Hari’s critiques: the world we’ve inherited is out of balance, and yet there are glimpses of a future that reconnects us to ourselves, each other, and the planet.
Amid all of this reading and watching, a theme emerged for me, perhaps a cognitive bias some may say, or perhaps an intuitive insight: the path forward is not always about innovation or invention, but about returning to what we already know. It’s a deep remembering, a stripping back to ancestral and ancient wisdom, the rhythms of life we once lived by and that still call to us. There is a longing in this - a knowing that simpler, slower, more relational ways of being are not new, but timeless. For me, this aligns strongly with my work in nature connection, eco-psychology, and biophilia. The work many of us are drawn to now, tending gardens, walking in woods, crafting, noticing seasons, is simultaneously ancient and urgent.
One video that struck me in a particularly visceral way was Charles Eisenstein’s A Gathering of the Tribe. The story is an allegory for the re-emergence of human-centered, relational ways of living, reminding us that the path forward is often a return, a remembering. Eisenstein reflects on how a society fixated on separation, growth, and technology must remember that our deepest healing comes from connection, empathy, and care. He emphasises that justice is not the same as punishment and that humanising the enemy, cultivating presence, and attending to relationships are central to long-term change. This aligns perfectly with both Sedated’s societal critique and Lost Connections’ relational emphasis: both books point to a world in need of reconnection, care, and presence, and Eisenstein’s allegory brings this to life in story form.
These threads, capitalist pressures, societal disconnection, and the call to return to ancestral wisdom, led me to reflect on what this looks like in everyday life. It is not abstract or lofty; it is practical, embodied, and deeply human. Returning to what we already know can take many forms:
Reconnecting with nature: slowing down to notice seasonal changes, walking in the woods, observing wildlife, or tending a garden. These simple acts ground us in rhythms older than capitalism and remind us of our interdependence with the living world.
Revaluing relationships: prioritising meaningful connections over digital likes or superficial networking. Deep conversation, shared meals, and community projects build trust and belonging, which Hari identifies as fundamental to mental health.
Simplifying life: stripping back consumption and the constant chase for novelty. This could mean reducing unnecessary possessions, embracing minimalism, or cultivating spaces of quiet and reflection.
Creative practice: engaging in art, music, writing, or photography, not for performance or recognition, but as an expression of being alive. The process itself reconnects us to a sense of purpose and presence.
Learning from ancestral wisdom: listening to stories, practices, and philosophies that have endured for generations, integrating them into contemporary life. This can be as simple as observing traditional seasonal cycles, adopting sustainable living practices, or nurturing rituals that honour connection to the land and community.
I notice a personal resonance in all of this. I am not a scientist, nor a researcher; this reflection is more intuition than empirical analysis. It feels like a mission, a calling for this time in my life. A recognition that the work I feel drawn to, supporting nature connection, creativity, and mindful living, is not peripheral but central to responding to the pressures and disconnections that Hari and Davies illuminate. It is both spiritual and practical, a quiet activism rooted in daily practice rather than policy alone.
What strikes me most is that these solutions are deeply accessible. They do not require approval, funding, or mass adoption to start having an effect. They start with noticing, slowing, and connecting. For example, mindful photography allows someone to attend to the subtle movements of a leaf or the light on a river. Gardening teaches patience, cycles, and interdependence. Hosting a small circle or gathering builds relational networks that counter isolation. These practices remind us that healing and reconnection are both personal and communal, small and vast, intimate and systemic.
There is also a profound hopefulness in this perspective. Both Hari and Davies present the challenges clearly, and Eisenstein’s allegory offers a vision for what is possible when we shift the narrative from separation to connection. It is not utopian or naive; it is grounded, embodied, and relational. The future we need is one that honours human dignity, ecological balance, and meaningful connection, and it is within our reach if we pay attention and act in alignment with these values.
Ultimately, the message that emerges for me from this confluence of books, research, and videos is simple, yet profound: we are called to remember. To return to what we already know about living fully, about caring for each other, and about our place within the natural world. Mental health crises, ecological crises, and societal crises are interconnected; their solutions are equally intertwined. Returning to slower, relational, and nature-centered ways of living is not a retreat or regression, it is an act of courage, clarity, and wisdom. It is a reclaiming of agency, presence, and meaning in a world that has often sought to strip these away.
Reading Sedated and Lost Connections, watching videos like A Gathering of the Tribe, and reflecting on my own intuition has reinforced this belief. The future we seek is not found in novelty, consumption, or top-down mandates alone, but in the quiet, persistent work of returning to what has always been true: that connection, care, presence, and awareness are the foundations of human well-being.
This journey, of reading, observing, and reflecting, has reminded me that our personal practices are inseparable from societal change. By nurturing our own connection to nature, community, and creativity, we not only heal ourselves but contribute to the emergence of a more compassionate, sustainable, and mindful society. It is a reminder that small, intentional acts -slowing down, noticing, tending, listening, can ripple outward, fostering the reconnection that Hari identifies as essential and the societal transformation that Davies hints at.
Returning to what we already know is not nostalgia. It is not a yearning for a past that was perfect. It is a recognition that the wisdom embedded in older ways of living, ancestral practices, ecological awareness, relational & natural rhythms, is urgently needed now. It is a conscious choice to act from understanding rather than habit, from presence rather than distraction. And it is a practice we can begin at any moment, in the way we walk, work, create, and relate.
In the end, these reflections are an invitation.
To slow down.
To notice.
To care.
To reconnect.
To remember.
In doing so, we not only tend to our own mental and emotional well-being but also contribute, in small and large ways, to a world that is capable of healing, thriving, and imagining a more beautiful future. It is a return, yes, but a return that holds the power to transform, individually and collectively.
