Friluftsliv: the Word that Changed How I Live

Growing up in England, I loved being outdoors. Every summer holiday I would wander around meadows and woodlands, studying insects and plants, carefully recording my finds in notebooks and taking endless photos. There was always something new to discover—the shimmer of a dragonfly’s wings, the quiet patience of a snail making its way across a path, or the bright explosion of wildflowers across a hedgerow. Being outside wasn’t just an activity for me; it was a way of life, even before I knew it could be called that.

I grew up in the gentle rolling hills of Dorset in England, a long way from the rugged landscape of Norway

My happiest childhood memories come from simple caravan holidays with my parents. Each summer we would drive down to a friend’s farm in Dorset, in the southwest of England. The farm itself was nothing fancy—just a few fields, some sheep, and a scattering of rabbits—but to me it was paradise. The land was beautiful and unspoilt, with rolling hills covered in ancient meadows full of butterflies. I can still picture the sight of the grass moving like waves in the wind with the blue butterflies flitting around and hear the distant bleating of sheep carried across the fields. For a child who thrived outdoors, it was the perfect playground.

As soon as I was old enough to be trusted outside on my own, I would grab my camera, push open the back door, and rush into the fields. Entire days were spent exploring the hillsides, watching the shifting sky, listening to birdsong, and breathing in the mingled scents of grasses and wildflowers.

As I grew older, my love for nature deepened. It wasn’t enough just to wander the meadows anymore—I wanted to walk further, climb higher, and see more. Hiking became my new way of connecting with nature, and I still found myself outside whenever I had the chance. I didn’t have the language for it back then, but I instinctively knew that being in nature made me feel good. It steadied me, calmed me, and filled me with joy. Years later, I would learn that there was a word for what I loved most: friluftsliv.

Decades later, life carried me far from Dorset’s meadows. I met Andre, and together we made the decision to move back to his home country of Norway. Like me, he loved the outdoors, but there was something different about the way Norwegians related to nature. It wasn’t seen as a hobby or a pastime. It wasn’t something “special” at all—it was simply part of everyday life. Suddenly, I no longer felt like the odd one out for preferring a long walk in the countryside to a day of shopping or staying indoors. Here, it seemed that everyone embraced the outdoors as naturally as breathing.

And that was when I learned about friluftsliv. The word is often translated simply as “open-air living,” but it is so much more than that. It is a philosophy, a way of life, and a mindset that recognises the essential connection between humans and nature. Friluftsliv is not about conquering mountains or braving extreme conditions—it is about noticing the small details, taking time to appreciate your surroundings, and allowing nature to nurture you. It is about how the outdoors shapes not just your body through physical movement but also your mind and soul through stillness, beauty, and peace.

I often think about how transformative it would have been if I had known this word as a child. If someone had explained to me that there was a name for what I loved so much, perhaps I would have cherished it even more. I would have understood earlier that nature wasn’t just my personal escape; it was something fundamentally human, something we all need. When I walk under the tall Norwegian pines, sit by the edge of the fjord, or climb up into the mountains with Andre, I feel that same spark I did as a child in Dorset—but now it is richer, deeper, and shared with an entire culture that values it too.

Knowing about friluftsliv has changed me. It has given me language for something that shaped my life before I even knew what to call it. More importantly, it has helped me to see how vital this connection with nature is in today’s world. We live in a time where busyness and noise seem to rule, where we are constantly pulled into screens, schedules and endless emails that seem to need to be answered immediately. Friluftsliv offers an antidote: balance, calm, and the chance to reconnect with the earth beneath our feet.

This realisation eventually planted the seed that became a book. I wanted to share these stories—not just of my own life, but of this deeper philosophy of nature that can be embraced anywhere. You don’t need to live in Norway or grow up in Dorset to find it. It could be in a quiet park near your home, on a walk by the sea, or simply sitting under a tree for a while. What matters is the intention: to pause, to notice, and to allow the natural world to remind us of who we are.

Friluftsliv is not just a Norwegian tradition—it is a gift we can all learn from, a reminder that life outdoors can nourish us in ways we often forget. For me, it connects the dots between the child who once spent hours in Dorset’s meadows and the woman who now calls Norway home. And perhaps, if we all allowed a little more friluftsliv into our lives, we might find ourselves calmer, kinder, and more at peace.

This is the seed that eventually became a book.

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