As far as advice goes, it's the best. Come rain or shine, nothing fills you with as much quiet joy than even a short walk among, trees, plants, animals big and small. It's not so much that your worries and cares fall away, than that you become acutely aware of how small you really are, how insignificant your cares.
You are instantly reminded of your place in the order of things.
In nature your senses grow to encompass further and wider, yet more keen to notice even the tiniest details. The spring's first bumble bee, or a shooting star from the center of the galaxy.
While you walk, you use your most primordial skills to observe your surroundings; smell, feel, instinct.
There's treasure everywhere; a hundred thousand barnacles under an old dock, sea cucumbers like floating lanterns, bones, sea stars, screeching eagles. Sticks with perfect crooks.
Thoughts and ideas and half-buried memories and knowledge surface without cajoling. You remember that snakes can swim that otters brake clamshells on rocks then float around eating, that vultures need to catch thermals to travel between islands and that right now they are somewhere in California on their travels.
You feel sneaky and mysterious and jaunty in turns, you feel brave and reckless, climbing and balancing and spying and searching. You feel like a kid.
A part of the landscape. Another warm-blooded mammal.
It's too easy to forgot that houses are not our natural habitat, they're just temporary shelter for when we're too weary and weather-beaten to be out in the elements. Our element.