Some people wake up dreaming of corner offices, fast cars, or beachfront villas. I wake up dreaming of trees—tall ones, sturdy ones, the kind that beg to be climbed. Somewhere between childhood imagination and adult reality, I realized something important: I don’t want to escape the world. I want to swing through it. Preferably barefoot, sunlit, and with snacks that don’t require hunting with a spear.
Welcome to my best Tarzan life—minus the loincloth, plus very good food.
It starts in the morning. The air is fresh, the world still quiet, and the trees look like they’re stretching along with me. There’s something grounding about being surrounded by green. Phones feel heavier, notifications less urgent. When you’re standing under a canopy of leaves, priorities shift. Did I answer that email? Maybe not. Did I notice the way sunlight filters through branches like gold dust? Absolutely.
In my Tarzan era, mornings aren’t rushed. They unfold. Coffee tastes better outside. Fruit tastes better when you eat it slowly, feeling the breeze instead of fluorescent lights. I imagine Tarzan would approve of this upgrade—no wrestling with vines just to get breakfast, no questionable berries. Just ripe mangoes, bananas, maybe a coconut that someone else already cracked open because convenience is the true mark of civilization.
Movement is different too.
Instead of treadmills, there’s walking—real walking, on uneven ground, listening to your body instead of a playlist telling you to push harder. There’s climbing when it feels right, stretching when your muscles ask for it, sitting when the view demands appreciation. In the jungle (or the closest thing to it), fitness isn’t a chore. It’s a side effect of being alive.
And let’s talk about perspective.
Up in the trees—or even just near them—you start to see how small some worries are. Deadlines feel less threatening when you’ve watched ants carry crumbs ten times their size without complaining. Drama loses its grip when you realize most creatures spend their days focused on simple goals: eat, rest, stay safe, stick close to those who matter.
Tarzan had that part figured out.
But let’s be honest—he was seriously underfed.
Living my best Tarzan life means honoring the wild and the kitchen. It’s knowing the joy of fire-roasted vegetables after a day outdoors. It’s laughing at the idea of raw roots when there’s rice, spices, grilled fish, and cold drinks waiting. The jungle may be romantic, but hunger is not.
This version of Tarzan respects comfort.
There’s a deep satisfaction in sitting down after a long day, muscles tired in a good way, and eating food that tastes like care. Food that was prepared slowly. Food shared with others. Tarzan may have eaten alone on tree branches, but I’ll take a table, conversation, and maybe dessert. Evolution matters.
Connection is a big part of it too.
The Tarzan life isn’t lonely—not really. It’s about belonging, just not always to crowds. It’s shared smiles on a trail, quiet understanding with someone walking beside you, or even the simple companionship of birds, insects, and rustling leaves. You feel watched over, not judged.
There’s no pressure to perform in the jungle.
No one cares what you’re wearing. Trees don’t notice trends. Monkeys don’t care about resumes. You are enough just by being present. That kind of acceptance does something to a person. Shoulders drop. Breathing deepens. You remember what it feels like to exist without constantly explaining yourself.
Even creativity changes out here.
Ideas come more easily when your mind isn’t boxed in by walls. Stories form from shadows and movement. Jokes land better when laughter echoes into open space. You start thinking in metaphors again, the way you did as a kid—seeing faces in bark, messages in clouds, meaning in small, ordinary things.
And yes, sometimes I imagine the Tarzan yell.
Not because I want to scream dramatically (okay, maybe a little), but because there’s something freeing about expression without filters. Singing badly. Laughing loudly. Talking to trees like they might answer. In the wild, no one tells you to tone it down.
Living this life also teaches patience.
Nature doesn’t rush. Seeds grow when they’re ready. Rain comes when it comes. You learn to wait without feeling like you’re failing. You learn that rest is productive. That stillness has value. That not every moment needs to be optimized.
Try telling that to your calendar.
And yet, when you return to the modern world—even briefly—you bring something back with you. A calm. A sense of humor about stress. A reminder that life doesn’t end if you log off for a while. The Tarzan life isn’t about rejecting society. It’s about not letting it eat you alive.
So yes, I live my best Tarzan life.
I choose trees when I can. I choose sunlight over screens, movement over noise, presence over pressure. I keep the wild parts of myself well-fed—not just with freedom, but with good food, good people, and moments that don’t need to be shared to be real.
Tarzan had the jungle.
I have the jungle and lunch.
Honestly? I think I’m winning. 👑🌳
