Catching the Wind: What Hunting Taught Me About Attunement
- Tiana Wilson
- Nov 7
- 4 min read
Recently, I went hunting with my dad and brother. It had been a while since I’d joined them, and honestly, I didn’t realize how much I’d learn—not just about hunting, but about attunement itself.
There’s a rhythm to hunting that’s hard to describe if you haven’t experienced it. It’s quiet, patient, and deeply aware. During the eight days together, I watched my dad and brother fall naturally into that rhythm. They didn’t need many words—just a small hand motion, a head tilt, a pause. I could feel how tuned in they were—to the wind, to the terrain, and to each other.
In the evenings, my brother showed me new things about the OnX app that I had never used before and how to read and understand mountain wind. I remember distinctly one morning when we were walking into our spot where we had seen elk the day before. We hiked up a hillside but made sure not to reach the very top so the morning downhill wind wouldn't give us away.
As we waited and glassed what we could see in the early dawn, I began to feel it—the wind shifting. It had been on my face, and suddenly I could feel it on my back. I put my hands down at my sides to sense it. I noticed my brother do the same. We were attuned to the wind—and to each other.
I began noticing the details they were noticing: the subtle shift in wind direction, the careful sound of my footsteps as I avoided crunchy pinecones, and how shadows move as the light changed. My brother would stop mid-stride and gesture—sometimes I didn’t even see what he saw at first. It struck me how attuned he was, not just to the environment, but to me and my dad’s every move. My dad and brother have done this together for years, and their communication has become instinctive.
And that’s when it clicked for me: this is the same kind of attunement we often talk about in therapy.
Attunement in the Woods—and in Relationships
In hunting, success depends on awareness. You have to listen deeply—to the forest, to your body, to your partners. If you move too fast, talk too loud, or ignore a subtle shift in the wind, you lose connection with everything around you.
The same thing happens in relationships. When couples or families come into therapy, so often the struggle is about disconnection—people moving too fast past each other, missing cues, speaking over instead of truly listening.
Attunement in a relationship is like reading the wind. It’s paying attention to the small, often invisible signals that shape how another person feels. It’s noticing when your partner’s tone shifts, or when your child’s body language tells you something their words can’t yet express.
Just like in the woods, it takes practice to slow down enough to sense those shifts.
What Hunting Taught Me About Connection
Out there with my family, I wasn’t just learning about scent and sound; I was watching emotional attunement in action. My dad and brother have built a kind of unspoken trust. They each know how the other moves, what a certain look means, when to pause or change course. It reminded me how, in therapy, we work toward that same level of emotional rhythm—especially in couples or families.
When two partners become more attuned, they begin to anticipate each other’s needs instead of reacting defensively. When parents tune in to their children, they start to sense what their kids are feeling even before the words come. That’s when connection deepens, safety grows, and communication becomes smoother—like the three of us quietly navigating the timberline that morning.
Practice Attunement (In Life and in the Woods)
Being attuned, whether in a relationship or a hunting partnership, takes time and intentionality. Here are a few takeaways that have stayed with me since that trip:
Slow down. Rushing makes us miss subtle signals—whether it’s a shift in the wind or a shift in your partner’s mood.
Listen beyond words. Not all communication is verbal. Notice body language, tone, and silence.
Trust the pause. Sometimes the most important movement is stillness. In hunting, you wait; in relationships, you hold space.
Adjust together. When the wind changes, so must your approach. In families and partnerships, adaptability keeps connection alive.
Final Thoughts
That day in the woods reminded me that attunement isn’t just a therapeutic concept—it’s a way of being. It’s how we stay connected to the world, to the people we love, and to ourselves.
Watching my dad and brother communicate through quiet signals and shared awareness helped me see that real connection is rarely loud or forced. It’s built in the small, consistent moments of tuning in. Whether we’re walking through the forest or sitting across from someone we care about, the invitation is the same:
Slow down, listen closely, and catch the wind together.
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