Between Desert Sands and Urban Asphalt: Why We Don’t Need to Demonize Life in Concrete

A plea for a pragmatic urban mysticism—between deep grief, the fascination of nomadism, and the art of connecting spaces instead of dividing them.

Picture taken by photographer Sani Maikatanga

The past few weeks have been turbulent—even for an urban witch like me.

There was the painful loss of a family member. This unique period of transition between two jobs, self-employment, and traveling. And then yesterday, sitting together with my close friend in Zurich at a talk on traveling in Africa with Farin Urlaub and Jochen Schliemann (from the podcast Reisen Reisen). We dived deep into the world of the Wodaabe—a nomadic pastoralist people in Chad. It was an evening that touched me deeply and left a lasting impression. When you listen to the stories of these people, how they live in rhythm with nature, conserve resources as a matter of course, and exist in absolute connection with their habitat, a quiet falls over the room. It fascinates us. And at the same time, it awakens an old, familiar longing.

The Trap of Romanticized Cliches

Especially in the nature-connected and earth-based spiritual circles that I’m part of, I constantly encounter the romanticization of a "back to nature" lifestyle—the desperate wish to get away from concrete, away from capitalism, back to an original slowness. And yes, I too often long for more simplicity, more togetherness instead of opposition, more balance in how we use resources, and a stand against egocentric capitalism as well. But as I listened to the stories of the Wodaabe, it became clear to me once again: this idea of a nostalgic "return" is, for us, simply utopian.

You see, there is no point in denying reality. We are not going to become nomads again, wandering the lands in absolute dependence on and harmony with the forces of nature. And quite honestly: the life of these peoples is no romanticized camping trip either; it demands an existential toughness that simply has no place in our hyper-industrialized world anymore. Even in Chad, the mechanisms of global capitalism continue to encroach. The world does not bend to our longings.

This doesn't mean, however, that we shouldn't ask ourselves how to treat resources with greater respect. Quite the contrary. But it reveals a dangerous blind spot in spiritual discourse: anyone who demonizes the city as the "evil, soulless counterpart" to "loving, healing nature" falls into a simplistic dichotomy. And division has never led to healthy solutions.

Concrete Is Not the Enemy

I love nature. I feel the cycles, the seasons, the magic in fading and blooming. But nowadays I live in the city. I walk on asphalt, hear the hum of traffic, and see the lights of urban canyons. Concrete is not evil. It is the material of our present moment—a part of the body of our Mother Earth. And precisely for that reason, it deserves just as much care, respect, and mindful consideration in how we navigate it.

If we only look for magic and nature connection where no street noise can be heard, we miss half of life. To me, being an urban witch doesn't mean desperately pretending to be in an enchanted forest while in the middle of a concrete jungle. It means recognizing the forces of nature within the urban environment—in the wind whistling through the streets, in the trees fighting their way through the asphalt, in the river cutting through the city, and above all, in the people who share this space.

Instead of demonizing concrete, we should ask: How can we connect?

The Art of Synthesis

I don't have definitive answers to all these questions, but it is precisely out of this curiosity, interest, and love that I continue to explore. What makes sense? How can we, as nature-connected people, give meaning to city life? Where can we bridge gaps? Where can we create something new that brings greater balance?

How do we create a life that is healthier, more awake, and lived together?

1. Valuing Resources Instead of Chasing Utopias: It’s not about living on a sheepskin-covered meadow. It’s about making conscious purchasing decisions in everyday urban life, repairing things, valuing circularity, and reducing resource consumption where we have a concrete impact.

   
   

2. Holding Space for Simultaneity: Life isn't black and white; it is extraordinarily complex. Multiple things can be true at the same time. This allows us, for example, to grieve a loved one while simultaneously being absolutely fascinated by the culture of a desert people. It allows us to love and preserve nature while enjoying the energy of a city at the very same time. Richness lies in the synthesis of these opposites.

   
   

3. Building Genuine Community: What we can learn from nomadic cultures is not just their relationship with the earth, but their deep understanding of community. In our cities, we often live side by side yet remain isolated. A healthier togetherness begins with our neighbors, in honest conversations, and in sharing spaces and experiences.

Life in all its complexity is magical—right now, right here, between asphalt and starlight. We don't need to escape or romanticize a utopia to be connected. We just need to learn to look closely and build the bridges this world so urgently needs. One step at a time.