Growing Wild

Putting my trust in all that happens, naturally.

The blurry lines of spring seem to melt all the hard edges, like curtains being drawn back and we are invited to take in the extraordinary and undeniable truth of perpetual change. This particular spring is having a similar effect within me.

It’s a certain disheveled-ness that seems to be running most deeply in my marrow these days—a tangling of bud and compost. Story lines are falling away like lingering oak leaves from last fall, and the linear “growth” my ego laid before me has become overgrown with messy vegetation. I’m craving rustic and untamed conditions, laughing until I cry, crying until I laugh. Throwing on pajamas and a messy bun and flowing with whatever current is running downstream—not worrying about how I’ll paddle my way back. The wilder me, the natural me—unmanaged and unrestrained—is drifting away from her lifelong domestication.

But damn I’ve spent so much time and effort into taming me! To become more productive, more refined. More ‘healthy’, more attractive and appealing. More focused and engaged. And lately: more aware, more centered, healed and spiritually “evolved.” But for what?

The inherited story I was living told me I needed to earn my place. That I would be forgotten, not enough, not worthy of belonging if I didn’t keep at the job of honing myself. Sadly, that well-defined and manicured ‘garden’ has little to offer me in return. And I didn’t realize its insidious nature—how it has hemmed me into to a binding, but familiar, prison. I might have remained there, if this life hadn’t dragged me back into the wild.

I recall a wildflower garden Mama had planted in the middle of our suburban yard. A chaotic, but absolutely adorable patch of earth with mismatched blooms that required nothing to maintain. Just a great place to walk through and say “oh, look!” at what was springing up, haphazardly. It was a joy not everyone shared—a confusing annoyance to neighbors, and even my father. But I loved it, and I loved how Mom loved it.

What’s revolutionary is that I’m learning to not only acknowledge and accept, but cherish this natural space growing within and around me. Releasing control and learning to vibe with what is, not what “should” be. Feeling the grit on my dirty floors, listening to my heart pound in that moment I glance at my overbooked schedule. Letting my soul pause, and meander— no matter how disorganized and piece-meal my life is becoming. Observing my scattered and anxious mind with its unhelpful thoughts, feeling my aching and aging body, and noticing the stubborn habits that always creep in— these are all becoming brambles and twigs that crack underfoot. The ‘unproductive’ hours of stopping, napping, reading, or scrolling are treated like a fallen, moss covered tree—a curiosity to visit, before I step over and move along. I can finally, finally, take stock of what happens in a feral, present moment habitat. For the first time in my life—I can quiet my shame enough to realize that my belonging is most absolute when I just let myself be. I’m wholly included, thanks to what refuses to be domesticated.

I know that my compulsive tending has not been in vain—even in overdrive-mode. A few powerful and graceful trees have grown in the warmth of attention, in the waking up process. But an ecosystem is so much more than that. I am chock full of the weeds, the moss and lichen, the fungi and fern—and all that lives and decays in shadows. And I’m learning to trust that all of it is continually working together for my good. The insecure, jealous seeds that miraculously sprout deeper groundedness and gratitude. The gasps of anxiety and restlessness that invoke a deep, present moment breath. Tears of grief and loneliness that soak what was dry and cracked — those are coaxing shoots of confidence and connectedness like I’ve never seen.

So I’m living in awe of fuzzy, messy spring, where everything changes, nothing stays the same, nothing is final. Where death fuses with birth, pretty and ugly live in harmony, and right and wrong cannot find separation. In nature, it’s all important, all included, all belongs, all makes sense. Hallelujah, so do I…