I have been chasing wildness with a pen for years. But putting pen to paper trying to capture wildness—a thing so untamed and primal—just doesn’t make sense. And yet, the longing persists.

Being wild is growing in me, and has begun to eclipse being … good. Being right. Being acceptable. Instead, I am allowing myself to act naturally, with abandon … to be primitive. In this space, I am closer to Mother Earth. My truest self. My soul. So –

I shall write wildly about wildness.

Sun trees forrest

Wild. Before leaving the house for a run, rather than relieve myself I hold it, sprint out the door into my beloved forest, find a secluded tree, and drop trou.

“Crazy.” And…

I feel connected to this untamed part of myself. I feel free. I create these kinds of moments because I want to relearn the space of now, the place of yes on the other side no. She’s singing over there.

I long for all of us to connect to our wild sides, to abandon our fears of being judged by a complacent society and let our true, inner warriors out. I want us to sing, dance and act silly. To throw caution to the wild winds.

Because really – what is the cost of making safe choices? Of neglecting our innermost, our most ecstatic desires? What is the collective cost of being “right”?

The price is flatness, a deadening of the spirit. In my estimation, it’s too steep.

Enough with the taming already—with dissected decision-making. Of saying no to getting up on that stage and speaking our truth or passing up on karaoke or saying yes to a friend’s invitation to escape for the weekend or sleeping under the stars where our Wild Things are. Let them … go.