Finding my wildness again.
New flash and horse girl thoughts.
Hi flower friends,
I hope the end of summer has been sweet and vibrant for you. New flash is included below and will be available tomorrow, Friday at 10am PST on my website! I’ll send a quick email tomorrow with the password so subscribers get first dibs. I appreciate y’all so much!
If you’re up for spending a little longer together here I invite you to do one thing to make yourself 10% comfier - drink some water, stretch, grab a snack! If you’d like some music in the spirit of today’s thoughts:
I’m going to tell you a secret: I’d never gone on a hike alone. Not as an adult. Until just before writing this, my solo wandering had been limited to sidewalks and parks. And while I deeply enjoy expanding my mental map of neighborhood flowers, outdoor cats, friendly crows, and dog park regulars, there is a deep longing for wildness and freedom that eats at me.
When I was young, that wildness and freedom first came in the form of my horse, Andy. I don’t think my parents expected my love of horses to persist when they promised I could have one if I was still horse obsessed in x amount of years. I don’t remember the number, it didn’t matter. I collected horse dictionaries, horse posters, Breyer horse figurines. I read The Black Stallion and was convinced that the best thing that could happen to me would be getting stranded on an island with a wild horse to befriend.
The horse I got was not quite a wild stallion. He was a ten year old Paint gelding with a coat of copper and ivory, one half blue eye, and thick white lashes. He was a bit clumsy, a bit bratty, entirely mine and entirely perfect. I traded hard work for riding lessons from my horse trainer neighbor, Jenny. My free time was spent mucking out corrals, filling and breaking ice on water troughs in the winter, grooming and saddling horses, and in the best and most challenging moments: learning to ride. I did trail rides and cattle drives and shows at the fair. Eventually I even got to ride some of the expensive, gorgeous cutting horses and barrel-racers that came through for training.
Still, Andy was my heart, my friend, my freedom. I would sprawl against him in the dirt as he dozed on sunny days, ride him bareback with just a halter, run home behind him after he bucked me off fleeing a thunderstorm. I was often sore and tired, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier.
Eventually my riding teacher moved, my 4-H group drifted, and my mom’s rule that I couldn’t ride alone left Andy and I both irritable and restless. Horses aren’t cheap; I’m not sure how my parents ever made it happen for me, and I’m so grateful. But finally we had to sell him, and the hurt of it still persists in dreams that he’s been waiting for me to come back this whole time. He went to live on a ranch with other horses, which I knew would be better for him than being limited to my company and riding only in confined spaces. We both missed the hills, the sagebrush, the secret watering holes, and running, running until we were part of the wild places too.
Soon after I moved out, away, to the city. My freedom grew, my freedom withered. I’d so looked forward to finally being able to be able to do what I wanted, and I quickly learned I wasn’t actually supposed to. Not in this body. There were still rules, still ‘no trail rides alone’ as it were. The limits and expectations became even more stifling and demanding than they’d ever been. Something shifted, from when I was young and often questioned the rules, to questioning why I had so much trouble conforming to the rules.
I’ve tried to self-help and self-discipline my way into following the rules, that elusive, ever-changing goal. I’ve learned a lot, but still, my brain seems to resist so much of how this society is structured. My body does too, communicating often and loudly with pain and fatigue. I’ve let myself be tamed by this society, but the effort has left me anxious and exhausted. I’ve resented my own wildness, because I saw it as a source of difference and discontent. And I’m realizing I’ve withheld wildness from myself. If I got a taste how would I ever go back to being safe, to being who everyone says I’m supposed to be?
Recently I was having a gloomy, restless day, and my wonderful partner Jason wisely left me to stew a little when I could make no decisions at all about What to Do. He came back awhile later and said, “I think I know what you need. You need to ride a horse.” I burst into tears.
We drove to a beautiful stable in the forest. I got to feel the velvet, curious noses of horses again. I got to run my fingers through their manes. I got to swing into a saddle, the motion so natural and also so terribly forgotten, my hands awkward with the reins. I got to feel the intelligence and kinship and silky power of a horse again. I got to ride! For the first time in over a decade! I rejoiced, I grieved. How did I neglect this part of myself for so long?
Not long after, that restlessness was eating at me again. My partner and friends weren’t around, and all I wanted was to be somewhere wild. Maybe thanks to the horse I rode recently (a dappled grey mare, I forget her name), or the therapy, or the books I’ve been reading, but this time I listened. I went hiking alone. Well, mostly and not at all. I brought my dog Bramble, who also has a half blue eye and likes to run and nap together, who also has become my heart.
There’s something about being in a wild place without other humans that allows you to forget you aren’t part of it. Or maybe, more accurately: to remember you are part of it. We waded through ferns and dense birdsong, and the fear of being alone was eclipsed by the joy of it. I wasn’t alone at all of course. There was Bramble, tugging at the end of the leash, the unseen creatures darting in the underbrush, the moss and the trees, the water skippers and even the vicious mosquitoes. And of course, passersby sometimes ~ I could only get so far from the city. I wondered again, like I had after riding: why have I withheld this joy, this freedom from myself?
I think of the dreams of Andy waiting for me, and I’m realizing those dreams are also about waiting for myself. I abandoned the parts of me that wanted to take risks and break rules and run freely. I thought I had to in order to survive. Now I know that to survive, I have to return to my wildness and make my own freedom when I can. While this human world may always try to tame me, I refuse to tame myself.
“There is no kingdom like the forests. It is time I went there, went in silence, went alone. And maybe there I would learn at last what no act or art or power can teach me, what I have never learned.”
The Farthest Shore, Ursula K. Le Guin
P.S. There’s *immense privilege* in accessing wild places safely or at all, and in choosing to conform less. Here’s an article that’s an important accompaniment to this: Who Gets To Enjoy The Great Outdoors?
P.P.S. If you or someone you know has horses, I’m still down to trade work for horse time!!
My cocoon summer has led to so much growth, and I’m so excited to see that showing up in my work! Can’t wait to hear your lovely placement ideas tomorrow ~ and I’m happy to suggest some, too!
✿ If you’re looking for a beautiful cookbook made with purpose: Made Here: Recipes & Reflections From NYC's Asian Communities ~ my talented friend Tuyen worked on this!
✿ Loved Glennon Doyle’s pod with Katherine May: Why So Many Women Don’t Know They are Autistic ~ I wasn’t familiar with Glennon’s work prior, but their conversation definitely influenced this newsletter and inspired me to pick up Untamed!
✿ For PDX folks: Corbett Farm is where we went riding, and it was lovely.
✿ I just wanna be a cat climbing trees with my buds!! Shoutout to Delia for this one.
Wishing you the freedom to be wild,
