I have a black-and-white photo of my grandmother from the 1940s that I treasure. She’s dressed in pants and a flannel, kneeling in the grasses of an Oklahoma prairie, focused on something ahead. Balanced on her shoulder is a rifle of some sort. Her hair is short and curled, messy from the breeze. And though I didn’t know that woman, I knew everything that she became. I may have never seen her hold a rifle, but I recognize the spirited abandon in her eyes and the sassy curve of her mouth. I saw that look many times on her face and also in the mirror. I get that look too.
Wild is a word that has never been attributed to me. Though I kind of wish it were. It seems to be a coveted descriptor these days. Wild is attractive, fun. The opposite is boring.
In all her glory, I imagine a wild woman is free, whimsical, and unencumbered. Not so much the “throwing caution to the wind” sort, but more the “willing to risk” or “unbothered by others’ opinions” kind.
As a teen, I admired my friends who tossed their hair into messy buns and swapped drivers on country roads without stopping. At weddings, I am in awe of those who dance with abandon. These days, I envy those who can pull off wrists full of bracelets and yellow wedges.
I want to wear yellow wedges.
Oh, I have an adventuresome spirit. I take risks. But mine is of a measured sort. I calculate the decisions I make. Impulse is not my style. “On a whim” is not how I roll. I feel free after I’ve done the research.
If I’m truthful, I fear “uncontained wild” is just too messy. Especially if it looks like a carefree spirit that oozes–in dinner that never gets made, crumbs that never get swept, and dreams that keep getting pushed aside.
I like to see my dreams fulfilled.
I wonder, is there space for my kind of wild?
Can my sort of wild follow a path of risk the way a rock climber belays? Can I enjoy a thrill while safely buckled? You know, travel in a pandemic while wearing a mask? Or start new ventures with a business plan?
If wild is a state of being, an inner freedom, an embrace of adventure, or even a spirit that says, “yes, please!” then does it really matter how it happens? Can I be all of that and simultaneously measured, calculated, and well researched?
Recently, my husband and I purchased a parcel of hope. A very calculated and researched parcel. One day, we’ll build a home that grandkids visit, but for now, we own a camping spot. Friends came with an airsoft gun, and we lined up cans and took turns trying out our aim. I thought of my grandmother, wearing flannels in the forties on the prairie.
If wild is free, I think I’m going to claim the name for myself. It’s my inheritance.
Beth Bruno lives in Colorado where she and her husband lead a team of ReStory™ experts at Restoration Counseling Center. Additionally, as a podcaster, author, and content strategist, Beth guides women to raise fierce and lovely teen girls. When she’s not creating something new, she and her family enjoy the mountains, traveling, and good food.
If you are happy/satisfied with your free-measured, calculated-adventurous, spirited-researched wild state of being, so be it!! You own your state of being, and it is how you define it. Keep it up! Oh, and wear flannel!!
Beth, I love this! I can relate to your style of wild and felt some of my shame melt away as you embraced your design. I’m glad you had the courage to be wild in your own way.