a cold and wild wind
In a day, we went from 60 to 0.
Degrees that is, at least the wind chill.
It had been unnaturally balmy for early December.
Then big winds brought a front
that arrived at our doorsteps,
quickly cycling from
rain to ice to a little snow.
And the thin jackets from the day before
looked laughable hanging on the coat rack.
To step outside this morning
was to be greeted by a wind
that found any gap
in your carefully layered clothing.
Still, it’s amazing what we can bear
when dressed properly,
cloaked with our innermost layer
being that of attitude and a little thrill
for being out in conditions many wouldn’t choose.
In truth, we can tolerate far more than we might think.
At some point, it’s more about knowing that we’ll get warm again
than it is about being comfortable in any given moment.
Trusting that it won’t always feel this way,
and that even in the discomfort,
there is inspiration and excitement.
Like the sound of cold wind through white pines—
I swear it sounds different than in summer.
Or how animal tracks come alive
with just a dusting of snow—
revealing what it is that my golden ones
have lingered over to sniff all those warm months.
And the hush that comes over the woods
when wild ones have migrated or gone to ground.
And even the exhilaration at daring to be out in it,
in weather that some would deem intolerable.
We can do this. And so much more
No one said being Wild would be easy either.
‘Having the courage to bring the gift
of all of who you are to all of what you do’
is no small thing.
It calls for spunk and ingenuity
guts and compassion
patience and presence
and a willingness to be vulnerable
in a world that gives vulnerability mixed reviews at best.
When things are lined up, it feels great:
we show up grounded in who we are, clear-eyed and content.
When things aren’t so smooth,
that’s where Wild shakes us down:
asking us, not unlike the chilling wind,
to be willing to tolerate discomfort;
to stand out when we might rather sit down,
and to stay curious, even as things shift and change.
Cold weather always reminds me
of the perils of too narrow a comfort zone.
Those edges hold mystery and a wide armed invitation
to stay with it,
to delight in
your true Wild nature.