Nature has a way of restoring perspective.
It reminds me that life has never revolved around my plans.
A few days ago, we took a short drive to Assateague Island, Maryland, a familiar destination over the years that holds many memories.
The last time we were here was two years ago. As I walked the beach with the cool Atlantic washing over my feet, I noticed the empty bench on the dunes. I have a picture of my mom sitting on that very bench two years ago. Amidst the stunning sky and ocean views, my heart ached from the memory.
I wrote the song While I Was Waiting in that same spot.
The salt air has a soothing effect. Even as I slept next to the open window in the van, each slight breeze washed over me like a cool blanket of comfort. The sound of the waves breaking on the shore lulled me to sleep.
I’ve lived on both coasts and watched the sun rise over the Atlantic and set over the Pacific and in the spaces in between, including deserts, mountains, and cornfields. No matter where you are on the earth, the sunsets and sunrises that frame each day and night are always spectacular.
I could go on and on about sunrises and sunsets, but this morning, I’m thinking about wild things. Remember the book Where the Wild Things Are? It’s still one of my favorites.
As human beings, we have an inner drive to tame things—to make them more like us. We want people and animals to think like us, behave like us, and believe like us. All in an effort to tame the unpredictable.
However, I’ve also learned that what first appears wild and unruly usually has something to teach me.
The gift isn’t in changing it, but in seeing it as it is.
When I was young, I would walk out to the field with a bucket of grain to catch horses. The sound of the bucket made them come running, and it could get out of control in a hurry. More than once, I tossed the bucket of grain and let them work it out themselves. One day, as I was walking back to the corral with the horses following me, one of them bit me in the back. There isn’t much skin on my back to grab, but that horse still left a grapefruit-sized bruise.
In all kinds of coexistence, there are bound to be some clashes. When I was walking Dennis through the campground at the oceanfront state park early the other morning, a yearling boldly approached us. We said a quick hello and kept walking. “Don’t make eye contact,” I whispered to Dennis. He must have instinctively known, because he didn’t.
The wildest thing I know is the wonder of this life
Sweet mysteries, living in plain sight
—While I Was Waiting
Sometimes the greatest lessons come from watching and listening instead of trying to change what is whole. After all, I am ever the student in this school of life. Watch and learn.
When I lived on the family farm in Tennessee, I shared the land with two herds of wild horses who had been born there and never touched by human hands. Each herd had a ruling stallion, and every year their leadership was tested by a younger stallion. When these herds challenged each other, they would run up the quarter-mile stretch of the hollow at full speed to meet the other herd. You could hear them coming before they came into sight. You could even feel the vibration on the ground. It was spectacular to witness and brought chills and awe at the power of nature in the wild.
A friend recently responded to an email regarding the violent storms that have been hammering the Lake of the Ozarks. She said, “The weather zigs, and we zag.” Her words made me smile.
Yes, sometimes life zigs.
We zag.
Wild things don’t need fixing. They simply need to be respected.
Waiting, watching, feeling, believing. Every day we have the opportunity to see the world with love, gratitude, and awe, and leave enough room for wild things to be exactly what they were created to be.
Come along for the journey. I’d be honored to meet you in your inbox each week.
I loved the images your words brought to mind. Thinking about your mom, too, warmed my heart but left an ache behind. Would the yearling possibly attack if you made eye contact?