It's Just... Wild.

When the thing you've learned about yourself is equal parts amazing and troublesome... what do you do?

I'm a bit of a contradiction by nature. I'm an introvert in the sense that I recharge best alone, but I work in a field in which I am constantly surrounded by others and expected to perform. I'm regularly depressed and anxious, and still just as regularly manic and erratic and hyper-focused. I'm ridiculously intelligent, but still say really stupid shit. I'm equal parts passionate and apathetic. I'm a homogenous solution of independence and a burning desire not to be alone. I'm fiercely opinionated, yet somehow still easily swayed.

And I think that's how I got here. To this place where I feel like I have no real sense of direction or purpose. To this precipice between what's known and what's foreign. It's that quintessential idea of "you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

I'm sitting here in the midst of giving my students their final exams, reading the book Wild by Cheryl Strayed. I find myself pondering the idea of backpacking (of course with a dog or two). Thinking that maybe it would be fun and maybe I'd get lucky and it would give me the same clarity it seems to have given Cheryl. The very notion immediately making one of my friends conjure up images of backcountry murderers, but the thought not really crossing my mind. There's a part of the book when Cheryl explains how she ended up with the last name Strayed by finding a word in the dictionary that described her.

I think my dictionary curated last name would be Traverse. It sounds like me, "to travel across or through." I feel like I'm always in the middle of something. Constantly moving towards something but not really sure what it is or how to get there.

I can be hard to pin down or keep up with. My thoughts and words and interests move at warp speed, and I may have been the actual inspiration for Miley Cyrus's Wrecking Ball. In some instances I jump well before I even consider looking, consequences and the opinions of others be damned. It's the part of me that I think can be so magnetic, that force of nature type of quality. That quintessential IDGAF attitude can be really appealing... if you're me anyway.

I don't want to blame it all on turning thirty, but it does feel like it really all came to a head then. I've been steadily working towards a place in my life where I enjoy myself. It started when I began running in 2019 and it's continued to develop over the last few years. I enjoy my time alone or with my dogs immensely. I love to pack them up and go to whatever trail or class or event strikes my fancy in the moment. I'll just register for a Disney 5k whenever I happen to stumble upon the fact that registration is open. I find strength and an intriguing version of comfort in the fact that I don't feel a need to answer to anyone or explain my reasoning. The truth is, it doesn't always make me the greatest friend, daughter, sister, or partner.

I'm not oblivious to the fact that the thing I'm learning to love the most about myself is problematic. It leads me to make impulsive decisions and to do so void of the opinions or approval of my loved ones. My obsession with my independence and that devil-may-care attitude makes me hard to reason with and often leads me to wonder if I'm meant to be be more alone than I realize. It's not necessarily "fair" to those who care about me to constantly be in the wake of my recklessness.

To be clear, I'm not talking about making crazy dangerous decisions, but I just feel like I'm this unstoppable force lately. I imagine some would call it selfishness, and I would have to say there are definitely some similarities between whatever is going on with me and selfishness. When I think of selfishness though, I often have this negative association, this idea that with selfishness comes malintent. I don't see my new-found independent streak as one steeped in malice or bad intentions. I see it (whatever "it" is) as an opportunity for growth and exploration. I see it as something filled with possibilities and excitement. I see it as a reclaiming of myself, when I didn't even know I'd lost her.

There's probably no real point to any of these ramblings, and in truth I don't think it has really anything to do with dogs. This post started off as "I'm going to review this book I'm really enjoying" and it somehow evolved into a deep dive into the thing that's simultaneously so right and so wrong with me. To bring it back to the book though, if you're looking for a book that combines grief, the great outdoors, impulse, self-reflection, and a little danger, check out Cheryl Strayed's book, Wild. If getting halfway through it has made me think this much about myself and where I'm going, I can't imagine what'll happen by the end.

Thanks for reading this tail, and as always, here's to many more.

Danielle