Tag Archives: hope

One Less Wild Woman

One Less Wild Place

one less wild woman
The wetlands bloom for most of the year.

Wild places to walk, sweat, explore, and breathe in are precious. Growing up in the suburbs, wild places that were near to me were made even more precious by their rarity.

I was surrounded by concrete and the inescapable roar of engines, but I could retreat to a wild place. I was lucky enough to grow up near the ocean and the wetlands. I run on dirt trails and watch as migratory birds pass through our coastal home. Migraines make me spend too much time in a dark room, but I am able to practice my own ecotherapy in these wetlands where I find nourishment in fresh air and clouds.

My favorite running route wound through a large field that was half strawberry field, half undeveloped chapparal. Songbirds, raptors, bunnies, and squirrels called the large area home. I ran through the field and along the channel hundreds of times, passing the same dog walkers and familiar bird species each time.

one less wild woman
The strawberry field is now a construction site and soon to be a neighborhood.

The strawberry field is now gone. The raptors perch in snags at the edges of what used to be a thriving field. The drone of engines is inescapable as tractors comb the wet earth, flattening and scraping for the neighborhood to come. It is impossible not to mourn the loss of this wild space and the wild things that called it home.

A neighborhood behind me stands mostly empty on the bluffs. The bluffs provided nesting sites for large herons and egrets. The houses are huge and mostly alike, but for some reason, no on really lives there. Who decided to replace these wild homes with more empty concrete ones?

One Less Wild Woman

This is, of course, not the first or most dramatic time I have mourned the loss of wild things. I spent summers in my early  20’s living, working, and playing in the Sierra Nevada mountains. I fell in love with rivers and mountains, lakes and peaks. I lived in a tent cabin and spent as many nights beneath the stars as I could.

wild place wild things
Canoeing on Mono Lake with my boyfriend Eric Smith. Photo by Scott Smith

I worked on a river and a lake. I guided hikes and campfire programs. I met people from all over the world and swam, hiked, and loved the mountains all summer. Fall, winter, and spring were spent dreaming about getting back to the Sierra. I continued to run and climb indoors, preparing my body for miles of adventures to come.

A few days after my 24th birthday I awoke with a migraine. It was a persistent one, and it seemed to launch me into a new life of chronic migraines. After several weeks in bed, I said goodbye to my job and mountain home. My migraines and I spent the next three years healing in the suburbs. It was the most trying period of my life.

One Less Wild Cat

one less wild woman
Boxes make the best beds.

Sometimes caring for another helps you care for yourself. A rescue kitten came into my life shortly before my 27th birthday – just last June. He was sick, blind, and needed a home. I had no intention of adopting a pet until I met little Jupiter (aka Goop). Knowing how it feels to be lonely, sick, and stuck in the dark, I couldn’t let the little guy go back to a hard, wild life despite his special needs.
The last thing my life needed was responsibility and more medical bills, but that is what I got. Like most reluctant pet parents, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Migraine days and good days alike are made better with a companion and kitten cuddles.

A New Wild Home

The domestication of both Jupiter and myself is finally coming to  an end! Last week I signed the lease on a new home in the mountains, not far from where I lived before chronic migraines. The relief and gratitude I feel every morning that I wake up to smell Jeffrey pine trees and listen to nuthatches call to each other is indescribable.

one less wild woman
The shady porch of my new mountain home is a cozy place to sit during a migraine.

The transition period is still in full force. My clothes are in boxes, and I left my kitten at my parents’ home for another week. The aspen trees are turning brilliant orange and the air is noticeably crisper. Soon the snow will come and we will settle in to a season of warmth, health, and growth.

Moving back to the mountains and creating another wild home was a dream too big to consider for years. Now, thanks to a part-time job with an understanding boss, fantastic roommates, and my always patient boyfriend, I once again feel at home. I once again feel wild.

Feature Image by Eric Smith

A Fresh Start

Just before sunset on Christmas Eve I put on my neglected running shoes and went for a walk. As the sun set over the wetlands, my mom and I watched the dabbling ducks dive for the last meal of the day. We watched the ibises and the egrets fly home in groups of threes and fours. We watched the colors change in the sky and on the water, and we just walked.

After more than two months in bed with pain so big  standing up made it worse, walking in the cold fresh air felt like a baptism. It is hard to feel full of life when you are stuck in bed, day in and day out. It is hard to feel full of life when every movement, sound, and light hurts. It is hard to feel full of life when your whole world feels as big as as your bed on a good day and as big as your body on a bad day. Just being outside, feeling my muscles and joints reawaken, I felt like I had been given a completely different body.

Recording the end of my migraine, maxed out at 999.99 hours

Even better, I felt like I had been given hope. The chronic illness journey involves constantly toeing the line between hope and fear. Naturally, any time my health gets worse or I experience a prolonged migraine attack my thoughts turn more easily to fear. Fear of getting worse or never getting better, fear of side effects and complications, fear of judgement and abandonment. These are the days when hope is at its most powerful but is the most difficult to draw upon.

As I move further along on my chronic pain journey I am getting better at  finding joy and hope during periods of illness. I expect this to be a continuous challenge filled with ups and downs befitting the cyclical nature of grief and gratitude. When the pain subsides, though, the joy is overwhelming.  All of a sudden the hope and gratitude that I have struggled to hold onto come easily. Watching the sun set and the birds dance I am reminded that my place in the world is so much more important than my illness. I am reminded that I am so much more important than my illness.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.                                                                                                                                     – Mary Oliver