WILD CHILD

Does comfort dictate the choices you make?

Or fear?

Are the decisions you make each day aligning with the kind of life you want to be living , or are they quietly steering you toward a version of yourself you outgrew long ago?

Maybe you’ve been surviving instead of thriving, following invisible lines drawn by the past. Change is inevitable, she’s the uninvited guest who shows up even when you lock the doors. And if you don’t choose her willingly, she’ll sweep in anyway, rearranging  your life until you finally pay attention.

Me? I want to be in the driver’s seat: windows rolled down, wind in my hair, radio blaring a song that makes my heart thump in my chest. I’m driving like a car thief who just stole back her own destiny. I’m leaning into the bends, crossing fixed lines, laughing as I swerve past the potholes life throws at me. Freedom’s not a destination ... it’s that wild, white-knuckle joy of steering your own way through chaos.

I’m Thelma-and-Louise-ing my next chapter, gray hairs flying in the wind, cholesterol meds rattling in my tracksuit pocket. Barefoot, bold, beautifully unhinged. Disrupting every space I step into because safe is overrated and normal is a myth.

Read me, or don’t. Join me or stay where it’s comfortable. The revolution is rumbling beneath our feet ... can you feel it? And the artists, mavericks, pioneers and free-thinkers are going to get loud. Will you be sitting on the fence as we race by, or will you be joining the convoy, letting your voice be heard, showing up in the streets with home-made posters not AI generated BS, will you paint the streets in chalk writing quotes and words that move just one, or twirling in the Mall because you just wanted to dance in that moment! I will applaud your doodles and your dances, I will read your words and let it coat my tongue with its simplicity and its brilliance, and I will laugh at your dead pan jokes... but let’s be clear, we are mobilising and reclaiming the world.

We have been silenced for too long, us odd ducks, the black sheep, the “ugly ducklings”... we were never any of these labels....we are free spirits howling at the moon, we listen to music and sing out loud, we sit in the sun and soak it up and bask in its nourishment, we stroke the bark of trees running fingers over gnarly wood and give thanks for the O2, and we float in oceans like stars... then we head home and create pieces infused by the magic.

Who needs shopping therapy when the forest is waiting with open arms?

So, my friends get in touch with your intuition and your creativity and share it with the world. It’s a rough draft, great! Its not Ai-perfect, even better. I want to see your wrinkles when you laugh, I want to look into your wonky eye and wink, I want to limp alongside you till we reach the shore and celebrate all our perfect imperfections.

And when night falls on me, I want to look at a life well-lived on the edge of “normal” and I want people to remember me for a moment and say, Damn, she was a beautiful, kind soul. Not woman, not mother, not wife, not sister.

Soul.

Wild.

Free.

And a child of God.

And she danced with the wind.