Beauty In The Wildness

When facing chronic illness, so many things fall by the wayside.

The once perfectly manicured garden grows wild and the chain link fence rusts away to nothing. The scarlet cannas spread like wildfire and the footpath pavers crumble.

And yet, there is a beauty in the wildness. There is charm in the disrepair. There is something about the untameable brambles that inspires unbridled caprice.

So often people say that the key to a good life is to “just be yourself,” but what does that even mean?

Are we color-coded cottage gardens, devoid of weeds and overgrowth? Or are we miles of thorny blackberries, interspersed with a variety of wildflowers? Can our personalities be confined by a white picket fence? Or do our psyches run free toward the mountains and the sea all at once?

For years, I maintained a picture-perfect garden. My beliefs, interests, and hobbies aligned closely with those I associated with. My days were arranged just so. The garden of my life was my pride and my joy.

But then, my garden staff quit and I ran out of fertilizer. I couldn’t afford to repaint my fence and my knees hurt too much to pluck out the weeds. The beautiful garden fell into disarray and everything looked wrong.

However, after years of letting nature take the reigns, I noticed that the garden had taken on a new sense of order. The reds and yellows no longer congregated where I directed, but instead where the sun cast her gaze. The unruly weeds filled in the open spaces, living hand-in-hand with the wildflowers. The weathered wood took on a homey and inviting appearance.

In letting go and allowing dereliction, a new form of beauty has taken shape in my life. There is a breathtaking beauty in the wildness. And there is an inexplicable elegance in simply letting things be.