Meditations on Wildness

I am currently working on a selection of options for a friend's upcoming book's cover.

He and I spend a good amount of time thinking about and pursuing our own wildness,

trying to pull apart where that need comes from, and considering what that even means.

As a hyperactive, borderline feral kid, it very often felt like I had to learn to be a human.  

Sometimes people who meet me in a more formal situation have a hard time

imagining that I was a kid up a tree with matted hair and no ability to control 

the volume of my voice or most of the things that came out of my mouth.

I am always on the opposite end of that reality, 

forgetting that I have lost (or forfeited) so much of my sharp and feral ways. 

I know that this is crucial to my survival, but it still comes with an enormous amount of sadness. 

When you are young, especially a young kid with raging ADHD and few social skills,

 you eventually learn how to check every impulse, you eventually stop cutting off your hair in chunks

without any reason that you can understand or remember, you start figuring out how to sit still.

You find something you can focus on, and you draw.