Letters from the Catskills: Wild Enough to Return
Some days, I wouldn’t speak a word aloud until an evening call to Jared or my sister. No notifications. No signal. Just me, the gravel underfoot, and the mapless wonder of being unreachable. I'd take the Jeep out with no destination, turning down whatever road felt right. Sometimes I’d end up at a fire tower trailhead, other times beside a creek so quiet and clear I could see the trout holding still against the current, flicking their tails like slow-moving prayer.
There is a certain freedom in being alone in the woods—not lonely, but alone. A wide, uninterrupted kind of listening. When no one can reach you, you start to hear yourself more clearly. The world’s noise fades, and your inner compass starts to hum again.
These woods became a rehearsal space for remembering. Remembering how to hear my own hunger. Remembering that I don’t need to explain my wanting. Remembering what my body feels like when it isn’t bracing for interruption.
Clarissa Pinkola Estés writes about women returning to their “soul skin,” like seals who’ve been away too long from their wild. That was me—recovering pieces I didn’t know I’d lost. The days alone gave me permission to follow whim. To walk the extra mile just to see what was at the top. To stay in a place longer than I thought I “should.” To turn back without guilt. To move at the speed of instinct.
I began to trust the pull of the trail, even when it disappeared for a while. I began to trust myself.
“Be stubborn about what you want for yourself,” writes Ehime Ora. I pinned those words to the inside of my heart. Not as a shield, but as a map.
These woods didn’t offer answers—they offered space. Enough space to remember I am the one I’ve been waiting for. Enough silence to hear my life speak back to me.
Ritual: The Wild Inside
This ritual is a quiet return—to soul skin, to knowing, to the deep wilderness within. You’ll need a candle or a stone (something to ground your intention); a journal or a single blank page; and somewhere to be uninterrupted for 10–15 minutes
Light & Stillness: Find a comfortable place to sit—near a window, outside if you can, or wherever feels quiet and safe. Light your candle or hold your stone in your hand. Let it symbolize your return to yourself. Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Let your breath drop into your belly. Let silence gather around you like a forest clearing. Whisper to yourself, “I am here. I am home.”
Ask the Wild Inside: Place your hand over your heart. Then ask inwardly: “What do I want that I haven’t named aloud? What am I craving in this season of my life? What instinct have I ignored that is now asking to be heard?” Trust the first answers that come. Write them down without judgment. Let your pen move like creek water—flowing, circling, revealing.
A Stubborn Promise: Write one sentence that begins with: “I am becoming a woman who…” Let it be bold. Let it be tender. Let it name your becoming. Then, below that, write: “I am stubborn about what I want for myself.” Sign it if you want. Speak it aloud if you need.
Close with Touch: Place your hand again on your chest or belly. Take one more breath. Whisper: “I will not abandon my wild.” Blow out the candle—or simply hold the stone to your heart one last time—and close the ritual.
