running with the wolves

welcome to feral child fall

[content warning: food mentions]

are you hearing the same quiet but determined voice i am? these last few weeks, in a million different ways, the same message keeps coming through: 

go down into the dark, and feed the creature you find there. 

this message has been trying to reach me for a while. in january i set an intention to spend this year nurturing my inner weird little kid. i wanted to make bad art, to crouch on the sidewalk and talk to bugs, to laugh and play and watch cartoons. but there was another dimension to it, one that’s taken three-quarters of a year to arrive:

“pitching a fit, when pitching a fit is called for. howling. refusing. sharpening my claws.”

dear ones, i am exhausted. i’m sick and sad and overwhelmed and yet still spending my limited energy on the least–life-giving things. i’m tired of being tired, of watching my meager resources drain away. i’m tired of suppressing my intuition and denying my needs, of being fine when things are not fine, of conforming to abled and neurotypical standards of behavior in order to remain undetected and safe. 

i need a break. i need to break.

i need to break things. 

autumn has always been the season in which i feel most alive, most inspired, most free. this autumn, that freedom is going to look a little different.

this is feral child fall. 

this is the season for hiding and seeking. of sensory protection. apples. cold salt-water baths in the dark. sleep, sleep, and more sleep. lighting things on fire. burying myself in blankets and piles of fallen leaves. yelling. boundaries. staying out late to talk to the moon. hexing. soup and a big hunk of bread. staying in the shadows. rocks and sticks and shells and bones. loud music. dirt. going barefoot. trusting my instincts. snarling, scratching, biting,* and running, where once i would have stayed quiet and still.  

writing out that list gave me a little shiver-thrill, which transformed almost immediately into a fearful full-body clench. i have been so thoroughly programmed to obliterate myself for other people’s comfort. letting myself be wild, or even just be, will not be easy.

which is why i have to try.

---

things i’ve written

photo by jane / giddy graffiti by me

• some truly heart-glowy news: my lyric essay “Bat Facts” was awarded honorable mention in The Best American Science and Nature Writing 2022—and my name was listed right next to my dear friend jane’s!

• many of you already know about my whale phobia. for those of you who don’t (and probably just mouthed the words “whale phobia?!?”), you can read about it in my 2014 essay in The Atlantic. (update: i’ve been informed that this article is now behind a paywall. leave a comment or email me if you’d like a copy of the essay.)

---

tenderness toward existence days

note for new subscribers: 1. hello! 2. this is the part of the newsletter where i offer a handful of tiny, weird, and often confusing holidays you can celebrate over the next few weeks. if you know of any good ones for november, please leave a comment.

october has some marvelous feral holidays.

• look at the leaves! day (today! go look!)

• bathtub day (october 7)

• international moment of frustration scream day (12)

• national face your fears day (17)

• my birthday (18)

• apple day (21)

and a boneless bonus week:

• cephalopod awareness day (7)

• world octopus day (8)

• nautilus night (9)

• squid and cuttlefish day (10)

• myths and legends day, aka kraken day (11)

• fossil day (12)**

---

thanks for reading all the way to the end. i’m so glad you’re here.

*metaphorically. (mostly.)

**“for all the incredible suckers that have gone extinct but left an impression with us,” according to the organizers.