Wild and Precious

My decisions in the last year or so have largely been guided by a question Mary Oliver posed in 1990, nearly a decade before I was born. In her poem, “The Summer Day,” Oliver asks, “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

As I face the impending start of graduate school, pursuing a field quite different from my undergraduate program, in a new state and a new part of the country, it takes all my courage not to throw in the towel and scurry back home with my tail between my legs. Whenever I feel like I’m getting cold feet about the whole endeavor, I turn to Mary Oliver who reminds me I only have one wild and precious life. I thought about that wild and precious life when I submitted my school application, when I responded “yes” to my acceptance letter and with every single box I packed up and loaded into my car. Graduate school is a stepping stone to a life where I can make an impact on people’s lives in a way that I feel strongly called to. I don’t want to reach the end of my wild and precious life and wish I had helped more people.

I remember my wild and precious life when my parents ask me to run an errand with them and I would rather stay at home, but I choose to go anyway. They only have one wild and precious life too, after all. 

Oliver’s quote has become almost a chant in my mind as I navigate life.

Job interview I’m nervous about?

Wild and precious.

Reaching out to make a new friend?

Wild and precious.

Keep scrolling on my phone or go read a book?

Wild and precious.

Lazy day in bed or get up and move my body?

Wild and precious.

I feel much more satisfied with my decisions when I look at my options through the lens of wild and precious. You might think that the phrase “life is short” has the same impact. Perhaps it does, for some. But to me, “life is short” means I need to hurry it up and get stuff done. “Wild and precious” means that I get to choose however I want to spend my time as long as I am appreciating what I have. “Life is short” means I have to cram all the things I want to do into one small lifetime. “Wild and precious” relieves my fears about leaving a legacy and gives me permission to walk in a field of wildflowers because it’s good for my mental health, before I deep dive back into homework.

How are you going to spend your one wild and precious life? By being scared to try new things? I saw a quote on social media recently that said, “the thing about courage is that it feels an awful lot like fear.” It’s okay to be scared. But don’t let your fear stop you from trying what you want to try. I’ve wanted to go to graduate school since high school. Cold feet doesn’t mean it’s the wrong decision. 

Are you afraid you are too old to start something? I remember thinking at twelve years old that it was too late for me to start gymnastics because most people started when they were five or six years old. I’m now over twice that age and wish I had started then, but now when I think, “maybe I’m too old,” I catch myself and laugh. I’m not old at all and I’ll never be this young again. You are rarely too old to try something new, so go try the new thing. Get the degree or certification, even if you think you’ll never use it. Read the book. Listen to the podcast. Time spent learning is never wasted. 

Find out what you truly enjoy. Don’t be afraid to stop reading a book if you aren’t enjoying it. Order a new food. Watch a new TV show instead of the same reruns. If you don’t like it, at least you tried!

Take more walks. Chew your food more slowly and try eating at the table, without phones, instead of in front of the TV. Practice more mindful living and don’t rush home after hanging out with friends. Say yes, say no, say “I’m scared, but I’ll do it anyway.”

And in the end, remember, you only have one wild and precious life.

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean—

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

—Mary Oliver

A note going forward:

Because I am starting graduate school soon, my time to write will be severely limited. Because of this, I will be writing The Breathing Room every three months, instead of every month. This new schedule will start in October, so you’ll still receive a September article, then an October article and then you won’t hear from me again until January.

You will still receive it in your email inboxes (a week early, if you are a subscriber) and will be able to read it online. Your support for my column is greatly appreciated and I am so thankful to every single person who chooses to read my work. I look forward to continuing to write for you, and I hope you know that in this space, you are welcome exactly as you are.

Warmly,

Hannah

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