Running Wild | Aging Fearlessly - Episode 27

In this episode, Lulu reflects on childhood adventures, sunrise bicycle rides, butterflies, curiosity, and the unexpected freedom that can come with aging. She explores how growing older has made her less interested in fitting in and more interested in living fully, setting healthy boundaries, and following what brings her spirit alive.

Running wild, she discovers, is not about rebellion—it is about remaining curious, awake, and open to the wonder of l

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:33

Welcome, my friends, to Light in the Garden, a soft place to land, breathe, and remember who you truly are. I'm Lulu, and this podcast is my offering. Here we explore the quiet places where the human and the divine meet, through stories from the road, the lake, where I spend many hours and the long path of my own becoming. Each episode is simply a companion for your heart. Thank you for joining me today. I'm so glad you're here. This episode is called Running Wild. There is something wonderful in those two words running wild. Every single time I read them, I take in a deep, satisfying breath, and a smile touches my lips. For those of you, my dear listeners, who were raised in the nineteen forties or fifties or sixties, running wild may have been the way you were set free to climb and run and discover the world. Some of us were actually pushed out the door with the command go play and don't come back until dinner time. Of course, without a phone or a wristwatch, how were we to know when dinner time had arrived? In my little corner of the world, my mother would stand on the porch and holler for me really loud. But those hours, those golden hours before dark, are among the most treasured moments and memories I now hold. And run wild I did, not in the adolescent way of smoking in back alleys or jumping into cars with boys. Well, not yet anyway. No, these were the days of draping myself across a sunwarmed rock and staring into a cool creek bubbling past while I watched crawfish and tadpoles. These were the days of swinging as high as possible on the schoolyard swings, trying to outpace my friends, the days of crawling into secret little spaces where I could daydream uninterrupted. And my favorite of all, catching fireflies right before the alarm bell of my mother's voice called me home. As an adult raising four children, I forgot my propensity to run wild. Well, that's not entirely true. I breastfed my children much longer than was considered socially acceptable, and I homeschooled them for twelve years at a time which was also considered rather unconventional. I used to read them a wonderful book called We Were Tired of Living in a House. It's about a group of children who decide they'd rather live in trees and caves and all sorts of adventurous places rather than a house. That book sings to me still. Even now there are moments when I want to make my great escape and leave domestication behind. These days, when I step outside at sunrise and greet the morning with gratitude, I realize I am still pretty untamed. And I love that about myself. I love that I'm perfectly comfortable heading out into the world with unbrushed hair because brushing it would tame my natural curls. I love that mismatched clothes bother me not a whit. My decorating style leans more toward the wildly eclectic than the carefully coordinated. Not long ago I accidentally told a medical examiner I was seventy five years old. When I corrected myself and said I was actually seventy four, she nearly fell out of her chair. She told me her parents were in their seventies and looked and acted much older than I did. At seventy four I suppose there are people who think I should be settling down. Instead, I seem to be running even more wild. As I move deeply into the later years of life, I sometimes notice that older people are viewed if we're viewed at all, as somehow shrinking. What I find fascinating is that we oldsters seem to recognize one another immediately. It's like when you're thinking about buying a particular car and suddenly that car appears everywhere you look. Now I notice people in my own age range. We exchange smiles and knowing nods. Others may think we're shrinking. We do not. The older I get, the less interested I am in fitting inside fences that separate me from real life. Without giving much of a hoot what others think of me, I find myself feeling freer than ever. I take my cues from nature. If you lift an old flower pot or move a pile of mulch, you'll notice an entire community of insects bustling about with great purpose. Disturb them and they scatter in every direction, running wild. I also share my yard with a family of black racer snakes. They have decided my little patch of Florida is a safe haven and that suits me just fine. If you've ever startled a black racer, you immediately understand how it got its name. It doesn't stroll away, it flies. These days my own running wild is mostly metaphorical. It's standing quietly and watching a monarch butterfly emerge from its chrysalis. It's choosing a bicycle trail over household chores because there might be rabbits to spot along the way. It's waking up at three thirty in the morning and wondering what marvelous things the day might hold once the sun comes up. I often ask my higher self, hm, so what are we going to get into today? What of adventure is waiting for us? For me, and I can only speak for myself, much of that adventure happens outdoors. I sometimes still get tired of living in a house. It's not that I can't hear the voice of spirit indoors, I can. But outside I hear that voice much louder. Everything becomes amplified. Outside I can follow both my curiosity and my intuition. I can watch a butterfly and finally and suddenly find myself contemplating the nature of transformation. I can have conversations that deepen my understanding of the Creator and discover that the universe is spacious enough to embrace all of our questions. That is something I did not understand when I was younger. I am far more tolerant now, far more curious, far more willing to explore. Not recklessly, though I certainly had my reckless years. I owned a Harley Davidson motorcycle in my forties and fifties. Back then, Florida didn't require helmets, and I didn't wear one. Yeah, yeah, I know. Probably not my brightest decision. But oh my goodness, the feeling of that wild wind moving across my face and through my hair. Well, let's just leave it there. These days running wild means something different. It means exploring my creativity, which seems to be blooming in full color these days. I'm teaching myself to draw and paint. I'm attempting to learn the Native American flute, though lessons may still be required. I'm discovering new friendships and setting boundaries I never knew I needed. Even saying no feels wild. Let me repeat that. Even saying no feels wild. Many people think wild means saying yes to everything. I've discovered that wild can also mean refusing to live according to someone else's script. These days I'm perfectly willing to decline invitations, obligations, and activities that don't nourish my spirit. I am free to ignore advice I never asked for. I am free to step away from conversations that crowd my soul. Not long ago I found myself on the phone with two different people who seemed convinced they knew what was best for me. They interrupted me and talked over me. It wasn't really a conversation, it was a soliloquy. And I realized I was perfectly free to end the call, pleasantly but firmly. That felt a little wild too. I love this quote from Charles Fillmore, co founder of Unity, spoken when he was ninety-three years young. Are you ready for this? I fairly sizzle with zeal and enthusiasm, and I spring forth with a mighty faith to do the things that ought to be done by me. What a marvelous declaration. Running wild as I understand it today is not about rebellion. It is not about breaking rules simply because they are there. It's about refusing to abandon your curiosity. It's about waking up and still being deeply interested in life. It's about following those butterflies, learning new songs, asking new questions, making new friends, and becoming larger rather than smaller. At seventy four I have discovered something unexpected. The fences were never really around me. Most of them were inside me. And one by one they have fallen away. So if you happen to see an older woman riding her bike down a Florida trail, stopping to admire a rabbit, talking to butterflies, and wondering what marvelous thing the universe has planned for today, don't worry. She's not lost. She's simply running wild. I'd like to offer a longer breathing space now, an invitation to let this teaching land in your body, not just your mind. I call it feeling fully alive. So let's take a slow breath together. And another. Allow your shoulders to soften. Allow your body to settle. There is a part of you that existed long before responsibilities and expectations. A part of you that arrived in this world curious, wonder-filled, eager to explore. Perhaps life required you to become practical. Perhaps life asked you to become responsible. Perhaps life invited you into roles and obligations that were necessary and meaningful. And yet, beneath all those identities, something essential remains unchanged. The spirit within you has never grown old. It has never stopped longing to discover. It has never stopped reaching for beauty. It has never stopped responding to wonder. Take a moment now and remember a time when you felt fully alive. Not necessarily happy. Not necessarily successful, just simply alive. Present. Circumstances may have changed. Your body may have changed. Your life may have changed. But the spark remains. The invitation remains. The mystery remains. As you move through the days ahead, may you give yourself permission to be curious. Permission to learn. Permission to change your mind. Permission to say no. Permission to delight in simple things. And permission to rest. May you follow what brings life to your spirit. May you release what no longer serves you. And may you remember that your soul was never meant to live inside fences. Take one more deep breath and feel the life moving through you. Just breathe. Feel the presence that surrounds you and lives within you. And just breathe. And know that in this moment, exactly as you are, you belong to something vast and beautiful and alive. So breathe. Amen. Remember, my dear friends, even in the ordinary moments of your day, there's always light waiting in the garden. So until next time, take good care of yourselves and of each other. And I thank you from the depths of my heart for visiting me today. If you enjoyed this podcast, do me a big favor and share it with your friends. A deep bow to each of you. And finally, if you have found value here and would like to spend some one-on-one time with me, I offer spiritual companionship, spiritual guidance. Sometimes it really helps to have a steady presence beside you as you listen for your own inner wisdom and find a way forward. Until next time, take care.