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What if some moments happen for you?

A brief issue this week & a request to answer 7 quick questions to shape your reading experience

Kimberley Pittman-Schulz
Kimberley Pittman-Schulz
5 min read
Painting style illustration of mother Gray Fox and 3 fox kits in clover

For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, I hope you are slowing down your June as much as possible to enjoy these lengthening days of light before the Solstice arrives on June 20th or 21st (depending on your time zone), and the light shifts, a little less of it each day.

Savor, savor, savor the light. A mindful practice. A way to slow the pony, so to speak, and hold on to more of each day. 🌞

This issue is a little different than usual, because I want your input in shaping future issues of The Wild Now. I'm asking you to do a quick 7-question survey, which you find more about below.

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Here’s where we’ll go in this issue:
‣ Brief thoughts on pain & possibility
‣ Asking your help in shaping your reading experience
‣ Three links to foxy resources
‣ This week's mind-opening question

Pain always comes with possibility. Have you found that to be true?

This past week and a half has been a lesson in that idea on multiple levels.

My husband’s health led us into some dark and difficult days, then an accident in the garden left me with a tailbone so battered that doing all the ordinary things that need done every day—may I be blunt?—hurt like hell.

Where’s the possibility part?

I discovered new reserves for caregiving as well as for keeping my spirits up, and my husband’s too.

I’ve also been learning how parts of the body and a range of movements are interconnected.

I found myself singing that old song, Dem Bones, Dem Bones. I sang it, badly, to my husband, both of us laughing out loud—a reminder that we are still attached to our often-take-for-granted, humble bones.

We’re still here. Say it with me: “We’re still here.”

But the body is more like a complex knitting project. The thread that is a wisp of nerve or bit of muscle over here will cause a surprising ‘ouch!’ in a completely different and seemingly unconnected area of the design. Suddenly you feel as if you might unravel.

The current popular meme, “No one is coming to rescue you,” has been a kind of circus bear on a bike in my head, cycling round and round.

Then I recalled what I’ve shared with so many clients dealing with elements of grief, guilt, regret, and caught in the maze of, Why didn’t I do this or that? It’s also what I offered staff members, especially the younger ones, whom I led when I was in the nonprofit sector—all of us wanting so much to save the world.

The only one you can ever really save is yourself. That’s a hopeful realization, even if hard at times. Still, when you do that, everything else becomes more possible.

Of course, as we often explore when I visit your inbox each week, one of the best ways to save yourself is to be open to magic, some gift tucked into the day, the possibility of inner joy, which is, in part, a sense that you are meant to be in this moment.

For me that sense came with a glance out of a window as I was gingerly crouching to scoop the cats’ litter box. Something’s happening, it struck me, out there.

Slow, slug-like movements not only keep jabs of pain away, they also make it possible to witness a gorgeous mother Gray fox, a low breeze blowing the fur on her face, without startling her. Then to watch as one, two, three roly-poly, fluff-ball kits pop out of the culvert, tumbling around in the clover beside her.

Ever feel like a certain moment is happening for you?

You might disagree, knowing it’s true that a tree falling all alone in the woods no doubt makes a sound, because the world doesn’t need you to be there for it all to be real and have it’s own music.

Still, why wouldn’t a moment happen for you, be meant for you?

If you are in that moment, really in it, then it is for you. Accept it. Savor it.

Shape Your Reading Experience: Please Answer 7 Short Questions

I rarely ask my readers for anything—I prefer to give—though I am genuinely asking you to take one action today.

Please give me some needed input to craft the best possible reading experience for you.

Creating The Wild Now is deeply meaningful for me — and your feedback will help me shape it into something that best supports and inspires you. Whether you read every issue or dip in from time to time, I’d be grateful if you’d take just a few minutes to share your thoughts.

If you agree to tap the button below and complete the brief survey, I’d like to offer you a thank-you gift for your time and perspective. Namely, you’ll be able to select from three guided audio practices that I recorded for past clients, who found them especially helpful.

So, please, resist the temptation to skip the survey, tap the button to get started, okay? (Your answers are for my eyes only and completely confidential.)

Gray Fox family footage
If you've never gotten a good glimpse of a Gray fox family, enjoy this footage.

Straight Talk from Fox, a poem by Mary Oliver
Listen to this reading by Elizabeth Price, accompanied by a beguiling image of a red fox.

Fox by Nickel Creek
If this song makes you feel like dancing or clapping, whether you're good at that or not, do it anyway–such good medicine ;-)

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A question for you ...

What will you do today, tomorrow, the days beyond to savor the sun’s light in your world?

If you feel up to sharing how you're answering this question, replies and comments are incredibly welcomed—and I will respond.

Just hit reply to share your reactions to this question or this issue of The Wild Now. Replies are private and for my eyes only.

If you'd like to post a comment on the published version of this issue on the The Wild Now website, please click the comment bubble below.

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