Wild Geese
How the process helped me to both overcome a lifelong fear and connect with my grandmother 10 years after her death.
When I stopped worrying about what the final product would look like, and stopped worrying how others might judge me, I ended up facing a lifelong fear of geese and I co-created a piece of art with my grandmother…10 years after her death.
Don’t worry, it’s not some psychic medium art trick. I simply took her painting of geese that she made in 1983, and I transposed a poem that reflects an important message that my grandmother always taught me: to be my authentic, badass self, even if that offends others. I share the final piece below, plus 3 journal prompts. But first, here’s how my collaborative creation came to fruition…
As part of my process of unleashing my creativity, I attended a virtual writing workshop with
. During a 10-minute writing prompt about a birth that was not an actual birth, I wrote the following, a brief origin story about how the collaborative painting with my grandma came to fruition, and what that creative process has to do with overcoming a lifelong fear:The Birth of Wild Geese
You step outside onto the magical Kripalu Retreat grounds, somehow both utterly invigorated and exhausted, after a thought-provoking morning workshop with two powerhouse female role-models: one you’ve idolized since you read her book “Eat, Pray, Love” (
). The other you just met this weekend and can’t wait to watch her appearance on Oprah, which earned her the honored title of Oprah’s “favorite guest” in the 40-year history of her show.You’re ashamed that you didn’t know this brilliant woman,
before today; ashamed that your excitement for the idol you knew would be there overshadowed any curiosity to learn more about the retreat’s co-presenter before you arrived. Why is one of these women famous and the other is not? Is this a reflection of systemic racism? Of racist cancers within you that you didn’t even know were there?You step outside, so deep in your thoughts that you don’t even notice what’s around you until you find yourself in a faceoff with a goddamn goose.
That weekend, Liz gave everyone the permission to rethink what’s “illegal.” Is it illegal to question your boss and refuse to follow his demand that you “sit there quietly” while he berates the staff day after day? Your best moments, fierce child, are when you have refused to be good.
As you stand there on the soft Kripalu grass, staring into the cold eyes of that fierce goose, your armpits are suddenly as wet as the grass still covered with morning dew. You notice your knees trembling yet ready to spring into the safety of the former monastery that is your home for the weekend. You’re reminded of Mary Oliver’s words “You do not have to be good.”
Suddenly, you picture your grandma’s painting that was gifted to you in jest by your family, thanks to the Canadian goose that literally bit the fear into you when you were 3 years old. This painting is of 2 geese flying over a twisting river through a fading yellow sunset sky. Flying low above snow-covered banks and a row of cold, bare trees with crooked frail limbs, sitting there reminding you of your own hideous flaws.
Now, 10 years after your grandma’s death, you understand why she painted those damn geese, why it ended up at home with you (of all people!) and why on EARTH you chose to hang this one prominently on the wall of your home. This is the story of how you birthed the chance to collaborate on a painting with your dead grandma whose spirit is still very much alive.
She always told you to be yourself—unabashedly, fiercely you. She told you to love people so purely that you’d literally open your home to someone in need and show them love like they’d never seen before—the same way she did for your own mom when she was 16. She was your grandma through something much thicker than blood: the choice of unconditional, unobligated love. A love that endured long after your mom divorced her abusive alcoholic son—a relationship with her ex-daughter in law? ILLEGAL! You do not have to be good.
As you stand there, staring at the goose in front of you, reciting Mary Oliver’s poem in your head, you remember that you came into this world good enough; that you still are, always have been, and always will be good enough.
But don’t mistake good enough for needing to be “good.”
“You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.”
Spread those wings and soar above those frail trees, my love.
“Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.”
This is precisely what brought you back to your long-lost love of writing; that creative joy that you tucked safely onto a dusty shelf while you went in hot pursuit of a successful, picture-perfect postcard in the world of adulting.
Now is your time to give birth to the harsh and exciting home where the geese have been calling you to return, “announcing your place in the family of things.”
Where is your home? You know it’s not a place filled with shiny trophies, but a homecoming back to the family of the many parts that make up the person you are. You are migrating back to the that truest, most beautiful version of yourself before you layered on all of the protective armor.
I see you, wild goose.
Glennon Doyle opened the cage of your awareness:
“You are not crazy.
You are a goddamn cheetah.”
As you release yourself, untamed and into the wild, remember too, that your fears do not make you crazy. Your fears give you important information. Allow your fears to evolve. Your fear of geese protected you when you were 3. You can let that go of that now and transform it into something new and beautiful; wild and free, following a migration path that you can feel in your bones, even though it might not make a bit of sense to anyone else.
Journal Prompts:
What might YOU release if you let yourself out, untamed and into the wild?
What are your fears trying to tell you?
How might your fears evolve into something new that gives you a reframed sense of power, insight, and creativity?