What if fear isn’t telling you to stop, but showing where you need to go?
-Tommy Lewis
One Wild Year
I am the same age now that my father was when he received a devastating cancer diagnosis—stage four, metastasis, one year to live. It was 1987, and I was in fifth grade.
One Wild Year is an invitation to live wilder, braver, and less distracted, as if this year is all we have.
For the next 365 days, I’m putting down my phone and picking up living.
As I wade deeper into midlife, I notice myself slowly choosing familiarity over curiosity, comfort instead of growth, scrolling before creativity.
Call it good medicine or faith or stubbornness, but my father outlived his prognosis by many years. Still, I will never forget the preciousness and uncertainty of that first year and how fiercely my dad lived, even as he thought he was dying.
I’ve decided to really live this year and fill it with what matters most to me: time with my daughters and husband, family and friends; hours outside in the garden and on the trails; honest work; and being of service. I’m drawn to reviving my Appalachian upbringing that was full of old-time porch sitting, wild food foraging, baking, visiting, storytelling, and unhurried meals. A wild year doesn’t have to be grand or expensive, just meaningful. So here’s to One Wild Year ahead—mine and yours.
I have a bet with Anxiety. I say I can overcome panic in a year by leaning into the fear, daring to push my physical limits, and being vulnerable along the way. Anxiety says I can’t. But we all know she’s a lying ho.
Wilder Than Fear
The last thing I want to be known for is panic. I have spent my adult life trying to appear calm, capable, and adventurous. But perimenopause is blowing my cover. The panic is swifter now and less predictable. This summer, I caught myself skirting anything that might trigger that terrifying rush of racy, shaky energy. I was nipping the herbal remedy valerian and wearing out the frequency app on my phone. But these strategies only suppress panic, and, in my experience, the things you squash come back tenfold.
As part of One Wild Year, I’m trying something new. Instead of running away from feelings, I’m racing into the fear. I’ve signed up for ultramarathons that will produce the same sensations as panic. I’ve said yes to travel, crowds, and the possibility of failure. I’m ready for my heart to race, for dizziness, sweats, nausea, and shaky legs. Let’s go!
I want to soak up every moment of life without anxiety gnawing at the edges. I desire to care for my family and friends, to nestle in the wild beauty of the mountains, and to be of service. I want to age bravely and know I stood up to fear when it came for me. I want to show my daughters—and anyone else that needs to hear it—that anxiety doesn’t have to win.
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Earlier this summer, I was lazing on the back porch with the dogs, watching Stellar’s Jays pitch and wheel around the bird feeder, screaming as they jockeyed for seeds. The dogs tracked the Jays with their eyes, not bothering to get up. The heat of the day had just broken in the wake of a brief and violent thunderstorm, and we were all still listless. Except for the Jays, they were as swift and argumentative as ever. …
Prologue
Hello, there
My name is Lucia Powell. I am a mama, a military wife and mother, an explorer. I have a career and a garden and three big ole dogs. I was born in the hills and hollers of West Virginia and now live in the mountains of Colorado. I still carry Appalachia in my heart and a touch in my voice.
Sometimes I am bold and adventurous; other times I am sweaty and shy. I love words and both deserts and desserts. So far, I’m number 51 on the Cocodona 250 waitlist, which seems like the makings of a wild year indeed.