“Let the Wild Decide”

What would you do if you lost all your possessions?

I know what it feels like to lose everything. Not just misplacing a wallet or missing a flight, but the kind of loss that drowns you — literally and figuratively — until the water is up to your nose and you can barely breathe. A few years ago, that was me. My life, my possessions, my sense of security — all washed away in one brutal sweep. I had lost everything, except my morality and convictions. And in the darkest moments, that was the only thing keeping me from vanishing completely.

I came out of it, yes, but not the same. You don’t recover fully from something like that. It leaves a mark on your soul, a quiet echo that whispers: What if it happens again?

If it does, I won’t cling to the ruins. This time, I’ll walk away. Not to another city or a new job or a fresh start in the same old system, but to the forest. The thick, uncharted, breathing forest. A place where the wild animals decide my destiny, not bank accounts or landlords or storms. The forest doesn’t ask for rent. The river doesn’t care about your credit score. The moonlight never judges your past. Out there, stripped of everything manmade, I might finally find the one thing I lost long before my possessions: freedom.

The forest doesn’t lie. It’s honest. If you’re strong enough to survive, you do. If not, you don’t. There’s no bureaucracy, no polite betrayals, no “we regret to inform you.” Just raw, unapologetic life. And in that honesty, there’s something deeply healing. The scent of wet earth, the crackle of twigs underfoot, the glowing eyes of an animal in the dark — all of it reminds you that you are alive. That you’re part of something bigger than loss.

If it ever happens again, I won’t fight to rebuild the same old walls. I’ll build something wilder, freer — even if that means letting the wilderness decide my fate. When the tide takes everything, maybe it’s not a punishment at all. Maybe it’s an invitation to return to yourself.