POST 6: You’re Not a Vibe—You’re a Whole Damn Safari (And Bigfoot Is Driving the Jeep)

You’re Not a Vibe—You’re a Whole Damn Safari (And Bigfoot Is Driving the Jeep)

        

        The world wants me pruned and polished, like some HOA-approved flowerbed. Trim the wild. Edge the chaos. Smile politely while the mulch suffocates your roots. But no, thank you—I wasn’t made to be trimmed back. I am raw terrain. I’m that defiant patch of crabgrass in a suburban lawn, flipping the bird to conformity. My roots? Breaking through concrete like they heard freedom was buried underneath.

        I speak in compost avalanches and weather warnings. I celebrate the glory of a moldy banana peel turning into black gold. I’m not here to match the drapes—I’m here to rip the whole damn house down and build a greenhouse with the lumber. Suppress this energy and I’d be no better than a plastic ficus at a dentist's office—silent, synthetic, and dying slowly from boredom. No thanks. I let the wild out. I let it howl. And somewhere in that jungle of contradictions, I remind the world: growth is not always graceful. Sometimes it's a mess. Sometimes it's muddy. Sometimes it's a full-blown emotional landslide—and that’s where the real shit starts to bloom.

        Sometimes I’m as steady as bedrock. Sometimes I’m a landslide in Crocs and a tank top, emotionally sprinting through the garden at full speed with a shovel in one hand and an existential crisis in the other. And I’ve learned to be okay with that. Some days I’m all plans and prep—calculated compost ratios, spreadsheet tabs, battle strategy. Other days? I am the raccoon in the mulch pile, tearing through the day with zero regard for logic. And somehow, both versions of me are necessary. Both get things growing.

        The moment I really got it? When I ditched the careful blueprint and went full gremlin-mode in the greenhouse. Chaos. Mud. One broken rake. A glorious victory. Turns out, sometimes logic is just fear in a lab coat. Sometimes destruction is the only way to clear space for what actually needs to grow.

Welcome to the Reserve

        There’s a reason I call this place a freakin’ safari park. My inner ecosystem? Yeah, it’s got zones. 

The Strategic Wolf Pack: 

        These tactical beasts perch on the ridgeline of my mind, always calculating, always planning the next move. They don't howl unless they mean it.

The Stampeding Wild Boar: 

        Pure instinct. No brakes. Just raw force crashing through emotional underbrush like deadlines aren’t real and we’ve got mulch to move.

The Bone-Collecting Magpie: 

        Obsessed with shiny facts, useless trivia, half-remembered TikToks about mushrooms. This bird is building a brain nest and it’s fabulous.

Caution signs posted all over:

– WARNING: Bog of Overthinking. Depths unknown. Do not wade in alone.

– CAUTION: Unfiltered Honesty Habitat. Sudden truths may be delivered at high velocity.

– Advisory: Nighttime Brooding Zone. May involve playlists and tears.

        And listen, don’t sleep on the Vault of Unhinged Ideas. That’s where the weirdest, wildest, most game-changing thoughts are hiding. The ones that don’t make sense yet. The ones that might save your ass next season. Also, keep an eye out for Bigfoot. I swear I saw him the last time I followed a bold idea into the fog. We locked eyes. He nodded. I think he, too, believes in chaotic healing and banana water for tomatoes. Legend.

Feral Freedom = Real Freedom 

        

        I’ve been punished for being too much. Too loud. Too emotional. Too messy. Too direct. Too...everything. But what I’ve learned is this: every “too much” was actually a “just right” in the wrong environment. I’m not here to apologize for having a hurricane in my ribcage. I’m here to build storm shelters and throw dance parties in the eye of it. I’m done shrinking. Done trying to be someone’s idea of palatable. 

        I hereby give myself permission to be the garden gremlin I am. To stomp in puddles. To laugh too loud. To take up space like a damn zucchini in July.
Messiness is momentum. Chaos is creation. You don’t need to be neat to be necessary. Let the roots roam.

BMC's Signature Safari Quote: 

 “I’m not here to make sense. I’m here to uproot, ignite, and maybe emotionally stampede if the mood is right.”

        So come on in. The weeds are warm. The mulch is fresh. Bigfoot’s probably somewhere in the back, sipping compost tea. Let’s get wild.

Before You Head Back to Civilization…
        You just made it through the safari. You survived the Stampeding Boar, outwitted the Magpie, and maybe—just maybe—locked eyes with Bigfoot while he watered tomatoes with banana tea. 

Now I wanna hear from your wilderness.

        What zone of the inner ecosystem are you stuck in today?
When did you last go full gremlin in your own life?

What’s your version of emotional Bigfoot?

         Drop it in the comments. Raw. Unfiltered. Muddy if needed. This isn’t about being tidy—it’s about being true. Let the other weirdos know they’re not alone in the overgrown jungle. Roar, squeal, or squawk below. Just don’t leave me talking to myself and a gnome.
—BMC 

Mitch’s 180 Seconds of Truth, Dirt, and Probably a Raccoon

Let's be clear: This isn't advice, gospel, or anything official. I'm not a doctor, therapist, horticulturist, or any ist' with a fancy degree. This is my personal journey— imperfect, dusted with compost, and a little chaotic. if your tomato plant flops or you have an existential crisis in your garden shed. that's on you. Adulting required. This is a digital garden diary, and you re peeking over the fence— so say hello while you're here. -BMC