In urban parlance, “savage” as an adjective implies crassness. Crassness stemming from a lack of feeling or of consideration for the feelings of others. There’s no curbing a savage tongue nor moving a savage mindset.
It’s been two years since I named this space “A Savage Heart,” and its intended meaning couldn’t be further from the above.
No, my savagery lands much closer to the traditional definition of the word, particularly the notion of being untamed. My heart is savage not for a lack of feeling but for an overabundance of it. I feel without restraint. Emotions move through me like molasses—so slowly that I have no choice but to feel them fully from beginning to end. The things that merely sting others can tackle me down and pummel me in the gut. And on the flip side, the things that make others smile a bit can put a big goofy grin on my face or make me chortle for minutes on end.
Today, the blog and I are both a year older; it turns two, and I turn thirty-one. And though I haven’t been as prolific or as consistent as I would like, I’m still proud of the space I’ve built here. I’m proud of the woman I’ve become over the last couple of years, struggles and all.
So happy birthday: to me and to A Savage Heart. Here’s to another year of style and scrutiny.
A Savage Heart 