The Wild Robot and the Wild Heart
—for You, who understands the language of love
I have now seen The Wild Robot three times. Three. Times.
And I cry every single time.
Not the dignified single tear kind, either — the sort that wants to flood out of you, so you choke it back and hold the roar in your ears.
There’s just something about this story — this blend of metal and moss, circuitry and heart — that pierces straight through me. It’s about survival, yes, but more than that, it’s about becoming what the world needs from us, not what we thought we were made for. And isn’t that the hardest, most beautiful thing we ever do?
Roz starts out as this clumsy, bewildered machine, dropped into a world she doesn’t understand. But slowly, through kindness and necessity and all those small, aching choices, she becomes a mother. A protector. A giver of self. The robot learns love — not the sentimental kind, but teh gritty, sacrificial, real kind. The kind that leaves a mark on the giver as much as it heals the receiver.
Every time I watch it, I think about how many times life has asked me to adapt — to become a version of myself I didn’t plan on being. And how the act of giving, when done freely, reshapes us into something truer. Maybe softer. Maybe stronger. Maybe both.
I am so impressed with those who adapt and overcome. To give up their own ‘programming’ (goals, wants, desires) for the benefit of another worthy soul.
Imagine a world where everyone could get outside of themselves and put want on hold if it meant benefiting the greater good.
When my muse told me she was watching it the other night, I opened my old, dog-eared copy of the book and read along in spirit. It felt like sharing a campfire across the miles — her watching, me reading, both of us somewhere in that wild, quiet forest with Roz and Brightbill.
So here’s to the wild robots and the wild hearts —
to those who give, adapt, and keep loving even when it hurts.
May we all find the courage to rust a little for the ones who need our warmth.
WolfCast Home Page – Listen, follow, subscribe
Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
— Go back home and read MORE by Wolf Inwool
— Visit the archive
I welcome feedback at my inbox
