Unbecoming: And a dog called Bruce!

This week, I found myself eyeing up a crooked wire structure that had long irritated me—an old enclosure wrapped around the garden, built by someone else, before I arrived. I had wished it gone many times. It never felt beautiful. Never felt mine. Just something leftover, makeshift, and in the way.

And yet—I paused.

Because now I need wire.

Not a whole structure. Not a fortress. Just enough wire to create a safe outdoor space for Bruce—our new Labrador puppy, newly arrived into our life, long dreamed of, long spoken into existence.

And suddenly, this old wire enclosure revealed itself. Not as a nuisance—but as provision.

A Vision in Waiting

Nine years ago, I told my children: We’ll have a Labrador one day. We’ll call him Bruce.

It sounded whimsical, hopeful—something plucked from a deep soul-knowing. It didn’t happen then. Life had other plans. But now, here he is: Bruce. Golden, floppy, loyal already. Not a dream, but a living presence. A chapter of joy.

And I find myself scavenging through a structure I once loathed, looking for the very material that could protect him.

Funny, isn’t it? How life waits for us. How the things we thought were useless turn out to be exactly what we need—when the time is right.

The Question of Keeping It

For a brief moment, I considered leaving the enclosure as is. Maybe I could just use it. Maybe it didn’t need to be pulled apart. Maybe it could serve Bruce just as it was.

But then I remembered something that shifted everything: Choice, our goat. The one who was meant to stay in that enclosure. The one who jumped out—again and again.

We coped with that, because it was temporary. We adjusted, made do.

But I can't take that risk with Bruce.

It wouldn’t feel safe. Not for him. Not for me. Even if it might hold for a while, I’d always wonder: What if he jumps? That uncertainty would sit like a stone in my gut. And so—I knew. The structure could not stay. It had to unbecome.

The Will to See Clearly

Roberto Assagioli spoke of will not as force, but as alignment—of choosing with clarity. Of tuning into the moment when timing and inner wisdom meet. This was that moment. My will aligned with trust. The enclosure wasn’t meant to be re-used as it was. It was meant to be dismantled, so that its materials could take on new form.

In that, I could feel the gentle whisper of will saying: Do it properly. Do it safely. Do it with care.

Nothing is Wasted

Ken Wilber reminds us in his integral philosophy that everything belongs. That each phase, each structure—no matter how awkward or unwanted—holds purpose. Nothing is wasted, not even the old, rusted wire around a forgotten garden. It served its time. It held its place.

And now it serves a new purpose. Not by remaining the same, but by being undone.

That is the sacred art of unbecoming.

From Eyesore to Gold

So, here I am—cutting wire, repurposing frustration into function. What was once unwanted becomes essential. What once irritated me now becomes part of Bruce’s world—a safe enclosure, built with care and intention. This is not just about practicality. It’s about presence. It’s about honouring what was, and transforming it into what can be.

Unbecoming isn’t destruction.

It’s transformation. It’s listening to the wisdom of timing. It’s learning from the memory of goats named Choice. And it’s protecting what is precious—like a long-dreamed Labrador who has finally come home.

Everything You Need is Already Here

In all the work I do—through therapy, through horses, through spirit—I’ve seen this pattern again and again: that the resources we need are often already in our field. What’s missing is not the material—but the vision to see it anew. To recognise its value. To know when it’s time to let something go, or let it serve in a new way.

And so I say thank you—to the wire. To the eyesore.To the old goat run. To the promise I made nine years ago. And to the will that waited until now.

Because unbecoming, when done with grace, doesn’t diminish a thing. It reveals its true purpose.