I don't like formal gardens. I like wild nature. It's just the wilderness instinct in me, I guess.

Order Builds, But Wildness Heals

There's something honest about preferring wildness to control, even when you're someone who built an empire on meticulous planning. Disney's admission points to a tension most of us feel but rarely name: we're drawn to order and structure in our work lives, yet we crave spaces where things unfold without our direction. A formal garden demands constant maintenance, constant decisions. Wild nature just happens, and that freedom feels like relief.

This matters today because we're more curated than ever. Our feeds are algorithmically ordered, our schedules optimized, our homes designed according to Pinterest ideals. The appeal of wilderness—whether actual nature or even just an untended corner of life—is that it doesn't ask permission or promise perfection. It's allowed to be messy, surprising, inefficient. The trees grow where they want. The wildflowers show up without invitation.

The twist is that this preference probably made Disney a better creator. Those who only chase polish end up with sterile work. The instinct for wildness—for letting things breathe, surprise, and develop naturally—is what keeps gardens, stories, and lives from becoming decorative and dead. It's the wilderness in us that remembers what alive actually feels like.