“Is it really possible to tell someone else what one feels?”—Leo Tolstoy
My dearest readers, hello, how are you? In not visiting this blog and devoting the time here to sculpt some thoughts, I’ve neglected a little piece of myself where I get to just revel in all things farm, love, and Montana. I’m sorry to you, and myself. I’m back.
I’ve learned more about myself in the last eight months than ever before, and in a lot of ways I’m learning how to just “be” in a few different lives—a wife, fatherless, a Montanan, an editor. The grand fabric of your life appears so perfectly stitched together until you actually get to the parts that have to come together and do the stitching. It’s been difficult, I think, for a long time, but I’m facing the music and letting you know something important: things aren’t always as they seem. I think this is another thing to work through—social media. The perfection of lives other than your own and the constant stream of their existence. We are never without comparison. Just feel good in knowing that you’re a witness to someone’s perfect day in a mess of other not-so-perfect days.
So, at last, here we are at the tail-end of winter. I feel raw and achy and vulnerable. Winter, however mild (which this one was), always seems to rob me of (apologies for the vulgarity) having my shit together. I tend to lose all my shit throughout the winter. It totally shakes me and I gradually lose all the things that fill me up—riding horses in the warm light of sun, breaking a sweat while breaking my back, tending to my animals and smelling the earth. It’s almost as if I don’t know how to “be” in the winter. Perhaps that’s also what I am: summerless. It’s also a time for holidays and family, which draws me closer to the hurt and big love in my heart where my father is. The pain of realizing that he’s gone strikes me like an electric shock, time and time again throughout these darker months and I guess somewhat of a depression follows me around despite any distractions. I miss him terribly, and it’s a bit of a double edged sword, to have experienced such a deep love and loss—it becomes the standard to which I compare all other relationships, which can be devastating.
But with faith comes great surprise. I can hear Carrie Underwood’s Jesus Take the Wheel in the back of my mind as I write this. And look, He did. Entirely a surprise, my female goat had twin baby boys—two bucklings. They have saved me. The week before their birth I was ready to list both of our goats for sale. I was ready to relieve myself of some responsibility, feeling undeserving of so many things, and this miracle did just the opposite. I feel filled up. I am able.
The days, weeks, and months to come will be a practice in staying true to my own happiness. It’s the bravest thing any of us can do. It’s good to be back, lovelies. I hope you are blooming, thriving, filling-up.