There was a time when I thought I was going to be a city girl having been raised up quiet in the mountains and then later on in the hot valley of Ag land and cow pies. I tried...I moved away to many places and tried to fit in with my elements.
I used to spend a several hours weekly straightening out my waist length curls, red-faced and sweating, which only caused a humidity around me that defeated the straightening anyway. (That’s why I’ll never be a beach girl)
I crammed my wide feet into sleek, skinny heels and unsuccessfully tried to perfect wing tipped eyeliner. I once lit an acrylic nail on fire.
I went out and got that dragon tattoo on my lower back as soon as I turned 18. The one that my Dad forbid me to ever do. Someone told me that it will be behind my knees when I’m 80. Probably so. I spent way too many weekends feeling sorry for somebreakups, drowning that sadness in happy hour cocktails and late night club scenes
What brought me back and literally saved me in so many ways, was finally coming back to my roots. The mountains and the old familiarity they bring. Spending time alone, and a lot of it. Strengthening my heart. Also, my husband, and my family. And realizing that I have Flinstone feet, and tools for hands...and that’s Ok.