The Day Before (or Finding Our Center)

One year ago, everything was on the table. I had lost my job--and as an overfunctioner and an achiever AT MY CORE, I focus on "mastery and intelligence, with a mission of creating awareness, order and unity on the planet.” (that’s a scary-accurate description from the Rhys Method click here). In my personal and professional life, I had been complete. And then suddenly, I wasn’t.

You know what's crazy? The day before, Matt and I had sat down to answer the always-lingering question in our arguments or threats... just throw in the towel on our life in town and move back out to the ranch. Which may or may NOT have included all five of us. This was a BIG QUESTION. It sounds silly, but this question had come up because we were getting ready to put up our Christmas tree and Matt wanted it at the ranch and I wanted it at our house in town.

The day before, we answered THE question. We were committed for five years--no more feeling like we could bail because we were frustrated or because of some other whim that threw us back into this conversation. Unless something totally major and unforeseen happened in those five years, our decision was final.

So, even though it was harder on Matt to manage Black Market Farm and there was a long list of other benefits ranch life provided, I was the major earner and would not be able to practice clinical therapy out at the ranch. We also loved our neighborhood, the kids’ school, and our friends. So, we called it. We got our tree and put it up at the Stonehouse in Laramie. The next day, I lost my job.

It was a mic-dropper moment that stuns me to this day. The universe threw me a curveball.

Since then, I’ve been taking care of myself and my family and all of these mouths and bodies and spirits. And I went “all in” to life at the ranch, to building a business and to figuring out what the hell we are doing… a work in progress.

Last week we closed on our little stone house in town. There's a SOLD sign in the front yard--THAT part of our life no longer belongs to us. And it's okay, because I grieved my heart out the first time around (I was crying when our renters signed the lease last March, as some of you know). But I was laying in bed the other night thinking to myself, "it's almost as if the whole thing never even happened." Like the four years in town and the career moves and the climbing and striving and reaching and the achieving… like it was all a digression in the middle of a story. Which is unnerving.

But right now, the kids are in school with 6 other kids at the two-room elementary, tucked away in our nearby tiny town. I'm a business owner, working full-time with my husband and we are living out on the ranch like we have been doing this our whole lives. Yes, it's like the whole thing never happened. And the only explanation I have is that we have been peeling back the layers, especially over the last year, to find our center.

And even if you move within that center, it's still a circle. Right back where you started. THAT is peaceful. As peaceful as raising three kids and four cats and a puppy, not to mention all the food we are trusted to raise for others (cattle, hogs, chicken, turkeys, lambs, goats...) can be. And, let me tell you, it's still more peaceful than LBF (Life Before Farming). Because we are truly free to find our center... which was right here the whole time.

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