I never knew survival was like that.

Retreat Day Five: Wild Writing

Before.

I never knew survival was like that.

After this.

Before we go.

The hazardous bliss.

Before. PJ said all weekend, how she used to ride before she grew a brain. That stuck with me on every ride this week.

How can I bring back that hazardous bliss? The joy and confidence I carried before life slapped me in the face?

I never knew survival was like that - wiping us clean of all the things that let us live.

After this, I'm taking some lessons home with me.

Dog taught me how to trust. Holding the reins and just riding. Part of me turned my brain off with him - channeling my inner chid + letting the wind hit my face, unbothered by how much could go wrong. Dog, you hot dog.

PJ’s message, I’ll carry that. Intentional about bringing back my joy & confidence, unwavered by the what ifs + could happens.

I'm tired of living in that space. Tired of worrying. Tried of fear. Tired of being so scared that everything I love can be taken away.

What if the good is here to stay?

What if what’s meant for me is sticking around this time? All of it. The work, the play, the horses, the boy.

How would that shift how I show up for it all?

How carefully or carefree would I have my grip on it?

So - before I go, I’m taking a big breath + exhaling - leaving the worries, fears, doubts, and any other undeserving energies here on the ranch.

It’ll stay when the horses go - as Dog goes off to his new home.

It’ll stay when the staff leaves, while the buildings + cabins sit empty.

It’ll stay as winter hits, being buried under snow + drying into the ground as the sun starts to warm the ground again.

It’ll stay as the next season of people & animals take over this space & me, I’ll have moved forward without it all - joy-filled + confidence oozing as I continue to build my happy, little life - Exhale. It’s time.