I think about her often- especially during the month of July. However it’s written in the Universe, the time of great transition happens mid-July. Maybe it’s the summer heat that reminds me I’m alive. Maybe it’s the long hours of sunshine that remind me every moment is worth living. Whatever it is, I’m grateful for the catalyst, and grateful for the courage to trust it.
July 13, 2019: In the hours between being over-worked at a shitty firm and over-worked in a relationship drowning in airplane bottles of vodka buried in the yard, she took the leap. She was 28 and starved for a life that looked like hers. Starved for a reflection in the mirror that looked like her. Starved for a life of peace where authenticity did not need her to chase it. She signed the lease on a country home in a town she did not know.
July 13, 2022: She’d lost the house that was supposed to be her salvation. She’d lost her peace in a war of restraining orders and police reports. She’d lost her job. She’d lost her car. She’d lost any trace of a girl gang she’d had. She woke up sick every single morning. She packed up all her animals and signed the lease on a country home in a county she did not know.
July 13, 2025: Even though I do not recognize her, I remember her fondly. I admire her inability to give up, and the accomplishments she made without a support system at all. She did not have a sounding board of encouragement. She did not have parents for guidance. She did not have relatives footing the $bill of her mistakes. She had herself, her need for peace, and no other option.
I remember her fondly and accept the mistakes she had to make in order to survive. I remember her fondly and thank her for the sacrifices she made for the life I have now. I wouldn’t be so grounded, so sure, so confident in who I am or where I’m going without every misstep she experienced. I remember her “unrealistic” dreams and feel grateful it’s now my reality.
I get to work a job I enjoy, while gaining experience to make the leap into the career I’ve dreamed of since I was 14. I get to drive the car I whined for 10 years about wanting, through the winding forest road any time I leave the house. I share a beautiful property with not only all my animals that survived my shipwrecked past with me, but a dozen new additions, and the man I quite literally dreamed of. I get to find gratitude and appreciation in the state of peace I exist in. I get to enjoy the freedom of feeling safe and secure at home and in my town. Not hunted. Not hated. Not lied to or called names. Not unappreciated. Not underpaid.
Not starved for anything at all.
Wild Little Hare 