Work And The Inner Cowgirl

[Carol Anne Kincaid~Paradis]

GOOD AFTERNOON

May each new day bring a feeling of excitement , joy, and wonderful sense of expectation . Expect the best , and you’ll get it .Good Afternoon.. Have a wonderful day...

Beginning today

I will no longer worry about yesterday.

It is in the past and the past will never change.

Only I can change by choosing to do so.

Beginning today

I will no longer worry about tomorrow.

Tomorrow will always be there, waiting for me to

make the most of it. But I cannot make the

most of tomorrow without first

making the most of today.

Beginning today

I will look in the mirror and I will see a

person worthy of my respect and admiration.

This capable person looking back at me is

someone I enjoy spending time with and someone

I would like to get to know better.

Beginning today

I will cherish each moment of my life.

I value this gift bestowed upon me in this world

and I will unselfishly share this gift

with others. I will use this gift to enhance

the lives of others.

Beginning today

I will take a moment to step off the beaten path

and to revel in the mysteries I encounter.

I will face challenges with courage and

determination. I will overcome what barriers

there may be which hinder my quest for

growth and self-improvement.

Beginning today

I will take life one day at a time, one

step at a time. Discouragement will not be

allowed to taint my positive self-image, my desire to

succeed or my capacity to love.

Beginning today

I walk with renewed faith in human kindness.

Regardless of what has gone before, I believe

there is hope for a brighter and better future.

Beginning today

I will open my mind and my heart.

I will welcome new experiences.

I will meet new people.

I will not expect perfection from myself

nor anyone else: perfection does not exist in

an imperfect world. But I will applaud

the attempt to overcome human foibles.

Beginning today

I am responsible for my own happiness and

I will do things that make me happy

admire the beautiful wonders of nature, listen

to my favorite music, pet a kitten or a

puppy, soak in a bubble bath pleasure

can be found in the most simple of gestures.

Beginning today

I will learn something new; I will try something

different; I will savor all the various

flavors life has to offer.

I will change what I can and the rest I will let go.

I will strive to become the best me I can possibly be.

Beginning today.

And every day.

Written By: Penny White

Author Unknown

Work And The Inner Cowgirl

When you wear the suit and heels, but all you really want is a pair of red boots.

Photo by Christopher Ames on iStock

Sometimes we grow up with an inner-knowing that prods, and pokes and tells us we were born in the wrong place. We feel there might have been a huge mistake in the cosmic shuffle, and somehow we got dealt all the wrong cards.

This is how I grew up. This is how I feel most days.

I’m the country girl who was mistakenly born into city life. I grew up roaming cement alleyways clad in navy tennis shoes, playing hopscotch and jump rope on cracked sidewalks. The few times I was lucky enough to visit a ranch or a relative’s farm, I felt a strong kinship. Quivering in delight as I stood among the animals, my young girl feet planting themselves with each step they took on the dusty soil. So great was my excitement that I wanted to breathe it all in, to tuck it away deep inside so I could carry it home and savor it later. I soaked in every detail, trying to commit it all to memory — the smell of the cow dung, the flies buzzing in the paddock, the way the setting sun shone over the tops of huge bales of hay. My body thrilled at the sound of a horse’s whinny, and the soft nudge from its wide, flat nose. I longed for nothing more than some blue jeans and a pair of red cowgirl boots.

As I grew I came to understand that although my body was contained in a stucco house on a city block, my spirit dwelled within different landscapes — those long, low horizons steeped in the green of waving grasslands, abundant gardens strewn with forget-me-nots and sweet peas. I learned that my ancestors were plains folk and farmers, tilling the soil over wide vistas, squinting at endless corn fields flattened by expanses of heavy blue sky. In my dreams and visions I like to imagine I’ve lived past lives within similar spaces.

In this lifetime I was raised to be a city dweller. The wanderings of my wild, free-range heart were slowly stifled. But sometimes, as I sip my coffee, or walk across the street, or sit on the edge of my bed, I feel a tugging, like the brush of a tiny feather, and the scent of a far off memory will waft over me. I see myself as a cowgirl in faded jeans, bailing hay and feeding horses. I can smell the dry earth, the stench of the barn, and I can hear a merry whistle in the caverns of my heart.

I did the things expected of city girls. I went to college, got a degree, got married, bought a house, and raised three children. When we were younger, my husband owned a cafe. The income made us comfortable. We bought big cars, and took nice vacations. Then he lost his lease, the business folded, and so did his spirit. We floundered for a couple of years, digging ourselves deeper into debt, both of us unemployed. So great was my trust in his ability to provide for us, that it hadn’t occurred to me to get a job. This city girl was fully immersed in being a stay at home mom in the suburbs, driving the kids to soccer practice, packing their lunches, helping with homework. Our situation was getting dire, going to the mailbox to fetch the bills would set me trembling, so great was my worry about the finances and how long we could continue to live like this. The most common refrain of our household became, “We can’t afford it.” We can’t afford the school trip to Washington DC, or the after school classes, or the drama club or the traveling soccer league. We can’t afford the vacations, or the orthodontics. Daily existence became precarious. The city life demanded money and maintenance, and keeping up appearances. In those long desperate days, I could no longer see the dandelions from my kitchen window, or smell the vast open spaces of my dreams.

Finally, I woke one morning and realized that it was going to be up to me to save my family. I went to work. I got an MBA, and then a better job, and a better job. Slowly, we paid our bills and took care of our children. Life returned, the kids grew, and moved away.

I woke from my city-stupor and did the mind-numbing work that needed to be done. I molded myself into the automaton that is required of office workers and corporate managers. Smile while you’re seething inside. Nod while you’d rather scream. Work and type and compute and talk rationally, lay out your logic, persuade and cajole and deliver, deliver, deliver.

I swallowed my pride, and showed up every day, and finally completed the required cycle of parenthood. But now my inner cowgirl is feeling betrayed. Her voice is getting louder. She says it’s time to break the spell of the city, to release the hold of the office job that causes such pain in exchange for paying the bills. It’s time to return, she whispers, return to your ancestors and your dreams. Put on your red boots. It’s time to come home, back to the sweet grass and the dragonflies.