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Pursuit of the Unknown

I was giving up everything I had dreamed of for the pursuit of the unknown. After returning to Canada after four months in Arizona, I felt nothing but anxiousness when I looked around my home.

As the winter in AZ had gone on, my conversations started to sound like “I’m not leaving here next year.” As a self-proclaimed and doctor-diagnosed home body (read all about that in journal entry #1 if you missed it), the words tumbled out of my mouth naturally but then the type A control freak inside of me would pipe up in my brain all like “wtf are you saying!”

I decided it was time to really lean in to my intuition and see where this life could take me. I knew my life at this farm was over. There had been some great times, but also some terrible times. That house was full of my time with cancer, and all around loss. Boo, Batman, Sniper had all left me during my time at that house. Grizzly and Paisley’s last breaths were taken there too (their story coming in the next entry). I had retired 5 different horses during my time there on top of it all.

Surviving and recovering from cancer had given me a new outlook on life, and finally venturing down to Arizona had sealed the deal that I was meant to move on.

So I held a “family meeting” with my parents, brother and sister in law, to tell them that I was finally leaving the nest. For my entire life I had lived with or within 30 minutes of my family. I had been part of the family business since I was 15 years old and although I had left for a few years to lead a national charity, the trail and comfort of home had always called.

Until now.

My family had always had a major influence over my life, their intentions only ever wanting the best for me. But in attempts to be a good daughter and someone they could be proud of, I had let myself cross the line too far into people pleasing and, in the process, had lost myself. The space I had gained over the winter in AZ had given me the grace and guts to learn what I really wanted for myself. So I gathered my family and gave them the news.

I was listing the farm. I was selling almost everything I owned. I was buying a new trailer and going to live out of it full time. They knew I was serious and there was no talking me out of it – and although I could tell they were sad, throughout the process they were nothing but supportive.

So. Three weeks after I had returned from Arizona I put the farm up for sale, and three days after that – it sold.

Sorry what?

I don’t know what it is with me and selling houses. My rental property I had advertised the summer prior sold within weeks, my last farm sold the day it was listed, and the first house I ever bought had a bidding war and went for 2x the price I had paid for it only 2 years before.

I clearly need to get into real estate.

Anywho. If you know me or read my memoir, you’ll know that I am heavy on the woo-woo, and having received an offer that was too good to refuse meant it was meant to be. But, there were still 2 weeks of time for conditions to be met, which meant I would lie in bed fluctuating between the dream of my new life and the comfort of my old.

I’d be lying if I said to you that this was all an easy road and I never second guessed my decision. If fact there were many nights I laid awake begging to my angels to kill the deal. I visualized cutting the cords of the threads that bound the offer together. I prayed that their financing wouldn’t go through and promised God I’d change my mind and be happy being here forever.

But I had put the wheels of my new life in motion, I had bet it all on black, and the universe was telling me no: you made the right call and it’s time to move on.

Without much delay, the conditions were lifted and it was time to actually start packing.

My saving grace throughout this process was the fact I had a plan B. Although I know you’re supposed to “burn the boats” on big decisions so you can’t go back to safety once a plan has been made – I like to bend the rules when I have the chance. So, every time I would feel the burn of anxiety creep up within me – I’d self sooth by saying “you can still come home.”

In truth, the wheels of this big move had been set in motion long before I pulled the actual trigger. Last summer I started the process of subdividing my 80 acres of land, and cut out two, 5-acre parcels just on the other side of my driveway. If this idea of an American gypsy life fell through, I could always come back, build a home and be back in my nest of safety.

The universe may have made sure I was rolling towards my new life, but I had a plan B in my pocket.

Gates to a new life?

I was down to the last of it. Between garage sales, online marketplace, and multiple donation runs – I was without basically anything but a memory of my pre-cancer life. I didn’t have the same truck, same trailer, same animals, I realized I truly was closing the book on this part of my life, and the next chapter would be the beginning of a new book.

The only thing left to do was say goodbye to my dogs, and my donkeys.

Thanks for reading the latest entry in my traveling cowgirl series. A little different spin from my typical content on Prime Equine, this series focuses on the behind the scenes journey of living life as a nomad. Watch your inbox next week – my next entry might be a tough one as in order to live the life of my dreams, I had to say goodbye to my beloved dogs.

See ya down the trail-


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