Running away
I ran away once....
I ran away once.
Ok, that’s a lie.
I’ve run away a LOT in my life.
Once upon a time, when my dad was at the Big Springs Ranch in Elko County NV and I was about 3, I decided it was time to hit the road. I exited the family home (a dilapidated mobile home that felt just right) and made my careful escape. My goal was simple, adventure…and an unplanned date with Mrs. Freeman, one of the resident ranch wives who lived in the next door trailer at headquarters.
The next time I remember was s short lived break for freedom in Scotland when I realized my family was set to return to the United States. A bundle of clothes and a favorite stuffed animal was packed, but the return from the sheep field was quicker than expected when I realized how hungry things got after lunchtime.
When I got a little older, my folks let me use the gas guzzling white F250 with duel tanks to stretch my shaky driving-legs on. I drove it down the mountain from Bear Valley to the community below, and the stonyford rodeo where they had ice cream and crepes in an unexpected French cafe, hidden down the road from the dump and rodeo grounds. Truthfully, I guess the pickup was mine, but as a common family vehicle and hand-me-down from my big sister, it was technically stealing when I loaded up and took off without permission to my second ever bronc riding. I couldn’t afford to fill up both tanks most of the time, so my folks figured I couldn’t get too far. I in fact…did, and donated my entry fees at the Mc Arthur Fair to climb on a shaggy little bay that bucked me off so hard under the area lights I swear you could have planted corn in the furrows I dug with my face.
The last time I ran away, was a wholly different situation. It was based on necessity, and frankly it saved my life.
I’ve met a lot of other women who have also “run away” in the same situation as I was, and maybe that running away was something that aided the creation of “Dear Cowgirl” and what it is today.
That time, running away wasn’t fun, but like I said…it was a necessity.
I still love taking off.
Packing up the truck with Lefty, a guitar, saddles, a bedroll and any number of ridiculous notebooks I’m always scribbling something in.
But at this juncture of life, I’m grateful for not having to “run” in the same way. Instead, running these days means answering the call of the muse. Following the adventure, or saying “yes” to the wild that inspires music, writing and the excitement of waking up for the next chapter. Running away now means safety. The comfort of a home to return to, a place full of light, books stacked high, flowers and guitars hiding in each and eery corner and my Paul Bond boots with their little custom silver spurs mixed in with Christian Louboutin heels and the “barbie” shoes I’ve always been fond of. These days, when I run…I know the return will just be that much sweeter. And maybe that is the gift of time, safety or just plain honesty with one’s self.
Running doesn’t feel like the default setting any longer.
Just a sweet, sweet answer to the call of the wild…and the continued gift of adventure, forever just around the next mountain.
xoxo
ab