Once upon a time, we were close friends.
We haven’t spoken in nearly thirty years. In fact, I’d nearly forgotten she existed.
But one night I found myself scrolling through her social media, lingering longer than I meant to. And something in me paused.
We hadn’t hung out since I was eleven or twelve, but I recognized her instantly. Not her face, necessarily—but her essence.
Whimsical. Ethereal. Romantic.
An Anne-of-Green-Gables sort of soul.
And somehow—despite careers, kids, mortgages, and whatever else life has hurled at her—I couldn’t help but smile with recognition. There she was: older, seasoned, but still unmistakably herself.
Even though we were friends back then, we were never the same kind of girl. I always felt too sturdy… too gritty compared to people like her. It wasn’t her fault—we were just wired differently.
She drew delicate, penciled lines. My marks were bold and in pen. I was a little too sure of myself for the group we ran with. Girls in that fundamentalist Baptist world were supposed to be soft and whispery, content with prescribed futures of babies and cooking and housekeeping. I craved none of that.
I wanted horses, wheelbarrows, manure, and cowboy life, with spurs and dirt and cattle.
Even in the middle of my very suburban upbringing, those seeds were already taking root.
For a time, though, I thought (and was told in various ways) that my early urges weren’t sophisticated enough.
Sure, they were fine for a little girl, but I’d have to set them aside when I grew up.
“That’s not realistic,” they would say. “Figure out a real path. You can come back to horses later—once the rest of your life is figured out.”
And I almost believed them. Almost. I almost buried those pieces of myself deep enough that they could no longer come up for air… until a sequence of events found me driving my F-150 1200 miles away from home to attend a little community college to ride horses.
It was my grand escape from the rational dream-killing that so many people undergo as they enter adulthood.
But of course, one escape doesn’t mean you never drift again.
I still took detours. There were seasons I got distracted and one particular season, as a young mom with too many businesses, when I almost walked away from horses for good. My horse years almost turned into one of those lines you tell your kids: “I used to ride horses, a long time ago…”
But the little girl inside me wouldn’t let it go. She kept whispering, “This is you. Don’t let it slip away.”
So I turned the ship. I dusted off the saddle, bought a new mare, and dove back into a world that felt both familiar and completely foreign.
I feel the rightness of that choice in my bones every time I swing my leg over a horse and settle into the saddle. I feel it walking across prairie grass of our homestead with the wind in my hair. I feel it when I show up to school functions wearing pearl snap shirts and a long braid instead of what moms are “supposed” to wear. This is me. This is home. And when I’m living from that place, I feel fully and completely myself. There’s nothing like it.
My body has always been the first to tell me the truth, if I care to listen. And I won’t ignore it again.
The essence of who I was at eleven is still the woman I am at forty. It would appear the same is true for my long-ago friend. And I’m so glad for her.
Seeing her also made me wonder:
How long—how many detours—does it take for us to circle back to our true nature?
And perhaps the most tragic question of all… how many people never do?
When someone says they don’t know who they are or what they want, I always want to yell, “Look back!” Because truest answers are usually found in who we were before the world told us otherwise.
Before the polishing.
Before the dilution.
Before the boxes and expectations and commands of “be quiet” and “be smaller,” and “fit in here,” and “that’s not realistic.”
Our souls know the answer, if we can get quiet enough to hear them speak.
We’re all given gifts and passions, like little breadcrumbs scattered in front of us. Our work is to keep them from being brushed aside, buried, or smashed by the world. That work is costly; sometimes it takes years of drifting and circling back to recover that path. I certainly don’t have it all figured out.
But here’s what I do know:
Forty years in, I still love horses.
I’m still bold and obsessive about things.
I am not chill or demure. Nor do I care to be.
I’m sturdy and boisterous and increasingly unfiltered.
That’s me—the real, true me. It always has been.
And it turns out, we don’t grow out of who we really are.
We grow into it.
Love this and good for you!
Thankyou for such a good way to allow those desires deep inside of us to surface!!! Sometimes you have been so distracted by life your path doesn’t even resemble you!!! We all need to be reminded!!!
Thank you for this.
Wow! So true! So brave!
God made you who you are! Beautiful and unique–inside and out.
Cultivate and prune and produce abundant fruit, Jill! I will pray for you!
Jill, I love this and I can relate. Even though I’m quite a bit older than you are, I have related to you since I first started following you. I’ve always loved horses and didn’t have them until I was 40 and bought 80 acres in the middle of nowhere. But, even as a child living in the suburbs, I pretended my bike was a horse. Bring on the back of a horse is my happy place. I’ve had short periods where I didn’t have a horse but that didn’t last long. It’s in my blood. I so enjoyed meeting you at your beautiful soda shop this past summer. I will continue to follow you. ??
Gosh Jill this sounds a lot like what I’ve been facing at 62. I took so many detours in an attempt to fit in with prescribed definitions of who I ‘should’ be.
After a full summer of being free from work distractions, the bits of me that got fractured and scattered into too many different identities are now finally beginning to come back together.
My puzzle isn’t complete but its closer than its been in a long time. I’m excited to find those last little pieces of the mosaic of my essence and fully live life on my own terms.
Blessings to you and your family.
MJ
Hi Jill, your story is very interesting and I’d say you have embraced who and what you truly are. All the best to you and your family!
I really enjoy your posts. The Chugwater Fountain is another great story I look forward to reading about and seeing pictures of your endeavors. ???
I felt this in my soul. I met a man that supported the loud, smart, unfiltered, slightly neurotic version of me and helped foster instead of diminish it. I think we all know who we truly are, but society/family are a strong voice in our worlds. Being a woman that doesn’t fit into the mold isn’t for the weak! Keep being you!
I love this! There is amazing freedom in being who you are, who you are called to be. Glad to have you back again, in whatever form you are here.
Love the last line – “we grow into it”. Takes courage to do this, easier to give into pressures of society. I’m facing similar challenges, re-evaluating what things look like when life takes unexpected turns. Great article and great reminder!
Jill, I love your post and what you said is so true! I am 73, was told over and over that my love of horses was just a fad and I would grow out of it. Well my life today is full of horses, dogs, chickens, and gardening on my little homestead in Texas. If you walked into my house today you would see, cowboy boots by the door, chaps and western hats on the coat rack, dogs in the kitchen, fresh eggs on the counter and smell the sourdough bread I just took out of the oven. Keep those dreams alive girls and don’t let anyone put you down!
Jill, this hit my soul. My kids are grown and flying off and I’m still wondering what I want to be when I grow up. I’ve been thinking maybe there is something I laid down back in the past that needs dusting off. Something God wants me to revisit and dwell with. You have inspired me to dig deep and sit with what I find.
Yes and yes and yes! My husband just bought me a horse yesterday after years of forgetting what I really love and enjoy and thrive in. Cheers to us both ?
I can so relate! Horses were my 1st love in life. But I lost touch with them in adulthood and amidst marriage, kids, career. But I am 57, and last year retired from my career. Unexpectedly I reconnected with my love of horses and now own 2. Cheers for getting back to your roots and authentic self. You’re an inspiration!
I really resonated with the message of your latest blog and YouTube video, particularly the idea that “slow” doesn’t have to be end game. It’s honestly not who I am, nor is it totally feasible right now. I am navigating my late 30s and what I want the future to hold . You asked for ideas/topics for “getting real”… This stage in life is bringing new challenges of becoming a caregiver for aging parents and family members in addition to everyday responsibilities. I’m searching for ways juggle multiple households with constantly evolving needs. While they sure do like to eat my sourdough, unfortunately, that’s not the answer 🙂 I know the skills from homemaking (I’m not quite a homesteader) and a nursing career have provided a lot of the tools needed, but piecing them all together is easier said than done. I’m not sure if this is something you have experience with or are interesting in, but there is a need! Have a wonderful holiday 🙂
Thank you for sharing and nudging us all 🙂
Wow. My thing was never horses but to be a SAHM and own a farm, of sorts. Always “too much” and “unrealistic”. This hit in all the right places and is a beautiful, well written piece. Thank you.
Jill! I just listened to your podcast (S18:E2) and wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your authenticity and willingness to speak the truth. There were so many times during that episode that I shouted “Yes!” or “Amen!” in my car while I was listening. We need more voices like yours in today’s crazy, confusing world. I’m all in for this next chapter of yours.
Oh my gosh, yes! When I finally got my first horse at 45, I was like a dry sponge. Couldn’t get enough, fast enough. Everybody thought I was nuts. I found a new circle of friends that shared my passion. It has been liberating. Horses have completed my life. Now 29 years later, on my last horse, no regrets. Only that I been able to chose that path sooner.