Embracing My Roots

I grew up in Wyoming.  Early morning goose hunts, long deer hunt hikes, and mountainous fishing expeditions were the norm.  Except I, being a princess-girl, resisted my dad's efforts to turn me into a rugged Wyoming girl.  I think he lured me into the goose blind with the promise of hot chocolate, even though at 4 a.m., I was crabby enough to snap back at him (if he knew what he did now, he would have added Kahlua to the hot chocolate and made me a hunter forever).  These were the days before water bottles, so when we got thirsty on the trail, he told us to suck on a rock.  I'm still baffled at how this quenched thirst, but this is my dad - don't ask, just do.  This is the man who, my mom accounted, recently broke his wrist while training for his next elk hunt, and had every doctor, surgeon, and specialist in the regional hospital, where he went to the ER, come to marvel at the man who survived a heart attack 12 years ago, a broken wrist that he didn't know about for three months,, a kidney transplant (courtesy of yours truly), and another broken wrist, and still spends weeks on end in the wilderness (some by himself) hunting wild game every year.  He's a marvel of modern medicine.  I could learn a lot from him - I have learned a lot from him.

We got to elk camp at 1:30 a.m. after tailgating for 5 hours before the first Wyoming Cowboys game.  The beer and Jaeger flowed freely, and I stopped early - dammit, knowing I'd have to drive.  The 2 hours, long, long hours to elk camp.  My dad, the most rugged mountain man alive, stayed up to help us set up our tent (because there was no way in hell I was staying in my parents' camper with my sister, her husband, and 5-year-old nephew - my dad thinks that he can fit a small army in this camper, and I think I need my own personal space).  I rode a four-wheeler, for the first time ever; I drove a four-wheeler, well, obviously a first, and in time to make my dad's dreams come true - as he had returned with my husband, from the morning's hunt to witness this spectacle).  I didn't have a meltdown (like I did last year), despite being a long day of tailgating, a campfire, and a couple days' worth past a shower.  I actually let go and let myself enjoy it.  I was a self-proclaimed city-girl for a long time - until I started dodging the bullet of actually having to move to Philadelphia and being a city-girl.

On the four-wheeler, I saw mountains, streams, lakes, wide open spaces, and fresh air.  People passing by in camo, waving at us, happy as hell to be in a world without cell phones, satellite tv, and internet.  I could maybe do a couple more days, but I have to have tv and internet.  I don't need to be connected through cell phones, but I have to Google shit I don't remember off the top of my head, I have to watch Top Chef, and I have to have my wine (which, rest assured, I did - and found fellow oenophiles in my parents' friends who camped with us).  My dad, thoughtful soul that he is, gave up being the head chef (which is probably one of his other passions - clearly I take after him), and let me cook two meals.  I hadn't cooked in almost two weeks, being on the road, and it was fantastic.  Even in the confines of a small camper trailer, I cooked amazing fajitas one day, and an awesome dry-rub pork loin roast and fried potatoes the next.

But during our four-wheel rides, I realized how truly lucky I am to live a life where this is just a short drive away.  To be able to get truly away, without cell service, and live life more simply, more slow-paced.  One afternoon, we played SkipBo, Uno, rummy, and Pass the Pigs (Google it - it's the most freakin' hilarious game you will ever encounter) with my five-year-old nephew.  If you read this blog (and who does?), you'll know I'm not fond of children.  I live in an adult-only world, but my nephew is the exception.  He's smart, he's well-behaved, and he's hilarious - I laugh until I nearly pee my pants at his entertainment.  He loves to camp, he loves the mountains.  One morning, he found a stick, and hobbled around like an old man - only to find out, he was channeling his inner Yoda, and then he'd break out into Jedi-light-saber mode, it's too funny to even write about.

I don't want the job in the city.  I don't want that life.  It's a rat race that most people would pay dearly to get out of - would probably pay dearly to have the life I do.  Why would I give this up?  To make well over 6-figures?  Who cares? I make close to 6-figures in Wyoming, where we have a beautiful house, the cost of living is cheap, and we can travel to amazing places in a short amount of time.  I dread having the conversation with my boss to tell her I'm not interested in relocating.  I'm not interested in making the big bucks, because with the big bucks, come the big house, the big stress of maintaining the big house, the big lifestyle, when I really already live a life larger than my expectations.  I am grateful that I've learned this now, instead of making a huge mistake to move East and lose it all.