Whoever, Whatever & Wherever You Want to Be

In many ways, I was meant to be here on the ranch. No, I didn’t grow up on a ranch, or even in the country, but the fact that you’ve never been exposed to a place doesn’t mean that you don’t belong there. At times in my life, I’ve been told through seemingly innocent remarks or innuendo, where I should go and who I should be. The thought that any person - in any family, office, or organization - is allowed to occupy a dominant position in your mind causing, you to question who you are and what you’re capable of being or doing, is simply preposterous. No matter where you’ve come from, you can go anywhere, and you can do anything.

Truth is, despite my city upbringing, I feel closer to my truest self and to all of creation when I’m surrounded by majestic mountains and hear rocks skipping across bubbling streams. I never feel more at peace than when the eastward wind reverberates in my ear drums, drowning out all other thoughts and sounds. It feels like I’m living a dream. I’ve yet to experience such an awe-inspiring exuberance in the city. If the presence of God can be seen anywhere, it’s in nature where everything has a beauty, a cycle, and a purpose. I could stay in the city and miss all of that, or I can choose to be whoever, whatever, and wherever I want to be.

Though I’ve felt the magnetic rush of energy and intrigue in the city, those emotions were often accompanied by a sense of longing for purpose. At times the city energy felt like a contagion that forced me to compare and compete. In nature, my purpose is revealed to me in the form of my highest individual self. In nature, my purpose is invigorating, peaceful, collaborative, and freeing.

I grew up in Dayton, Ohio, which at the time was a bustling, mid-sized, General Motors town. Outside of summer camps, the closest experience I’d had to rural life was summers with my grandparents in Oberlin, Ohio, a town of fewer than 9,000 people. My grandparents lived on a plot of land, large enough for a riding lawn mower, but small enough to still feel like home for a big town girl like me. At the top of the hill by the back screen door stood a picnic table where my sister, cousin, and I would down lemonade and munch on pretzel sticks. Sometimes I’d sit atop the table with my grandpa at the end of the day and eat fresh tomatoes with a dash of salt and pepper. He’d bring a basketful home from his garden which was a few miles away. The previous winter’s snow and ice usually persisted until May, until it finally melted to reveal a lush, brilliant, green yard which gradually descended into prickly pine trees and a narrow, winding creek frequently visited by cottontail rabbits and white tailed deer. It always felt like peace to me.

Once I left the safe, front step of my grandparent’s home, I could’ve gotten lost in miles and miles of cornrows. So each weekday morning, my grandma would accompany my sister and me on our bikes to the FAVA art school in the town square about two miles away. The Firelands Association for the Visual Arts ran a summer camp each year, so my grandma enrolled us in art classes for the summer. Grandma would retrieve us around lunch time, and the next stop would either be Burger Chef (the only fast food joint in town back then) or quick ride back to the house for hotdogs or Eckrich Farm sausage and chips. Grandma would pull a bag of frozen peaches from the freezer for dessert, the same peaches we canned or froze together the summer before. Our afternoons were then spent ironing patterns and pinning fabric for new dresses, or enjoying grandma’s spontaneous creativity sessions which typically involved acorns and leaves from the yard, mismatched buttons, leftover scraps of colorful silk or cotton fabric and a creative assignment. “Make a table decoration for dinner,” I can still hear my grandma say.

Despite many special memories, I left for Washington DC at the age of eighteen and never returned to live in Ohio. I remained in DC for the next eighteen years walking the hallways of government offices, museums, courthouses, and law firms - but solely because I thought I should. I was being, who I thought I should be rather than who I wanted to be.

My old house in Columbia Heights, Washington DC is the one at the left with the awning. Three houses were adjoined. With two public bus stops, one at each side, the 100 year old Victorian frequently shook from the vibrating land underneath.

My infrequent brushes with nature were symbolic of the different world that was possible for me if only I had faith and reached. These moments consisted of occasional escapes to the Annapolis Inner Harbor, the plains of Charlottesville, or the waterfalls of Great Falls, Virginia. Biannual visits to my grandma were grounding for me as they still are today. Though I couldn’t articulate it at the time, the absence of opportunities for creative expression and nature’s inspiration as I got older had a demoralizing impact on me. Over time, I learned that creative expression and inspiration were what I needed to be satisfied and free.

So now, I tell others to explore and go far. Sometimes, you just haven’t had exposure to the life and world that will serve your soul. Other times, you’ve forgotten who you wanted to be all along and lost sight of how far you’re able to go. Spend quiet time in new places, and make it a regular practice. You can go anywhere and do anything. You don’t have to stay where you are if it no longer serves you. You can begin to embrace whoever, whatever, and wherever you want to be.