I took this picture yesterday morning and within a couple of hours the sky had opened up—ushering snowflakes to every nearby field and mountain top. Country life is quiet and toned-down...and everything I've never really known.
Living on my grandmother's estate in the middle of nowhere is a little different than the city life I was accustomed to while living in Las Vegas, Boston, DC, or even in Upstate, NY where I grew up. While I've been handed a plethora of health issues, I've also been given the opportunity to learn and appreciate a quiet country life. I might not be shopping at Caesar's, grabbing dinner at N9NE, followed by a party at The Hard Rock like the old days, but hey, that's what my 40s will be for. (Kidding. Maybe. Mostly.) There's value in a slower pace, and I've finally stopped fighting against it.
I won't lie: it's difficult for me to be here. I'm not here because I want to be here. I'm here because my body broke down. It's been reduced to a weaker and unrecognizable version of itself. Sure, I look exactly the same. But I'm not—I'm sick.
I think we have this idea that we can only have meaningful lives if we're in the places we want to be. I've been telling myself that if I could just get back to DC, I would be the best version of myself. I'd go back to wearing a suit everyday, working downtown, learning from business leaders, and I'd be contributing to society in a productive and meaningful way. But, that's just not true.
We learn wherever we open our minds, and hopefully, that aligns with wherever we currently are. And, we're the best versions of ourselves when we choose to be. It would be a shame for me not to take the time to learn from all that's around me. Plus, there's something restorative about living in the mountains, where the air is fresh and unadulterated.
Nature has this wondrous ability to captivate our senses so that our minds can have a moment to rest from the busyness that makes up our lives. Nature takes us in at its own tempo and asks us to respect the count it's set: the tempo of a gentle breeze, of leaves that politely parachute to the ground, or of a little baby lamb who bravely trots for the first time.
It's not terrible. It's actually kind of beautiful.