I come from simple people. The farm. Barefeet and the hum of box elder bugs trapped between a screen and an old single pane window. I come from handmedowns and pot roast dinners served on the fine china. Corelle.
I am more comfortable in work clothes and muddy boots than fine jewelry and dinner parties.
I love beautiful things, don’t get me wrong. I have amassed a few collections of antique silver, several sets of fine china and when I cook I tend toward more refined than the pot roast.
But, at my core, in the middle of me, is that country girl with wild hair who wouldn’t consider not helping the neighbor or stopping to pick up strangers on the corner.
I have very clearly defined parameters of “good people” and “city folk” even though I have lived most of the past 19 years IN town. I still can’t handle neighbors in my business. Every day.
I like quiet nights and small parties. Star gazing and black coffee with dinner.
Somewhere, in the middle of all that I have become since I left the farm all those years ago as a bright-eyed, determined girl of 18, I never lost that part of who I am.
Where I struggle today is finding how to make that work in a world determined to squeeze me into the fast-paced, accomplishment driven, value based on production environments I tend to find myself.
It’s hard not to use the same measuring stick on yourself that you see being used on everyone around you. Have I produced enough to be valuable in this environment? Will they want me to continue in this venue? Who DOESN’T like my method, my product, my vision but won’t tell me? Who would rather spread seeds of discontent and frustration?
I’m direct. I’m not accustomed to seeking out the hidden, secret meaning of the vague pose of discomfort or upset. I’m not strategic. If it requires bombing? Bomb it. If it requires food? Feed it. If it requires work. Work.
There are elements of my world that are stretching me far beyond the boundaries of not only who I want to be? But the person I have always been.
Why can’t everyone just be simple?