Maybe I’m Not a City Girl or a Country Girl

I’ve discovered something about myself lately, and it only took me 61 years to figure it out. Imagine that! During my last year of working, I had a pretty good drive to work. Now, whenever an appointment takes me down those same country roads, I find myself enjoying the drive. Something about the trees, open fields, and quiet surroundings relaxes me. It clears my head and makes me feel rejuvenated.

I’ve never really considered myself a country girl. I’ve lived in the country thinking I was a city girl, and I’ve lived in the city wishing I was a country girl. Apparently, I can’t make up my mind! But I’m beginning to realize it isn’t necessarily about where I live. It’s about what surrounds me and how it makes me feel.

After 34 years in childcare, I’m accustomed to noise, responsibilities, and constantly being needed. There was always a problem to solve, a decision to make, or someone who needed my attention. My brain rarely had an opportunity to shut up, and believe me, that brain of mine can be exhausting! But when I’m surrounded by nature, something changes. I feel calmer, less anxious, and able to think without a hundred thoughts interrupting each other.

The funny thing is, I’ve experienced some beautiful surroundings throughout my life. I’ve ridden horses, cared for animals, lived with a 17-acre lake behind my house, been surrounded by trees, and even had mountains in the distance. Looking back, I wonder if I ever fully appreciated what those places were giving me.

Now that I’m retired and thinking about where I want to settle for the rest of my life, those surroundings matter more than ever. And yes, I said the rest of my life! At 61, you start thinking differently. When you’re younger, you plan where you want to live for the next five or ten years. At my age, I’m thinking about where I want to be until the day I die. Not exactly cheerful, but it’s reality!

I don’t want to live in the middle of nowhere tending cattle, feeding horses, or chasing chickens around the yard. I’ve done the animal thing, and those pretty country pictures leave out an awful lot of work! I still enjoy shopping, restaurants, and the conveniences of city life. But I want trees, birds, gardens, and enough quiet to hear myself think. I want to grow flowers, plant vegetables, and create a little space where butterflies and birds feel welcome.

I think part of this comes from spending so many years contributing to something bigger than myself. I raised children, supported families, employed people, and built a business that mattered to my community. When you spend decades being needed, that sense of purpose doesn’t simply disappear because you retire. But neither does the desire to finally be free of all those responsibilities.

And that’s the strange part about retirement. You spend years looking forward to the day when nobody needs anything from you, only to discover that being needed was part of what gave your life purpose. I don’t miss the problems, the phone calls, or the constant demands, but I do miss feeling like I’m contributing something.

Maybe that’s why nature appeals to me now. Planting a garden, tending flowers, or caring for a little piece of land gives me something meaningful to do without being responsible for everybody else. Nature doesn't need a meeting, a policy, or a decision made before five o’clock. It just needs a little attention, patience, and time to grow. And quite frankly, that sounds wonderful!

Maybe retirement isn't about finding something to replace everything I used to do. Maybe it's about learning that I don't have to keep proving my worth by staying busy. I can enjoy what I've worked so hard to have, create a beautiful place for my family to gather, and contribute to the world in smaller, quieter ways.

Those country drives have helped me realize that I don't have to choose between being a city girl or a country girl. I just want to live somewhere that reminds me I'm part of the world, not responsible for running it.

And after 34 years of taking care of everybody else's little piece of the world, I think I've earned the right to enjoy my own.

When Life Doesn’t Give You Time to Catch Up

I’m suffering. There, I said it. It’s been one heck of a year, and the hits just keep coming. Some of them I brought on myself, and others I had absolutely no control over. But regardless of how they happened, they’ve all taken something out of me.

It started with major surgery and a long recovery, followed by the stress of selling a business I’d spent most of my adult life building. I knew retirement was coming, but knowing something is coming and actually living it are two different things. Suddenly, I wasn’t seeing my kids and grandkids every day. I wasn’t surrounded by employees, children, and the constant activity I’d known for decades. I went from having more to do than I had hours in the day to wondering what I was supposed to do with all those hours.

Here’s something I’ve learned. Retirement is something you really need to prepare for, and I’m not talking about financially. I’m talking about emotionally. When your entire routine and sense of purpose change, it can sneak up on you. There’s a big difference between accepting a new chapter and feeling completely lost in it.

Then July came, and I lost my sweet mother. That one still hurts, and I imagine it always will. I lost it the weekend before she passed, and I don’t think I’ve fully processed losing her or my dad. Maybe you never really do. Maybe you just learn to live with missing them. Whatever the case, it was a hard, hard summer.

Then we decided to sell our home. Another decision we made ourselves, but one that happened so quickly we barely had time to think. The house sold before we had a solid plan for what came next. We had weeks to pack up ten years of memories and move into a rental house. Again, there was no time to really process what we were leaving behind before we were already moving on.

Now we’re waiting to sign paperwork to build another home. More decisions, more waiting, and more uncertainty.

And somewhere in the middle of all this, my health decided it wanted to join the party. Apparently, getting older comes with a whole new collection of problems nobody bothered to warn me about. Even the medications meant to help have caused problems of their own. I’ve learned more about dry skin, skin barriers, and steroid creams than I ever wanted to know. At this point, I’ve never wanted to feel normal so badly in my life!

Tomorrow is Halloween, and for the first time in 39 years, there hasn’t been any Halloween fun in my October. No costumes, no pumpkin decorating, no silliness. And that’s just not me. I’ve always loved holidays and finding reasons to have fun. Looking back, I think all that silliness was a form of therapy for me. I didn’t realize how much I needed it until I didn’t have it. And this year, of all years, I probably needed it the most.

There are only two months left in 2026, and we’ll likely spend another ten months living in a rental house. The holidays won’t look the same this year, and I’m trying to be okay with that. I still want them to be happy. I still want the laughter, the family, and the memories, even if everything around us looks a little different.

I know life changes. I know some changes are good, even when they’re difficult. And I know I’ve made choices this year that will eventually lead to something wonderful. But that doesn’t mean the getting there has been easy.

I think what I’ve needed more than anything is a little time to catch up with my own life. Time to grieve, time to adjust, time to feel settled, and maybe a little time when absolutely nothing changes.

So, 2027, I’m not asking for anything spectacular. I’ve had enough excitement to last me a while. I’d just like a year where I can enjoy my life instead of constantly adjusting to it.

When Your Truck Looks Like It's Trying to Buck You Off!

So I’m driving through Yukon on Highway 66, minding my own business, when I see a truck coming toward me. Now, seeing a truck in Oklahoma isn’t exactly unusual. We have trucks everywhere. Big trucks, little trucks, lifted trucks, trucks that have clearly never seen a dirt road in their entire lives. You name it, we’ve got it. But THIS truck!

The front end was sitting so high in the air, and the back end was so low to the ground that it looked like a horse getting ready to buck somebody off! I actually started laughing. And then I started wondering. Did this man actually PAY somebody to make his truck look that ridiculous?

I mean, seriously. Did he wake up one morning, look at his perfectly good truck, and think, “You know what would make this thing look amazing? If the front end was pointing toward Jesus and the back end was dragging toward hell!” What exactly is the purpose of this?

I’ve seen those lowrider cars that bounce up and down, and I’ve never really understood the appeal of those either. But at least they do something. They bounce! Apparently, that’s exciting to somebody. But this truck? It just looked like it was permanently trying to climb a hill that wasn’t there.

And I couldn’t help wondering what the conversation sounded like when he decided to have this done. “Hey, I’d like to spend a bunch of money making my truck look like a mechanical failure.” Or maybe it was, “I want people to notice me coming down the highway.” Well, congratulations! Mission accomplished! I noticed you. I laughed at you. And now I’m writing a whole blog about you.

Maybe that’s exactly what he wanted. Or maybe he thought, “If I make the front end high enough, everybody will see me coming and get out of my way because I clearly can’t see what’s directly in front of me!” I don’t know. What I do know is that somebody spent perfectly good money to make a perfectly good truck look like it needs medical attention.

And yes, I realize it’s his truck, his money, and he can do whatever he wants with it. People are entitled to their own taste. And I’m entitled to think their taste is ridiculous.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve gotten so concerned about not offending anybody that we’ve forgotten it’s perfectly acceptable to look at something and say, “What in the hell were you thinking?” Not everything needs to be celebrated. Not every decision deserves applause. And sometimes something is just plain stupid.

I’m sure that man thinks his truck looks fantastic. Meanwhile, I’m still laughing about it halfway down Highway 66.

Some people spend money to turn heads. Others spend money to make people shake theirs.

Friendships

I’ve been thinking about friendships lately. I don’t have many friends, and honestly, I’m okay with that. I’ve learned that finding someone who can actually keep a secret is harder than finding a decent pair of jeans after menopause!

And the funny part? They think you don’t know they’ve been running their mouths. Honey, I know. I just don’t give you the juicy stuff anymore! LOL!

I’ve always preferred male friends. Even as a teenager, I got along better with guys. But that gets complicated when you’re married, and now that I’m in my 60s, I need someone who understands menopause, grandkids, and everything else that comes with this stage of life!

But DAMN, girlfriends have always been hard to find!

I want women I can relate to. Women who’ve raised kids, worked, paid bills, managed households, and lived enough life to have some good stories. I don’t want to explain everything. Sometimes I just want to say, “You know how it is,” and have someone actually KNOW!

And friendship has to go both ways. I can’t build a friendship with someone who wants to know all my business but won’t confide in me. That’s not friendship. That’s an interrogation!

And here’s the big one. I want friends, but I don’t want another full-time job! I’m retired! I don’t need daily phone calls, constant texting, or someone who gets offended because I didn’t answer my phone.

I don’t need a whole herd of girlfriends. I’m not starting a sorority! Just someone who adds to my life without taking over my life!

I spent most of my life raising kids, running a business, managing a household, and being needed by everybody. I'm finally at a point where my time belongs to me. I don't need a friend who demands it. I want one who makes me glad I shared it.

If I Can't Control It, I'll Worry About It!

I was diagnosed with anxiety when I was eight years old. And when I say I’ve been a worrier my entire life, I mean my ENTIRE life!

Even as a little girl, my mind never stopped questioning things. I remember worrying about how my body worked. Why didn’t my eyeballs just fall out of my head? How did my fingernails grow without falling off? Seriously, what eight-year-old sits around worrying about these things?

Apparently, me!

If I couldn’t logically explain something, I worried about it. I needed answers. I needed things to make sense, and when they didn’t, my imagination was more than happy to fill in the blanks with something catastrophic!

And change? Oh, I absolutely hated change!

I remember when my sister got married. Instead of just being excited about her wedding, I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t coming home anymore. In my mind, she belonged at home. That’s where she’d always been, and suddenly everything was different.

I think uncertainty has always been one of my biggest struggles. Not knowing what was going to happen, why something happened, or how something worked made me anxious. And when I couldn’t find an answer, my mind would come up with a hundred possibilities, usually starting with the worst one!

As I got older, I didn’t stop worrying. I just found more grown-up things to worry about. Imagine that!

And I think this explains something else about me. I’m a perfectionist.

I’ve always been organized, responsible, particular, and someone who likes things done correctly. I notice little details other people overlook. I like my house clean, things in their proper places, and plans made ahead of time. I have high expectations of myself, and when something isn’t right, I have a hard time leaving it alone.

People probably think I’m just picky or that I like things a certain way. And yes, I do! But I think there’s more to it than that.

There’s actually a psychological concept called intolerance of uncertainty. Basically, some people have a harder time dealing with the unknown. Not having answers or knowing what comes next can create anxiety.

And that’s where I think my perfectionism comes in.

When you’ve spent your entire life worrying about things you can’t control, you start finding comfort in the things you CAN control.

I can’t control what tomorrow brings, but I can control how organized my house is. I can’t prevent every problem, but I can plan ahead and prepare for the possibilities. I can’t make life predictable, but I can make sure the things I’m responsible for are done right.

Maybe perfectionism isn’t always about wanting everything perfect. Sometimes it’s about trying to feel safe.

The problem is that perfectionism can actually feed anxiety. There’s always something that needs fixing, something that could be better, or something that isn’t quite right. And when your mind is already wired to worry, you can wear yourself out trying to prevent problems that haven’t even happened!

I don’t believe every perfectionist has anxiety, or that anxiety automatically makes someone a perfectionist. But I certainly believe the two can go hand in hand.

I’ve spent most of my life thinking this was simply my personality. I’m particular. I’m organized. I like things done my way.

But there’s a difference between liking things a certain way and feeling anxious when they aren’t that way.

And I think that’s something people don’t always understand about anxiety. It isn’t necessarily someone sitting around visibly panicking or being afraid. Sometimes it’s the person who plans everything, notices everything, prepares for everything, and can’t seem to shut their mind off.

I may not be able to control everything that worries me, but I can control the things around me. And for someone who has lived with anxiety since childhood, that little bit of control can feel like peace.

The irony is that trying to control everything can also be the very thing that keeps the anxiety going.

Maybe that’s the hardest part of being a perfectionist. Learning that everything doesn’t have to be perfect for everything to be okay.

And after 61 years, I’m still working on that one!