I Guess You Can Go Home Again
Midlife hit me square in the face a few years ago. I had a loving family, great friends, and all of my basic needs were met, yet something was off. Something didn’t feel right.
I made progressively more extreme adjustments in search of some sort of peace. I changed my hair, bought a new car, tried a new job (or three), yet nothing was fixing how I felt. I left a full-time position, picked up freelancing, and started this blog. As I continued to examine my life, and even while acknowledging my many blessings, I felt empty and depressed.
At the end of last year, I decided it was time to head back to a full-time gig. I could earn some dough, focus on my boys, and settle into what was an average middle class, middle aged existence. I’d learned a lot giving it a go as an independent contractor, mostly that I’m a far better worker than hustler. I also learned that there is comfort in routine and that my mental health depends upon structure and guidelines. I was cautiously optimistic about settling into 2020 focusing on the challenge of my new job and watching my boys grow.
Holy shit! I couldn’t have been more wrong. Quarantine, economic ruin, civil unrest (for what I perceive as justified reasons), etc. have proven to be more than any of us can handle. I’ve spent much of the last few months, and especially the last couple of weeks, questioning the mental abilities of at least 25% of the people in my realm while simultaneously questioning my own ability to understand the world around me.
Through all of this there has been one place that has been my sanctuary, my sanity. And it became overwhelming apparent that this one place, which I swore I’d never return to full-time, was calling me—calling me home.
I grew up in Grant’s Lick, Kentucky on a property my mom lovingly named Rocky Top Farm. I spent my childhood hoeing in the garden, throwing hay bales, collecting eggs from the chicken coop, canning green beans, shoveling cow manure, and picking up rocks. Lots and lots of rocks. My dad taught me to drive on his Case tractor and our 1949 Willy’s Army Jeep.
When I was really young, I loved swimming in the pond, hiding in the trees, and looking up at the stars. As I got older, it felt like most of my friends had easier existences—fewer chores, shorter drive to get anywhere, less responsibility. All of those were correct assumptions, but I foolishly overlooked the things I was learning from the farm. I gained perseverance, commitment, patience, and a deep understanding of the circle of life that most of my suburbanite peers couldn’t begin to understand. Trust me, when the chickens need to be watered on a hot July day, you water the chickens even if you got a case of the teenage blues.
As my boys grew old enough to appreciate tractor rides and fishing in the pond, I started to entertain the idea of moving back to the farm. While I still had reservations, we looked into building. Jason was all in, but I decided the timing wasn’t right, mostly because I wouldn’t commit to the extra drive or the financial burden.
It wasn’t until 2020 started beating me up that I realized how much I was drawn to the solitude and comfort of the farm. We spent every free moment fishing for catfish in the pond or hitting whiffle balls in the field. When we weren’t stuck at home for work and school we could be socially distant, yet safe and free. Let me note here that I recognize my extreme fortune and privilege to have this beautiful place to escape from the horrors of 2020.
It quickly became apparent that I had spent most of my life rejecting the one thing that has always been there. Rocky Top Farm has given me endless sustenance—survival skills, independence, hell, even actual food—and I continually rejected these gifts in search bigger, better, more-cultured things.
While I’d never give up the experiences I’ve had over the last 20 years, I’m certainly not enchanted with our current home. I’m now dreaming of morning coffee overlooking the rolling Kentucky hills, bacon hanging in the smokehouse, and learning how to keep bees. Weirdly, I realized a big part of my midlife crisis has been caused by my inability to see the great fortune that was right in front of me. I’m a country girl at heart and there is no changing that, no matter how hard I have tried.
As the world becomes even more chaotic and uncertain, I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting. One thing has become abundantly clear—it’s time to go home.
