I still love the wildflowers and books, hiding in the cool library, on muggy spring days. My horses, riding every day, full finally, my heart full to overflowing with horses. My legs, body, so strong from lessons and long trail rides, from wrapping around horses both small and large. White and brown. Hairs woven into the seats of my truck. Horse hairs everywhere.

I can fill up my time in the kitchen and the garden. I can fill up my life.

On the odd day that I decide to not ride, I end up in bed, sleeping away the afternoon, sick with empty. Wondering what is the point, of this, of life.

I thought I'd decide what to be. Why didn't I spend more of my time writing? It is what I really want to do, right? Write. Maybe I don't.

What I did learn is that I've lacked a role model in my life. A strong woman. Nobody has ever told me that I am beautiful, that I am strong, that I can be whatever I want to be. Instead I have a voice who tells me what I should do, and following that voice makes me feel like I've made a Good Decision.

I've met some women in this past while, and they are strong. They are so strong that I can see their success sewn across their bodies like badges. They are confident and passionate, and I keep wondering where I missed out on learning how to be like that.

You're too sensitive to be like that.

Tomorrow I go to meet a professor at the University. I think he wants to hire me. I think I'll be working in a lab again, nearly drowning in neatly labeled bottles of chemicals, feeling lost among all the students who will undoubtedly surpass me.

It's all I know how to do.