The Struggle Vs. The Coast

I had a light, wonderful dose of perspective thrown at me about a week ago, and I thought I would share.

It was a Sunday, and a well-worn rig came rambling up my driveway. It belonged to a friend of mine, and he was getting ready to go to California to spend his winter branding calves and working for a ranch out that way. His pickup was a ’90s model flatbed Ford, towing a well-seasoned pipe stock trailer (that wasn’t about to sneak up on anyone on a gravel road, if you catch my drift). Inside the trailer, he had a good little gray gelding tied in the back and a bedroll, a couple of saddles and a passel of bridles in the front divider. Inside the cab of the pickup was a border collie dog, and I’m guessing a Dr Pepper, too, and maybe some sunflower seeds.

Anyway, we said our hellos, and he wore a big grin with a look in his eyes that screamed, “New adventure time!” I’m certain he was excited to see some new country on the back of his little horse. He’s very good help and should thrive in his new ZIP code, I have no doubt. I was happy for him but had a funny, somewhat unfamiliar pang of envy deep down in my California heart. I was staring past everything he owned right there in my yard, at the slew of horses, cattle and projects that needed my attention that day.

I remember moving to Texas and feeling a lot like he did that day. There was a bit more plunder in my trailer and four horses rather than one, but there was a mobility in my life at the time that was pretty special. Don’t get me wrong — I am extremely thankful for where I am now. I truly do appreciate the struggle, the decisions, the mountains and valleys of how we got to where we are, too. At times, I love being too busy and having too much going on, but I also feel like I’m surrounded by rewards, challenges, hairpin turns and new opportunities almost every day. I recognize that we’ve chosen to immerse ourselves in what we do for a living, and I appreciate what we’ve built.

But I don’t get to brand calves on the California coast too often anymore. And I sure can’t pack up all I own in one little ol’ stock trailer, either.

I think that’s the balance we all seek, right? It lies somewhere between our accomplishments and our freedoms. Feeling rewarded by our responsibilities and relishing the flexibility in our lack of such. I crave the gain, but I secretly desire the idle once in a while. When we have the money, we don’t have the time. And when we have the time, we don’t have the money. And boy, I love Texas as much as any Texan, but something about that California cowboy country in winter gets in a person’s bones.

As he turned around and drove out of my yard, I smiled, slightly jealous but also proud of the driveway he clattered down that is mine, flanked by my hayfields on both sides. I thought back on my life when it was a little more streamlined and less defined. There he goes, headed toward that mild climate and those beautiful rolling green hills where they head and heel all their little calves, and there stands me, facing a brisk winter week in Texas filled with colts to ride, people who count on me and 648 promises to keep before February.

I smiled to myself as he rattled away.

“I wonder what it would be like to cut out the excess and simplify my life a bit,” I mused as I stroked the fur of my bottle-raised pet antelope.

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