It’s good to be back writing. The last time I wrote, Grams and I were still in Arizona, and the whirlwind season I thought was ending was only beginning. My dad flew into Phoenix the end of February, taking Grams back with him, and by the end of March, she had a new hip and new perspective on life. Although I didn’t have any literal surgeries, the adjustment on my perspective took a little while longer than Grams.

I left Arizona experiencing high highs and low lows and continued to punch my ticket on the emotional rollercoaster I should have never paid my entry fee into. It wasn’t just in team roping. It has felt like my life is on a merry-go-round of goal setting, heart break, unrealistic expectations, and a deep pit of questioning. Even where I had success, that felt like imposter syndrome, a fluke, and not worth it.

All of this compounded in a short amount of time. Even up until recently, it felt fake to write about. How am I supposed to write about a journey I’m not enjoying? What part of this am I supposed to share? Wearing vulnerability on my arm felt like a wave of shame and doubt. I debated quitting…a lot. And for a while, I quit writing.

My life felt like treading water with a brick over my head. My brick consisted of team roping, my career, self-esteem, and relationships. They all seemed really heavy, trying to drown me, and I didn’t know what was going to turn this around. I started to really pause and think about the realities of my life. My time dedicated to work is intense, stressful, yet the goals I made continued to come to completion. Why was this still feeling like failure?

As difficult as it was to come to terms with, I didn’t like who I was becoming. My temper had grown short. The little things became hugely emotional. I didn’t feel like I had the capacity to give anyone anything, or when I did, I resented the time I spent. This low place wasn’t humility. It was pride wrapped with anger, thinking, this should look how I want it to look! The reason I didn’t like the way it looked had everything to do with my attitude, not my circumstances.

This past Monday was my 34^th birthday. I started my day by roping in the cool of the morning. It was one of those days when little mistakes created big problems, and mentally, I wasn’t correcting them. I finished my practice thinking, I am an absolute joke. Just the way you want to think about yourself on your birthday, right?

As I swept the tack room, I thought to myself, good thing I’m not winning because the only thing worse with this attitude losing would be winning. My identity had been wrapped up in results, in roping, work, and life, completely being decided by outside circumstances, rather than the grace upon my life. The most difficult part of relying on results and outside circumstances is we lose sight of the small, mundane wins that no one sees.

My horsemanship is better than it has ever been. My riding is better than it has ever been. I’ve roped more in the past 10 months than I have since I started 6 years ago. And these little successes no one sees, no one cares about, and no one is going to give you accolades for. But they should matter. And your attitude for the private, secret wins should matter, too.

The insecurity of identity being in what we do, rather than who God calls us to be, relinquishes the grace He has on our lives. It’s only by grace we have been saved. His grace is sufficient for me. Out of His fullness, we have all received grace. It’s all about the grace. If I’m relying on me and my own strength, I can’t operate in His grace. It’s an insecure place to be, without grace.

Since my birthday, I’ve thought a lot about a photograph my grandma took of me when I was in kindergarten. I still remember the tea parties we would have in her garden. There in front of her white, paint chipped shed were the snapdragons and pine trees, with views of the dry lot and cattle. I’d set up my table and teacups, complete with Kix cereal, dress up in grandma’s black hat and old dress, and enjoy farm life afternoon tea.

I look at that photo, knowing that girl could not care at all if anyone thought she looked ridiculous. She’s authentic, at peace, herself, and full of grace. Sometimes when we don’t have the capacity to understand what the grace looks like, we have to go back to a place where we know we had it.

As the rain wetted the pavement this morning, I grabbed my Arizona bells and rain slicker, in case the promise of a down pour came out of this drought. Rain or shine, I’m going to ride—an attitude I have not always had. The cool breeze gave my horse an extra jump or two on the sand road I loped up and down.

We made our way to the arena, to do the drills and the work no one else will see or care about. I talked to myself, reminding myself the goals I have for practice and what my focuses are. A gremlin thought popped into my head, “What if someone sees you out here and you miss?” As I threw my last loop, and caught, I remembered myself as a little girl in front of the garden shed having her tea party, and thought to myself, “That Claire would think that what I’m doing today is pretty cool.” And for the first time in a while, I presently thought the same thing. Thank you, God, for your grace. Because the life you are letting me live is pretty cool.