Am I really ready for this?

The question stirred in my head as I washed the sleep out of my eyes. Always been a last minute packer. This trip was no different. But the readiness question wasn’t about what I had in my trailer. It was a question for myself, my heart, and my head. Am I ready for this?

The espresso machine poured its last shots on the counter at my parent’s house. Something about leaving Nebraska this time was different. 1400 miles with one horse, two dogs, and my 87-year old grandma in itself wasn’t necessarily what I was concerned with. Crazy, yes. But I figured it was all something a little prayer and patience could help. It had nothing to do with the miles, and everything to do with my mentality. Loading up that trailer reminded me that this was still a very new part of my life that had become engrained quite quickly. My horse had only been mine since 2022. My trailer was barely a year old. My horsemanship and knowledge felt very inexperienced and vulnerable. The whole lifestyle felt vulnerable. Yet, as I set out into the dark pasture, and two eyes glowed in my headlamp, confident to greet me, Cash was ready for his trip to Arizona sunshine. Ready or not, we were going to go.

Mom and dad were both up to see us off. Dutch the dog loaded into the back seat, snuggled into her bed and pillows. My parents gave her the last back rubs and ear scratches for a while. Dutchy girl really loved the whole family, but she was never one to shy away from a road trip. We said our see ya later’s and I was up the driveway and onto our gravel road. I have a rule that I can cry until the road hits pavement. Then it’s time to process past the tears and get going.

I looped my trailer into the sleepy streets of our little town to pick up grandma and her little corgi dog. There they stood in the driveway, with more bags than I recall Grams saying she had. Nonetheless everything fit, but we weren’t going to win any efficiency awards. Grandma got her map out and I asked if GPS was working. She follows each and every road the entire trip, noting memories along the way. Although I run my phone navigation, it’s always cute to hear Grandma’s GPS too–Grandma’s Pretty Sure (you turn here).

We set out for our longest day of the trip to Guymon, Oklahoma. Thankfully, we had some great friends making the journey with horses as well. We kept an eye out for each other as we ventured southwest, noting places we had stopped before, and places we wouldn’t stop again. Grandma and I had to stop at Braum’s in Great Bend where we had a minor breakdown the year before. Can’t say I felt more ready as the miles added up, but we weren’t turning around.

The fairgrounds were a welcomed stop for the horses and dogs. And we were ready for rest also. Cash man rolled in the muddy sand, looking more roan than bay colored. Gary and Sarah had beat us there, settled in, and prepared. They had water and pens assigned, and brought me peace of mind since they could stay with the horses. Sarah and I usually talk about the excitement of my new living-quarters trailer being done. Pretty sure I think about it every day, but only long enough to remind myself that those memories will be created then. It’s time to live in the now.

Pulling into town with construction everywhere, I was thankful to navigate with my small gooseneck and not the new trailer in the dark. We had some FFA kids at the hotel, and one young lady who had just won the competition. Grandma and I congratulated her, sensing her confidence beam. I always loved being recognized at that age. We were glad to pass along the accolades.

As the driver, I also get to be the bellhop. I went back down to the trailer to gather our things, headlamp and all. Just when I started to come around my trailer, a man had walked up to the curb. He commented about how beautiful my trailer was, and any recommendations I had for him, as he had been shopping. We talked for a while about the search, and encouraged him that he would find what he was looking for. As I walked inside, a couple asked “Does your horse sleep in there?” To which I replied, “No, he gets a nice big pen with his friends.” Walking back to my room, luggage cart in tow, I had a different sense of the journey. Here, three complete strangers noticed what I was doing, made a point to engage in conversation, and in no way made me feel intimidated by the journey we were on.

People on the outside don’t know whether you’re just beginning or are a seasoned veteran. They don’t know you feel inferior unless you let them. It’s up to you to bring forth the confidence in your own journey. You never know who is going to care about your story, and who you might impact along the way.

Day two was mostly spent in New Mexico, the roughest roads and historically the toughest weather. The roads were dry, but the western side of the state had some strong crosswinds. I was reminded of the first rig I drove to Arizona three years ago: an old bumper pull I had borrowed and fixed up in exchange to use it for the year. It would have hated that wind. My dad helped me drive that year, and we were absolute rookies. But we were bound and determined to get to Arizona to see what this roping culture was all about.

We blew into Grants, NM with plenty of daylight. We stayed pretty linked up with our buddy rig, helping each other get the animals settled. As I headed for the exit, a well-posted sign caught my attention.

“Somewhere around this arena, there is a little kid that wants to be just like you someday. You owe it to them to be the best you can be.”

Reading it twice over, the words struck me. I wondered how many cowboys and cowgirls had read it. I pondered the times I was horseback and who had been watching.

This summer, one of the only times I roped was in a clinic in Montana. I rode a borrowed horse and hadn’t turned a steer in quite some time, but I roped the dummy well. The horse I borrowed was giving me quite a bit of box trouble. I was used to my trusty bay gelding, Cash, who was all- business, and let me win. This mare was a challenge. The instructor used me several times as an example of what to do and not to do. In my mind, I couldn’t even think about roping. I wanted to do right by this horse and with my horsemanship, and get a break through. It pushed me well beyond my comfort zone. After running a couple steers with results that I didn’t want, I took a deep breath. Without getting mad or upset, I thought about what I needed to focus on for the rest of the day. As I rode up the arena, there was a flatbed trailer filled with little girls and young kids. A couple of the young girls met me at the fence, bashfully saying “Your horse is so pretty.” I smiled and thanked them. I asked if they were cowgirls. They nodded and wanted to pet my horse to which I obliged. I could feel a release from tension. There were plenty of other people roping way better than I was, but that’s not who they were watching. They were watching me, in all my vulnerability, get in the box, and try. The runs from that day are not at all something I held onto. But the feeling of encouraging someone else to get into the arena and go for it will stay with me.

Your arena could be literal or figurative, but know someone is watching. Usually it is someone least expected. There’s a posture change when you think someone is watching. I’d like to think our character takes over no matter who is in the audience, but that kind of discipline and lifestyle is a continual choice. Your calling could be different, but the persistence, determination, and will to keep going is a lighthouse to others.

I started this blog knowing it would be vulnerable, but I didn’t want to get away from this season without sharing it. There’s something about going all in and telling the story before “making it” and while “creating it” that has resonated with me. I hope others see this arena and are encouraged to go all-in to theirs.

Waking up to the most beautiful sunrise, the final leg of the journey was upon us. There was ice and it was quite cold when we got to the fairgrounds, but we knew sunshine and warmer weather was ahead. Cash knew this was a temporary place and easily loaded to get to where we were going.

The scenery really started to come alive. Big red rocks, often snow covered in previous years, cut and curved out across the sky. Grams noted some of them looked so perfect like a machine could have done it, but it was God. I streamed one of my favorite Arizona church messages as we made time across the border and stopped for lunch in one of my favorite places along the journey–Winslow, Arizona. You better believe I was singing the song the whole time as I filled up with diesel and def.

The first year dad and I made the trip was 2023. I told him there was an exit ahead that I wanted to drive through. We didn’t need diesel or anything; I just wanted to drive through the town. He had this confused look on his face after we had driven a couple minutes through what looked like any old, small Arizona town. I asked if he knew why we were here. Still puzzled, he kind of shook his head, searching for what he could be missing. I put on the song, “Take it Easy,” and asked, “Haven’t you ever wanted to stand on the corner of Winslow, Arizona?” He smiled and nodded, “yea, this is pretty cool.” It was a simple stop. Not really one that makes the “family vacation” list. But, you don’t get an opportunity every day to stop in a famous town like that. As dad retells the story today, I love that he adds the quote, “Not everyone will understand your journey, and that’s ok. It’s not for them, it’s for you.” Winslow, AZ was not exactly on the bucket list, but every time I drive through, I’m reminded of how it is part of my journey. It made a memory that first year driving down I’ll never forget. And every year we drive through, I’m reminded how thankful I am that it continues to be part of my journey.

The rest of the drive came quickly, probably from motivation to get there. Grams and I love when we start to see saguaro cactus and point out ones that strike our attention along the way. After a good night’s sleep, we started settling in to our new place we call home.

Later in the afternoon, Gary, Sarah, and I caravanned back to town to meet with another friend of ours from Nebraska. We chuckled about our adventures, mostly thankful that none of us had lay ups. After each sharing a bit of our Arizona stories, Jeff noted,

“I’m not sure I’m living the dream, but I’m sure living my dream.”

Sarah, quick-witted, followed, “And I’m thankful that he is living my dream with me,” pointing at her husband Gary as she said it.

I get a knot in my throat typing this, recounting how impactful those words are. Three people, not knowing what they said would be written down, captured what I needed reminded of at the beginning. I’m living my dream. It isn’t exactly textbook or common, but I think that’s why I love it. It has become so engrained in me that it is more insane to quit than it is to keep going. With each day I feel as if the Lord is showing me more of who I am, but more importantly who He is through this calling.

Whatever arena you find yourself in, go all in. Go with good people. Go when you don’t feel ready. But if I can encourage you in any way this week, go when you get that calling. You never know who might be standing outside your arena, watching and being encouraged by your story, even if it is less than perfect like mine.

Stay tuned to where we drift next week, including some context behind the name Wild-Hearted Drifter. Until then, glad to have you watching and listening from my arena.