Once upon a time I lived on a farm and vineyard and had a blog called Bullfrogs and Bulldogs and the Randoms of Country Life. It was a creative outlet for me before I even realized I was creative. Honestly, it probably was the catalyst for me learning that I was creative.

It was a special place for me to share my transition from city life to farm life. Its original intent was to share more of the farming and homesteading aspects of my life but started to transition more into DIY and food.

This past weekend I took a twenty-four hour "no computer" break from Saturday afternoon to Sunday afternoon. I wasn’t totally off the computer but I didn’t feel the pressure to be in front of it all day. It's weird, the pressure we now feel to be "on" all the time.

I didn’t really start with specific plans so to speak of but ended up doing exactly what I think my heart really needed right now. I got outside and created with a shovel.

Lately, Baker and I have been going on afternoon walks down the unevenly paved road leading into Bodega town. It’s a good couple of miles and I leave my phone at home so I can be fully present to my reality and to Baker’s infectious joy as he frolics down the road with his buoyant gallop. He never did learn how to run properly.

I remember reading the news the last few years about the raging fires all through Northern California and my heart ached for those losing everything and even worse, those that lost ones they love. Nobody ever thinks a natural disaster is going to affect them until it does.

We have an apple tree on the farm. It’s big and fertile right now busting at the seams with well over one hundred Organic Granny Smith Apples just waiting to be picked. Every few days I open the gate leading to the tree and grab enough to fill my medium-sized mixing bowl. This act alone makes me feel a connection to myself and the land that got lost several years ago after my divorce. All of a sudden, I’m transported back to my days living on the vineyard in Oregon when I nominated myself to be in charge of trimming the three apple trees on the property. I loved the methodical way in which I’d cut back each branch preparing the crop for the cooler, dark winters month.

Back in July when this whole move came about I felt deeply in my gut that one of the main reasons I was being called to move to Bodega and live this way of life was to slow down and simplify so that I could really figure out who I am and what I am here for. Well, almost three months in and I must confess. I kind of suck at the slow down.

Someone asked me recently if I get scared of living in the middle of nowhere in a giant tent. I paused and thought about this for a moment remembering that sometimes I’d leave my doors unlocked at night in my house in the suburbs of Encinitas yet here, I double and triple check my locks before crawling into bed. The funny thing is, I know logically I am safer here but the years of binge-watching horror movies have me convinced otherwise. I can’t help but think that where I currently live is the perfect setting for a horror movie.

A few things have always perplexed me about horror movies. One of those things is wondering why in the hell do people ALWAYS go TOWARDS the creepy sound coming from the basement? If it were me, I'd bolt in the opposite direction.

When I felt the call to start my first blog back in 2008, I had no idea why I felt such a strong internal pull to do so. I had so many negative stories about my ability to write well that I was terrified to actually put my thoughts out into the world. But thoughts and ideas and a voice I knew I had. There was something deep inside that was pushing me to start writing. And then slowly the why became more obvious and still is unfolding.

The other night I woke around 2 a.m., sweat dripping down my back and chest, which I speculate is due to fluctuating hormones as the temperature in my yurt is rather cool in the middle of the night.

I woke from a dream. I was surrounded by my childhood friends and their husbands of years and there I stood, completely encircled yet utterly alone. I lay there in the pitch black of night ruminating on the length of time each of them had been with their spouses and comparing my constant singleness with their holy matrimony. Then it came, pangs of envy crept up as the self-inflicted judgments I’d been stuffing down with affirmative pleasantries surfaced.

How am I still single? What is so wrong with me that no one ever wants to stay? Why do I keep attracting men who don’t really want me?

About a week ago I had an assessment with a Psychiatrist at Moore’s Cancer Center to be evaluated for some mental health issues that had been coming up in a pretty significant way for the last few months. In reality, these issues have been haunting me for a very long time.

I sat before him and poured out my life story, tears streaming down my face as I observed the parts I felt most compelled to share.

At the end of our session, he confirmed what I had already intuitively known, I was in the midst of PTSD. However, he also confirmed something else that, if I’m honest, I already intuitively knew as well; Borderline Personality Disorder.

Surrender. It’s a word thrown around so often and so casually that I feel, in some ways, we’ve lost sight of just how profound the very act of surrendering can be.

I’ve been in one too many yoga classes where the instructor touts some paraphrased version of this idea picked up in a book or from another teacher that I can’t help but wonder how many of them truly practice the suggestion they are regurgitating back to us? How many of them actually understand the true meaning of surrender? How many of them are mindfully letting go each and every day?

But then again, I found myself wondering if I even understand the meaning of the word myself?

Every now and then someone comes along and pokes my bear. This is an expression I heard several years ago which simply means, someone comes along and taps on your wounds or stirs up your shit or your baggage to put it a little nicer.

I really love the expression though. I felt it added a layer of humor that resonates with me. It’s like my own personal safeword minus the S&M. If someone is stirring up my stuff and I’m too uncomfortable, all I have to do is look at them and say, “you’re poking my bear.”

But if only it truly worked that way.