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Thoughts on Georgetown, from cow camp

Frequently when I am in Washington DC and walking or driving to my classes at Georgetown, I will get a wiff of the sagebrush. I swear sometimes in between the cars honking or folks walking to classes, that a lil breeze kicks up and a baby calf bawls. Then it is gone.


Sometimes I take a pair of boots out of the closet that have dirt from past pastures still on them, and I walk along Georgetown cobblestones. I smile as it falls away and my boots carry me past shops and buildings so old, it reminds my soul of growing up in Scotland.


I am in an in-between world. Not fully of one or the other. And I am grateful, joyful, scared, at peace, hopeful, thankful and proud all at once.


I realize in this moment, that I have found what home is. It is not what i expected, it is not a place.


It is with the people I call friends and family. It is the moments when my mother clasps my hand. When my dear friend hugs me as we look out over California valleys horseback and the way friends at Georgetown build up their cowgirl friend. Believing that I belong among their ranks in hallowed classrooms. We study the things we are passionate about.  Discussing politics, human rights and counterterrorism. My family and friends do the same, sitting around cow camp tables with coffee in hand.


And somewhere between Georgetown University and Rattlesnake canyon, I realize home is not where you are—it is the love you are surrounded by and the souls you trust enough to “let in.”


People who don’t see you as a graduate student “or” a cowgirl, but both. The beautiful and the ugly, the broken and the built anew.


Home.


And I am grateful to have finally found it. 💕



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