The Prairie Girl was Never Gone.

A weekend in the county was surprisingly illuminating. It reminded me of a version of myself the world almost convinced me to abandon.

She wore muddy boots instead of high heels.

She knew the smell of rain before it arrived.

She trusted silence.

She waved at strangers on back roads and believed kindness mattered simply because it did.

She was taught that when a neighbour is sick, you cook, you bake, and you show up.

She was a prairie girl.

Not perfect.

Not polished.

But grounded in a way the modern world often forgets how to be.

Being in the county and walking beneath open skies has awakened her again.

The other evening, the sun lingered low enough to paint the clouds gold while the trees stood dark against the horizon like old guardians watching over the fields. The world felt soft. Unhurried. Alive.

And for the first time in a very long time, so did I.

Earlier that day, I walked past a golf course and laughed quietly to myself after realizing something almost ridiculous:

I don’t actually enjoy golf.

I enjoy the walking.

The sky.

The trees.

The conversation.

The stillness.

How much of life do we continue simply because somewhere along the way we learned we were supposed to enjoy it?

How many people slowly drift away from themselves trying to fit into rooms that never truly felt like home?

Somewhere between survival, responsibility, image, heartbreak, ambition, and becoming… I lost touch with the simplest parts of myself.

Not the weakest parts, but The truest ones.

The part that believes helping others matters.

The part that can sit quietly with a hurting friend without needing to fix them.

The part that still believes justice and kindness are worth protecting.

The part that trusts the sun will always shine again, even after the darkest storms.

The world teaches us to polish ourselves endlessly.

A prettier face.

A nicer outfit.

A more impressive title.

A more curated life.

And listen, I love a beautiful shade of lipstick as much as anyone.

But I am beginning to think there is something far more radiant than perfection.

Presence.

A peace-filled day.

A genuine laugh.

A kind heart.

A woman who no longer feels the need to perform her worth because she finally understands she already has it.

Maybe that is why the county feels healing to me.

Out there, the trees do not compete.

The fields do not strive.

The sky does not apologize for taking up space.

Everything simply becomes what it was created to be.

Maybe people were meant to live that way too.

Maybe life is not about growing into  someone entirely new. Maybe it’s  about remembering who we were before the world convinced us we had to earn our value.

The prairie girl was never gone.

She was simply waiting for me to find my way back home.