Laughing At Myself
The Strong Medicine I Need
The difference a year and a half can make in life is extraordinary. In just eighteen months, life has gently turned me onto a path I never expected and probably would never have chosen. It’s far from perfect but far beyond what I thought I would ever have. As great as it is, I have to admit that I don’t know what got me here. It wasn’t my sparkling disposition or positive attitude, not then, anyway. I had all but given up on the possibility of ever feeling truly safe or experiencing meaning or purpose in my life, then it all started changing.
At the time I started working at the ranch, I wasn't a fun person to be around. I kept to myself, rarely smiled, and laughter was a foreign concept. My workdays with Mr. B were filled with awkward silences, and my inability to open up made it evident that I wasn't the most engaging companion.
Spending hours driving around the ranch with Mr. B, my silence must have made him uncomfortable. He tried to crack my shell with small talk, but I locked up every time he tried to get to know something about me. The conversations weren't the problem; my shame was the problem, and the worst about me was all that came to mind when he'd ask a casual question about my life and experiences. Looking back, I don’t think either of us was aware that he was interviewing me for the job I have today as his main ranchhand.
It's a wonder he didn't send me off to do the job he'd hired me for just to get me out of his pickup and away from him. It's a wonder he didn't send me home. To his credit, he persisted in trying to get me to open up a bit. But when he started telling NSFW jokes just to fill the silence, I almost sent myself home.
After working with him for a few weeks, he assigned me the task of bringing a joke to work with me every morning. Now, let me tell you, trying to find humor in the midst of personal misery is easier said than done. Trust me, it's a chore. I had used up the few clean jokes in my memory within a few days. When my jokes didn't inspire him to clean up his own, it occurred to me that he might not know any G-rated jokes. I looked up some jokes online a few times but was so miserable that I couldn't recall them when he asked for them.
When I failed to produce a joke four or five days in a row, he teasingly reminded me that bringing a joke was a job-related duty. I quickly shot back that I thought just seeing my work every day should be humorous enough. He was being sarcastic; I was being sensitive, but neither of us could help but laugh at my outburst because it was accurate… For weeks, Mr. B had been in the front row for my slapstick performances of "I Closed The Gate, But I'm On The Wrong Side," "The Gate Doesn't Open That Direction," "I Wear Boots With Jeggings," "I'm Not Tall Enough" and "Watch Me Back This Trailer."
It broke the tension, and although personal questions were still off-limits, we found common ground in discussing the ranch and its residents – mainly the cows.
Shortly after our laughter-filled breakthrough, I reached out to Mr. B, explaining that if I ever failed to show up for work without notice, it meant there was a crisis at home beyond my control. He guessed correctly that I meant George, his drinking and his temper were preventing me from getting to work. Mr. B suggested a code word that I could use to text him when that happened.
With that show of trust and support, I could open up to him and Lady J and talk more about myself. I spent quite a few evenings talking with Lady J and Mr. B on their porch after work... But that's a story for another time.
Breaking through the initial tension between us allowed me to relax around Mr. B and the livestock. It marked the beginning of my genuine love of working on the ranch. Going to work transformed from a chore to an emotionally stabilizing experience, rivaling if not surpassing any therapy session I had ever attended.
In addition to the cows treating my mental health, there have been milestones that have given me more confidence to be and stand up for myself.
When a fight with George left me with a knee I couldn't walk on, Mr. B drove me to the hospital. When the doctor released me to go back to work a month later, Mr. B and Lady J added a house on the ranch to my wages, affirming my worth and reinforcing my belief that I could thrive without George's emotional abuse.
These pivotal moments sparked a snowball effect of confidence-building in my life, culminating in the decision to kick George out of the house.
These days, I find myself laughing all the time... Usually at myself, mostly for some goofy thing I do at work. I still try to open gates in the wrong direction or close them with me on the wrong side more frequently than I care to admit. Mr. B still laughs at me every time I do it. There are times I amuse myself so much when I'm working by myself that I have to give Mr. B and Lady J a blow-by-blow report so they can laugh along with me.
Today, I cleared old fencing material out of a pasture we’re moving a herd to next week. I loaded it all into my pickup to drive it to the trash pit and took my time driving to avoid losing any of the load. As I was driving, I noticed an unfamiliar squeak coming from (I thought) the front of the truck, so I slowed down to listen more carefully. I tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from, but I started hearing it from near the door and behind the cab. I stopped and got out to see if I had run over something, if something was leaking, or if anything was unusual. I even half-crawled underneath the vehicle to see if some of the fencing was wrapped up somewhere. I spent maybe 15 minutes looking for something I could take care of myself.
When I gave up and decided to call Mr. B, I was trying to decide how to break the news that another ranch vehicle in my possession had something wrong with it (there's one at the mechanic's shop already). I couldn't keep from laughing at myself when I realized that the squeak I had heard was coming from an old windmill turning not far from the road. I hadn't noticed it as I drove by because I had been busy turning off a podcast and the A/C to listen more closely and identify its location under the pickup.
I turned the pickup off without putting it in Park when picking up the fencing. I gathered and loaded some of the wire I was there to get, then tried to start the pickup to move closer to more fence, but the pickup wouldn't start. It acted like the brand-new battery was dead. I didn't want to confess that my presence alone was draining batteries, so I hauled the fence to the truck on foot and said a little prayer that it would start. I was trying the key for the third or fourth time when I noticed I was already in Drive. The Chevy fired right up as soon as I shifted to Park.
I'm not saying that I love how often those things happen to me, but it's incredible that I am laughing again. Especially that I'm able to laugh at myself. Every morning, as I contemplate the day's challenges and uncertainties, I revel in the opportunity to discover what absurdity awaits me. It feels good. It feels like I'm alive again.
"It feels good. It feels like I'm alive again."
Nice essay, Kati. Glad that you're getting happier. Good things happen when we remain positive. You never know, with time, you may just get back to building websites again. (I know you love your new job, but I do recall reading a nostalgic piece about your days doing coding.)
I really enjoyed this piece! Very nice.