My wallet is empty and my head is full of doubt. When these two forces combine, my mind runs straight back to the past and tries to take my body with it. It’d be effortless to fall back into the life I still glorify; working on a pot farm, bombarding down dirt roads in the mountains of Northern California, drinking whiskey and literally howling at the moon.
It was a lawless, illegal, isolated, yet completely known way of life, and cash came in hand over fist. Arriving on the farm one August day at the age of 23 felt just like that; I had arrived. My life-long identity crisis had come to an end! I was a pot grower.
That’s not who I am anymore and it’s a hard pill to swallow. My lifestyle defined who I was and now that’s been stripped away. Now I am a girl with 3 jobs, no money, and a total fish out of water. Today the past was calling and my feet geared up to follow, when a sign smacked me in the face. Without struggle there is no progress. Change does not happen overnight. Going back would be the end, and this is my beginning.