Jigsaw puzzle Pt. 2

I've been feeling scattered lately. Torn between two homes, confused about my job, and wondering if I even have a place in Jacksonville. Its so big, there are so many people, and even though I have been here for a year, I still cant find familiar faces. Its like the page refreshes every day and brings new people, and I can never find consistency. Its really easy to feel like you don't belong anywhere when you're busted into tiny fragments and scattered around the world. 

Then, a comment was made. Not a comment that was said to hurt me, but it hurt none the less. I realized how little the people I spend the most time with, knew me! Instantly, rage bubbled up inside of me. I have spent so much time trying to get to know the people around me and they don't know anything about me, until I realized that I wasn't allowing them to get to know me. I had given them a very small part of me that they were allowed to know, and sadly, it was my least favorite part of me. 

 I got all stuck in my head, and just started swirling around feelings of acceptance and frustration and self doubt. Why couldn't I just open up and let people get to know me, the real me, and not just the little piece of me I decided that they owned. 

That's when I came across the first blog I ever wrote. It was about how I felt like I was little pieces of everything I loved, instead of everything I loved, being little pieces of me. It is so funny to me how 16 year old Georgia wrote something, and it wound up being exactly what 22 year old Georgia needed to here. 

The truth is, if you want to know me, you’ve got to know that I feel more comfy in a field of mud than I do on paved streets, but that doesn’t mean I  don’t feel comfortable in the heart of the city. It just means that I was raised working hard, proud of the blisters on my hands, going hunting in my silver Doc martins, riding bourses bareback, getting my new boots dirty before anybody saw them, and wearing high heels on Wednesday nights. 

I shoveled poop, drove a tractor in the hottest sun, and in the snowiest winters. I was a Court Queen, but I was rarely clean and I was proud to be the hardest worker in the room. 

My dad taught me how to hunt, my mom taught me how to cook it. 

I rocked out on a drum set to warm up after a cold day of work and I learned how to drive a tractor before I learned how to drive a car. Honestly, I was scared of a lot of things like cows, and driving a tractor, but I still did it. It’s a part of who I am. I may not have had a bunch of friends to run with, but I had acres and acres of open space all to myself. My brother was my best friend 

I can’t remember the last time I was this proud to be myself. I’ve felt so torn to pieces, like little bits of me had come off with every state I traveled through to get here, but I’m finally remembering what 16 year old Georgia already knew. It’s all a part of ME. 

Yet, in order for me to feel truly at home here, I needed to understand and accept that Jacksonville was also a part of me. I need to dig in and plant my roots here and allow this soil to become a part of my growing process. Temporary or not, this is my new hometown. I love having sandy feet, salty hair, and sun-kissed skin. I am building my very own community, all on my own! My shoes are now clean (unless I'm at work) and I strive to keep them that way, and I don't think I have had a drop of mud on me in a year! I'm learning that you'll never have a better taco than the one you get during Happy Hour at Taco Lu, Mikes Lemonade will ALWAYS taste better if its at least 80 degrees outside, and you can always find cows just outside the city limits. 

I hope I can relax and be ALL that I am instead of just a tiny bit of who I am. God gave me every experience I have ever had, and trying to tare myself to pieces and file myself into categories is so silly. God made me to be a whole entire person, with flaws and random little bursts of color. This blog post was random and maybe useless, and my sole purpose for writing it was so that I could see my thoughts in front of me, and maybe finally sew myself back together bit by bit. I am proud to be me! I'm proud of my "yee-haw" up-bringing (not my word for it, but a co-workers), proud of my strength, and the silly stories I have, no matter how red neck they make me sound. 

I’m a little Wallowa County, I’m a little Duval. I love country music, and I love rock and even funky alternative that Wallowa County just isn’t ready for. And you know what? I am dang proud of that.