Morning Philosophy: Coffee, Horses, and a Side of Epiphany
My day starts early—not “hit snooze and grumble” early, but before-the-sun’s-up early. Horses don’t wait, and ranch life tends to keep you honest about that. By 5:30 AM, I’m bundled up in whatever layers the Montana chill demands, stumbling my way to the barn under a sky studded with stars almost too bright to feel real. It’s here, in the quiet shuffle of hooves and the soundtrack of soft snorts, that I feel most like myself. There’s something grounding about brushing a horse’s coat, rhythmically smoothing out the dust from yesterday, while the world wakes up around you.
You’d think it would be a meditative moment every time, but nope! Half the mornings, I’m untangling hay from my hair thanks to an enthusiastic nudge, swearing gently because Comet (our most mischievous gelding) decided his bucket wasn’t “perfectly aligned to the north,” or rethinking my life’s choices while one boot sinks irretrievably into the mud. Still, there’s perspective in starting your day like this. Life—and relationships, I’m learning—is messy and often inconvenient, but also weirdly wonderful if you embrace it.
And then, there’s coffee. My one sacred ritual happens post-barn chores and comes with exactly one splurge: a French press. Yes, it’s extra, and yes, I bring it on camping trips like some kind of mountain hipster, but it’s worth it. There’s a symbolism in pressing down the filter, in creating something strong and steady out of the chaotic swirl. Bonus points if you drink it outside while watching the world thaw—literal frost or metaphorical angst, take your pick.
The Midday Draft: Where the Writing Happens (Mostly)
Between 9 and noon, I aim to write. Writers love to romanticize this part—waxing poetic about desks by big windows, steaming mugs, and the muse appearing like clockwork. The truth? Well, imagine sitting on a creaky wooden chair that might buckle one day, staring at a laptop that’s 90% covered in stickers accumulated during college, and wondering if anyone would notice if you just rewrote Pride and Prejudice but with horses. Then inspiration hits—or Craigslist lures you into shopping for secondhand tack instead.
Sure, I crank out words. But writing for me is less about a lightning bolt of brilliance and more like wrangling a stubborn mule up a hill. It’s telling a story—and lately, that story is often about messy human connections. The one lesson I’ve taken from ranching into dating? You get nowhere in life—or love—without patience. Or snacks. Always have snacks.
Case in point: I once tried to impress a date by making him my “signature wild huckleberry pancakes” (yes, this phrase is now banned from my vocabulary). I was full of enthusiasm but forgot to mention they occasionally come out looking burnt. He assured me they were fine, only to casually pick out every single huckleberry while we ate. Take from that what you will.
On good writing days, the ideas flow. On bad writing days, I do what any self-respecting creative does—text a friend about my existential dread and pretend that reading random Wikipedia rabbit holes is “research.”
Afternoon Adventures: Cue the Nature Therapy
Most afternoons, I need to get outside. Chalk it up to growing up with Montana’s mountains as my backyard—spending too much time inside makes me twitchy. Whether it’s hiking a beloved trail or just wandering aimlessly through meadows with my dog, Scout (a border collie who thinks I’m much cooler than I actually am), this part of the day is my mental reset.
There’s something magical about being out there, just you and the land, where things feel simple and expansive all at once. It reminds me of why I’m so passionate about relationships—not just romantic ones, but those quiet, unspoken connections with people, places, and yourself.
Speaking of self-connection, if you haven’t tried yelling your frustrations into the wind while perched on a mountain peak, I highly recommend it. Is it cliché? Absolutely. Does it work? Also absolutely. There’s a reason those dramatic “I’m the king of the world!” scenes resonate—the act of shouting feels primal, cathartic… like giving the universe your grievances and trusting it to dilute them across the miles.
Interestingly, nature has also played a part in my love life. Someone wise once told me, “The person who loves you for you will hike alongside you regardless of pace.” That stuck with me, and I’ve since adopted it as an unofficial first-date litmus test. You can learn a lot about someone on a trail—how they handle challenges, their humor when things go sideways, whether they pack enough snacks (again, with the snacks).
Evening Reflections: Lessons from the Day
By dusk, I’m tired in the sort of way that feels earned. After dinner (which alternates between Pinterest-inspired successes and “let’s pretend popcorn is a meal”), I often take ten minutes to journal. This isn’t some heavily structured gratitude exercise, though—just one or two sentences about what’s weighing on me or lighting me up that day.
The funny thing is, reflecting on those moments often transforms how I see them. A simple disagreement with a friend in the morning might remind me of how much we care about each other by nightfall. A dating misstep that felt mortifying becomes a hilarious story to share later. I’ve realized that relationships aren’t about striving for perfection. They’re about showing up, doing your best, and forgiving yourself—and others—when that best is a little wobbly.
A Reminder For Anyone Who’ll Listen (aka You!)
If there’s one thing this ranch life has taught me, it’s that the rhythm of daily routines reveals truths you can’t rush. Caring for horses every morning teaches patience. Laughing at yourself when you spill coffee on your boots teaches humility. Getting outside, losing cell signal, and catching your breath teaches you how to really listen—to yourself, to others, to life’s quiet nudges.
So whether you live in a bustling city or the middle of nowhere, maybe think about which piece of your routine offers you some clarity. Are you getting enough time to just pause, reset, and figure out what feels right in your own life? Because here’s the thing: love, in all its forms, demands that we know ourselves first. Life might be a little chaotic, but honestly, the best rides always are. Amiright?
End scene. Insert me, scratching Scout’s ears, setting tomorrow’s alarm for 5:30 AM, and wondering if any of this lands. But I guess relationships, like writing, are about taking the leap. Let’s face it—you don’t get to the good stuff without a little vulnerability.
