Page 7 of Live, Ranch, Love

Adulthood really does have a way of blinkering you.

Maybe I could write something about making the most of the time you have with the people you love… but considering that just feels a little too sore still, and my readers are so used to the positive, upbeat articles and posts I write, I’m worried that might be too depressing.

Fortunately, I get a needed shot of joy when my phone starts buzzing, and my best friend Sofia’s beautiful face graces my screen when I answer. She’s clearly at work late tonight because I can see the whiteboard of her classroom behind her.

“Hey, Sofia!”

“Hey, bestie! Wait, are you naked?” Sofia’s tight black curls bounce as she angles her head.

“You wish. No, I’m in a bikini.” I tilt the phone down to show off my white strapless bikini, then flip the camera to pan across the charming lake ahead. “Was going to reward myself with a swim once I got something written.”

“Ooh, you look so fit. Still struggling to find inspiration?”

I just make a long whiney moan in response and rest my head against my knees.

The problem is, I can write. I can write tonnes about what I’m feeling right now. I’ve done that every morning and night in my journal since I popped by Jake’s after the funeral.

I can write for hours about how the leggy blonde he’d been kissing left in tears, hurt that she’d been tricked into thinking he was single. How he’d gone after her first, telling me to stay and he’d come back to explain.

I can write for hours about how even though I know I’m a great person, I still wonder what I did wrong, or where I didn’t live up to the other girl. How could I have changed to fit what Jake wanted? Should I have toned parts of me down? Been more of something else?

All the questions and second-guessing of myself I’d worked so hard to stop doing since I was a shy teenager wondering why the boys at school talked to all the other girls instead of me. I guess no matter how hard you try, there’s always a part of your younger self that stays with you.

But none of that is on brand. Grieving and jilted aren’t exactly synonymous with successful positivity and wellness influencer.

It feels so silly to be ruled by that, but it’s my job. That’s the career I dedicated so much to and made into a beautiful business. One that made me feel excited to wake up every day for—and that’s the dream, right? When I used to write letters to myself, as if they were from my future self—a manifestation technique Auntie Grace taught me—I’d always start by saying how amazing it was to spend each day writing about what I was passionate for.

But the only things I can write about right now are the things that make me sad. The people I miss. The heavy loneliness aching in my chest every day. That my favourite things to do right now are sit on the back deck and watch the sunset or listen to the nature chirping and whistling away around us, as opposed to doing an intense manifestation session. And none of that will get me paid by the magazine or brands or publishers.

I guess I need to find something that’s going to spark that passion again and just hope it will keep the fire burning.

“Oh, Rory,” Sofia laments. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ve been sat here for an hour trying to figure out how to make the Public Health Act of 1848 interesting to a bunch of fourteen year olds, half of whom will probably laugh at the word public because it looks like pubic.”

That makes me snort.

I think if anyone met Sofia and I separately, they’d have no idea how we were friends when our lives are so different—here I am, an influencer whose life revolves around social media, whereas she doesn’t even have any socials anymore because of her job. One of her students finding her Instagram and sending her fire emojis in her DMs after a few weeks of teaching was enough to make her delete everything.

But seven years ago, we ended up in the same university halls at Exeter and the rest was history.

“Wanna swap?” I ask.

Sofia closes her eyes, a dreamy smile appearing. “I wish, but I have to teach this tomorrow, and I’m not sure you even know what the Public Health Act of 1848 is.”

“A very valid point.”

“However, maybe I can help you out and be your inspiration.” Sofia’s voice becomes hushed. “What would you say to someone who wants to quit their job but has no idea what else they want to do?”

My heart aches for her—she was so excited to become a teacher but turns out not all teenagers love learning like she did.

“Aw, Sofia, it’s still shit then?”

“The worst. I had to send a kid out today for making sex noises every time I wrote on the board. He was eleven! What is wrong with kids these days?”

If I’m ever feeling down about life, I can always count on Sofia to make me realise it’s not so awful because I don’t have to teach adolescents all day. Next article idea: Hey, life isn’t so bad, at least you’re not a teacher.

“Honestly, Sofia, you know that you can always move in with me if you quit until you find a job, right?”

“I know, you’re the best. Maybe you should just not sell the ranch and I’ll come live out there instead? I’ll find myself a pretty American girl to fall hopelessly in love with.” She bats her lashes, making me chuckle. “And I go to the gym, I’m sure I can throw some hay about.”

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