On Becoming a Farmer

Recently, farming has been infiltrating my normal conversations quite frequently.

And by recently, I mean yesterday.
And by frequently, I mean three times.

But seeming as I usually steer clear of the word farm altoghether, three times is like a 300 percent increase.

Never one to ignore the signs, I'm taking this influx of the use of the word farm very seriously.

And by very seriously, I mean I'm lightly considering the idea of becoming a farmer upon graduating.

That is, if I can find a farm.
And a horse.
And someone under the age of 30 that can teach me how to milk a cow.

Let me explain:

Yesterday, my mom and I were having a conversation. And kind of randomly she said, "Have you heard about the magic vitamin, Vitamin D."

And I was like, "... No"

And she said, "We don't farm anymore. So we don't get enough sunlight."

And then I interrupted and shivered, "You're telling me."

So then I got to thinking, maybe if I was a farmer, I'd be warm and in the sun all the time.

And then, right after that, I went to my friends house, where the topic of conversation quickly turned to personality disorders and anxiety.

(That's what happens when you're friends with a social worker.)

So I said something about how I wanted to just leave all the stress behind and quit this busy, perfectionism culture that I'm a part of.

And she was all, "Ya, don't you just want to live in the countryside in a cottage."

And I thought, Yes, and be a farmer.

And that was that--

I figured the universe was telling me to be a farmer.

So, as soon as the universe supplies a farm, a horse, and a someone under the age of 30 who will teach me how to milk a cow, I will hide away my suburban tennies, and buy a pair of leather boots.

And when I'm done soaking up sunshine and planting carrots, then-- probably--the universe will want me to try Hollywood.