Not a ritual.
Not a wellness routine.

It’s a date.
Not with a person.
But with the moment I take myself back.

It’s how I shake off the world and return to myself.

First things first:
The bra.
That thing comes off like it’s been holding me hostage since 7 a.m.
It comes off with the grace of a magician pulling a tablecloth from under fine china.
Whoosh.
Right through the sleeve.
Left on the doorknob like a defeated warrior.

Next? Silence.
The kind you can hear.
No calls. No questions.
For 15 minutes, I belong to nobody but the wind, the dust, and whatever snack is closest.

Then—if I’ve had the kind of day that tried to toss me around—
I do what any respectable woman with land and unresolved adrenaline does:

I hop on the zero-turn mower.
And I take off toward the sunset,
like I’m chasing something,
or runnin’ from something,
or just needing the wind to tangle my thoughts into a prettier kind of mess.

That mower becomes my therapy chair.
No one dares to interrupt.
Because when I’m out there—turnin’ and glidin’—
I’m not just unwinding.

I’m reclaiming.

By the time I cut that last patch of grass,
the day’s drama is behind me,
and I’ve got dirt on my boots,
sunset on my face,
and peace in places I didn’t even know needed it.

Because when you’ve had a day that’s tugged at your grace,
sometimes the only thing left to do is mow a path back to yourself
in wide, sweeping circles
under a forgiving sky.

— Still growing