I think it’s safe to say that donkeys are smarter than dogs. My dogs wouldn’t know how to slide open a barn door like this, not even Rose. Fanny knows where the cookies are stored, in a bin, and she is forever trying to get at them. She’s made it a few times.

I write openly about my life, but there are parts of it I don’t share. Like the divorce. Divorce is an awful thing, a rift in the fabric of the universe and I won’t go into details about it.

But divorce, like so many other things, forces you to define yourself. What is strength. What is weakness. How important is money? Security? Happiness?

What is responsibility? What is pride? A friend told me over the weekend that I was brave to change my life so much at this point, and I was stunned by the statement.

Brave? To live your life? To find love? To write your own story, and do your best to live it? I think for most of my life I’ve been nothing but a coward. Getting a crazy border collie – Orson – and coming to the farm was perhaps the first brave thing I did. Maybe getting a cabin and writing “Running To The Mountain.” Opening myself up to intimacy and connection later in life. That was the most terrifying thing I ever did in my life.

I told my friend I had strong feelings about how I wished to end my life. About how my story came out. I am just beginning to understand what strength is. What love is. What bravery is. I am not there yet, not by a long shot. But it’s not for lack of trying.