Sired by a Nigerian Dwarf Goat
Kicked out of a funk by a tiny beauty
I don’t mean to brag, but—
—I have a friend, Kathryn, who shares her love for goats. Now, I never imagined that one could have a thing for goats, or that I would know someone who works at a goat sanctuary, but I do!
I love that there’s an abundance of ways to be in the world, and I have friends who are pushing the boundaries of convention and creating lives that fit them to a T (even if it makes their baby goat legs wobble from time to time.) Not only are these brave souls creating beauty for themselves, but they do it for the rest of us, too, by sharing the experience and showing us that it can be done.
Yesterday, I was treated to these words in a text from Kathryn:
“Sired by a Nigerian Dwarf Goat.” You don’t see this every day!
Or, this:
This teeny-tiny little bleat-machine lifted me off my chair. Cuteness on steroids! I could feel its softness through my laptop screen. S/he stunned me out of a little micro-sulk, wherein Doubt was cuddling up to me as softly as if it were a Nigerian Dwarf Goat.
Every once in a while (and if I could, I’d write this in Nigerian Dwarf Goat teeny-tiny font) I want to drop out. Withdraw. Not get out of bed. Not keep writing my book or pursuing beauty, coaching or creating beauty salons, or texting friends or getting up at 5 a.m. to swim, never again appreciating life, or god forbid being grateful.
It’s like a trickster little weather system. Not depression, not anything serious that one should be alerting some officials about; just a wave of “in no mood,” with a dash of Insecurity, What’s the Point, and topped off with The World’s in the Shitter Anyway.
Despite the fact there are oodles of daily life beauty shots everywhere: not just a loving husband, friends, family, a beautiful western red cedar out my office window, a warm new home, grandchildren coming over to play with me tonight.
There’s also a sweet friend who texts me a photo of this stunning little creature, along with “sired by a Nigerian Dwarf Goat.”
And just like that, I’m back in the game. Beauty Hunter is about being in the game—more often than not.
(Because the weather system passes; the insecurity isn’t true; the mind is an unreliable narrator.)
I’ll sign-off the way Kathryn and I do.
BLEEEET!*
PS. Did you know it’s kidding season?
*The proper way to spell this is “bleat” but we prefer “bleet.” How beautiful to have your own little private language-spelling for your own greeting call.)
💥Join the Salon for Beauty Hunters - starting Nov 4.
For eight weeks, a group of curious minds will come together to open those beauty portals, get our wet noses sniffing with curiosity, delight ourselves, learn, let loose of conventional thinking, share passions and intrigues, re-energize, inspire, and douse ourselves in the mystery of life.
Still spots, read more here.