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Becoming Wilder

From College Grad to Ranch Hand

By Savannah RobarPublished 7 years ago 3 min read
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Photography by Matthew Delorme and Madeline Jorden / Source
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do, with your one wild and precious life?”-Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day”

This question is one that I have been asked (albeit prosaically, tinged with skepticism and something more along the lines of “so what do you plan to do with that Visual Communication degree?”) by countless adults, and I have always nervously replied with “graphic design?”—until today.

Today, I can confidently reply with “nothing,” because I am not doing graphic design; in fact, I’m just about as far from graphic design as one can get.

As I sit on the floor of the Denver airport, wearing a baseball cap and a pair of cowboy boots that make me feel like a stranger to myself, I realize how much I’ve diverged from the image I’d had of myself in my mind; it wasn’t two months ago I spent hours frantically applying for design jobs on LinkedIn, hopeful that something would work out before my summer job ended and I became an unemployed college graduate with thousands of dollars in loans watching over my shoulder. The rejection letters were piling up and I began to realize how ridiculously unprepared and inexperienced I was for the career path I wanted to pursue. My looming self-doubt set in, hard.

I saw my fellow graduates becoming businessmen and women, salesmen, saleswomen, social media specialists, and journalists while I sat in a sad, small lump on my parents’ couch and stared at my computer screen. Under the glow of my laptop and humbled by the crushing weight of reality, I broadened my job search to retail positions, waitressing jobs, and everything in-between. I was just a few clicks and taps on the keyboard away from setting my LinkedIn profile to “Please hire me—someone, anyone!”

I began a small existential crisis at the age of 21, asking myself, “what are my passions? Do I enjoy anything?” and “did I graduate college with any skills whatsoever?” Out of desperation, I found an internship application for a horsemanship internship in South Dakota under a company called Ranchlands. I, being the millennial that I am, had been following some of the Ranchlands staff on Instagram for a few years and frequently scrolled, in awe, through their photos of distant mountain ranges and endless fields speckled with bison that entertained my cowgirl fantasy.

A fantasy, that’s all it was—and an internship, no less. I put the idea out of my mind and inquired about any graphic design and social media positions that the company might offer, waited a few weeks, heard nothing, and emailed again. This time, with increasing anxiety about a wait staff position—but the cycle continued. I heard nothing. I began to mull over the thought of that horsemanship internship.

Thanks to my dad, I grew up watching Bonanza, Gunsmoke, and The Roy Rogers Show (not to mention a plethora of John Wayne movies), I rode my first horse at the ripe young age of eight, and the rest is history. My wonderful mom enthusiastically supported my role as the horse girl, taking me to lessons and shows, planning horse-themed parties and leasing ponies, despite her allergy to horse hair and the endless financial commitments that horse-loving involved. I lived and breathed in barns, and I loved every minute.

Thirteen years later, I still do.

So I applied for that internship, and while I won’t be using my Visual Communication degree just yet (don’t worry, mom), this afternoon I will land in Bismarck, ND with a pair of Carhartt bibs tucked in my suitcase and a family of lifelong ranchers waiting for me as I set out to live my one wild and precious life.

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