Ever since I was a young girl I knew I wanted to be a cowgirl. A real life cowgirl. One that rides for miles horseback and shoots the bad guy with her Colt .45. I wanted to wear cowboy boots and spurs and a big, wide cowboy hat. Most of all I wanted a horse. Any horse would do, I wasn't picky in the least. I wanted a horse more than anything, more than the food on my plate and the roof over my head. I remember the point in my life where I would have done anything to get one. It's the only thing I asked for Christmas for years. I was horse-obsessed and I knew my life wouldn't be complete until I owned one of my very own.

Unfortunately, my parents were not cow-people.

Bless them, though, they did their best. They bought me countless Breyer horse toys, those old stick horses that would neigh when you pinched their ear. I remember my mom reluctantly buying me a ghastly purple cowboy jacket complete with white tassels that hung from the sides. I wore that baby until I couldn't anymore. They brought me to every stock show, let me pet the horses at the end of the road, and entertained every fantasy I had about keeping a horse in the backyard. Eventually, we got chickens, which were fun for a while until the horse hunger came back, and spoiler alert: it never went away.

Unlike most girls my "horse phase" was not a phase. I think I galloped around the playground pretending I was a horse well into my middle school days. I began to ride horses when I was in third grade, both competitively and causally. It wasn't until the sixth grade, however, that I met my horse-to-be. Her name was Roxy. I'm not gonna lie, she was an ass. A beautiful bay roan ass. She tested me to the point of tears, threw me off countless times, and stepped on my toes every time she got the chance. We were both two stubborn beings who eventually came to a silent consensus that we've upheld ever since. She's been my best friend for seven years.

But the whole ordeal wasn't so easy. Before we bought Roxy, my parents signed a lease-to-own contract with the gal that owned her before us. Part of the contract stated that I had to ride the bus twice a week after school to the stable and help with ranch work. Additionally, I worked every Wednesday night babysitting the same little girl just to earn money to buy her. I bought her all by myself with my own money, my name is on her papers. Never before have I been so proud of myself.

I was so determined to be a cowgirl and I have been ever since. For the past three years, I've pursued the path further as a wrangler for Bear Mountain Stables in my hometown of Conifer, Colorado. I take people on trail rides through the mountains. It always makes my heart swell when little cowgirls-to-be come to ride, sporting their wide cowboy hats and decked out boots. They look at the horses with the same awe that I once did (and still do, let's be honest). They are true cowgirls that l wanted to be, and they are because they want to be.

I realize now, sitting here writing this, that I've been a cowgirl my whole life. I can look now, at my dorm room, and see the rope hanging from the doorknob on my closet and the cowboy hat on my bookshelf. Although I am so far away from home and from my horse, I'm still a cowgirl. I was a cowgirl before I owned a horse before I even began riding. How? Because I wanted to be. Sure, I've never owned a Colt .45 and I've never shot the bad guy, but I've been a cowgirl because I want to be one and I've worked so hard to become one.

Those are my words. Words from a cowgirl that anyone, cow-person or not, can take. You can be whatever the hell you want to be, even if you have nothing. You can be a cowgirl without a horse, you can be an author without a pen, an astronaut without a spaceship, an explorer without a compass. You can always be something, even if you are working your way up from nothing. As long as you don't ever give up. Even when it seems like you'll never reach your dreams. Just remember when the going gets rough, pull leather if you have to, but the main thing is to stay with 'em.