Ego Trips

Everything happened the year I turned 40. My boyfriend dumped me for another woman. My literary agent said good-bye. My freelance work dried up completely. Jobless, loveless and repless, I faced that milestone birthday with dread. So, I did the one thing any woman with a shred of self-respect and good humor could do: I went and worked cattle.

I chose a ranch in Arizona halfway between Phoenix and Flagstaff partly because a photo on their web site showed the whole crew – ranch hands and paying guests – sitting around a long dinner table. That is how I wanted to spend my birthday – among strangers over a simple dinner after a hard, dirty day of physical work. Nobody would care how I looked or that I arrived alone. There’d be nothing to talk about other than horses and cows.

It rained on my birthday. Nevertheless, 77 head of cattle had to be branded, inoculated and dehorned. We awoke while it was still dark, grabbed a hearty breakfast around the long table, slapped together some sandwiches for our lunch break and headed for the barn to tack up our horses. For some reason, the ranch’s only visitors that week were all women, including a vet from Australia and two gals from Ireland who’d ditched their husband and boyfriend to experience the American West. Another solo woman, a recent divorcee from Minnesota, completed our crew. About the only thing we all had in common was that we were avid horsewomen who didn’t particularly need a man that week. In fact, the only men on the ranch were the head wrangler and the cook. Nobody planned it that way. It’s just what was.

I had arrived with a mild cold which became a bad cold in a couple of wet days. Still, cowboys don’t call in sick. We gals trudged in the mud, lining up the cows in the chute. One by one, each was held in a clamp while one of us branded and two of us administered inoculations using fat syringes with long needles. Only the gutsiest among us took a turn at clipping off horns of the protesting animals. I kept a pair of those clipped horns – still bloody and smelly, as a souvenir. That evening, we washed up for dinner. The simple ranch fare was topped off with a surprisingly elegant birthday cake: a tower of cream puffs welded together with caramel, known as a Gateau St. Honore. Having a cold, I declined to blow out the candles. My cowgirl buddies did the honors and blew them out for me with the wish that I find whatever I was looking for. It was the best 40th birthday party I could have asked for.

Since then I’ve learned the value the of “ego trips.” I’ve jumped on a plane to Paris on Valentine’s Day instead of staying home to mourn not having a date. I’ve picked up the phone and called a travel agent just moments after being fired. If you’re going to be miserable, go somewhere beautiful if you can afford it -- even if only for a couple of days.. The change of scenery will melt your misery for a while. Giving yourself this gift will go a long way in fortifying your soul for whatever awaits on your return.

These trips can be cheap or expensive as you see fit. And the best thing about going alone is -- it’s all about you. That's the whole point.