SOONER

Well, here we are. Let me introduce myself. Let’s get this party started.

I’m Katie. (My full name is actually along the lines of Katherine Elizabeth Victoria von Snoot (not really, but close), but we’ll leave it at Katie.)

I’m a fifth generation Oklahoman, and it’s rumored that Generation 1, my great-great grandfather, who came over from Illinois in a covered wagon carrying a wife carrying Scarlet fever, was an actual sooner.

This means that in the infamous Land Run of April of 1889, which essentially settled Oklahoma and began its population, he (and his sick wife, I suppose) snuck in the night before the canons went off, staked his claim, and then defended it (illegally) at gun point against the “boomers” – the thousands who lined up at the starting line and waited for the bang, running and riding and driving pell-mell across the scrubby, red dirt, almost Martian landscape of my home state to grab some land, throw out some flags, and put down roots. Which means he was a lying, cheating, rough-and-ready, legit criminal.

At least it was April, so it might have been cool weather. It also could have been a hundred and thirty seven degrees with ninety five percent humidity and hail. It’s Oklahoma, our weather’s weird.

Beyond that, my lineage consists of some oilies, bankers, a candy-and-sundry shop owner (who sold everything from houndstooth candy to raw oysters…a neat trick in a 19th century land-locked state), and more than my fair share of alcoholic lawyers. My grandma married two of them. My mom married two of them. Maybe that Scarlet fever my great-great grandmother had made us slow learners.

Unfortunately the oilies on the branches up the tree were not the butt-rich kind…but there is another family legend whereby my great grandfather drilled down and hit a dry hole, sold the plot (and the mineral rights, dammit! Oklahoma’s state motto should be: NEVER SELL THE MINERAL RIGHTS. Instead, for the longest time, our state motto was “Oklahoma is OK.” It was on our license plates. We spent a couple of decades suffering with a crippling mediocrity complex.) to Frank and Lee Phillips who drilled down another hundred feet and…well, have you heard of Phillips 66?

So my heritage is liberally sprinkled with cheats, close-calls, outlaws (the same Sooner also supposedly provided temporary housing and fresh horses for the James Gang when they would ride through town, dutifully sending his wife (her Scarlet fever must have gotten better) off to church on Sunday mornings to maintain appearances), drunks, and attorneys. And that’s just on my mom’s side.

Since the late 1800s I like to think we’ve settled down a bit, but some days I’m not so sure. I write this to say that I have – quite recently – decided to truly live an authentic, whole-hearted life (shout out to Brene Brown…I’d go ahead and prepare yourself for a lot of those), and my genetics might be fighting against me. Maybe not. I’m not really considering returning to school to study to become an alcoholic lawyer, and I don’t currently have ties to any gangs, James or otherwise (that I know of).

But I am ready to shake things up a bit. To live truly honestly. To say whatever is on my heart (with kindness) to whoever asks. To quit saying, “I’m fine,” when I am most assuredly NOT fine. To abandon the crippling shackles of people pleasing, perfectionism, shame and self doubt. To change the trajectory of my life where it is pointed more securely in the direction of my soft, chewy heart and brilliant, incandescent opalescence of my dreams. Pretty sure it won’t be easy, or comfortable, or always fun…but it will be interesting.

Like it or not, dear reader (if you even exist), you’re on this journey with me.

Fasten the seatbelt on your Conestoga wagon, grab your six-shooter, ignore that scarlet fever pain, and let’s do this.