Do you remember The King and I? Have you ever wondered about King Mongkut’s peculiar affection for the words “et cetera, et cetera, et cetera”? For whatever reason, the old ruler of Siam was obsessed with ending his every sentence with this particular phrase. Was it just an eccentricity, or was the wise king onto something?
I think the man might have been wiser than we thought. Frankly, I can’t help but think that every story—every fairy tale, book, theatrical play, or movie—should indeed end with “et cetera.” Things don’t just end in life wrapped up in resolution. Life, you see, is not a Hollywood production. Nothing is absolute, nothing is finite. You can’t package actual human trajectories conveniently into beginning, development, and happy end. Reality follows its own uninterrupted plotlines with open endings and countless little victories and disappointments.
In real life, the prince and princess’s marriage is not an ending at all. The villain’s demise is just a segue to the next struggle. And truth be told, at the core of every happy ending hides the seed of a new problem. In life’s ongoing narrative, every denouement leads to a new uncertainty, and every end unfolds into a new beginning. Even our passing is a vehicle for change and continuity.
Maybe this is the reason I struggled to tell Cheyenne’s story. It didn’t really want to follow convention. It didn’t want to start and end like any other story. It twisted and turned inside its own narrative, refusing to find stability and shape—until it finally requested to be told in one single sentence. A long, winding, conjunction-filled, uninterrupted sentence—kind of like life itself.
So, buckle up and try to make it to the very last word—here’s the story of Cheyenne in one sentence:
When I first met Cheyenne a few years back at Midnight Farm, I realized instantly that this was no ordinary person, which is kind of strange because I’ve been with GoodLife for thirty years and I’ve met so many amazing people here, including some who have greatly influenced the way I live my life, and yet I’ve never encountered someone quite like Cheyenne—the girl with a contagious smile and endless energy, who seems to be the heart and soul of Midnight Farm, where she usually greets visitors at the door and takes them on a tour of this amazing, tranquil place designed to bring peace, serenity, independence, and new opportunities for people with disabilities while also giving them a sense of purpose and value, and maybe some other beautiful things that Cheyenne understands so much better than me since she was born with cerebral palsy and has always had to work harder than us on her balance and dexterity, but this little fact, you see, doesn’t mean that she can’t move swiftly and knowingly around the farm, so she can give high-fives to everyone around and introduce you to every single animal by name, telling you proudly that this guy here is Bandit the donkey, and that little adorable pony over there is named Kallie, and you should watch out for Pixie the goat because she can get ornery, and Batman the rooster is very protective of all the hens, and Petunia the pig is very lazy but that doesn’t mean she isn’t nice, and before I can tell Cheyenne that what she just said about Petunia could easily describe me, I notice that all the animals just flock to her, instantly attracted by her energy and demeanor, and while she is hugging and petting them, I can’t help but recognize that I have never met someone who loves animals and is a bad person, which of course applies perfectly to Cheyenne, who is so nice and caring that she goes around the farm actively looking for people who need a helping hand, a word of support, or simply a friendly smile, so it comes as no surprise that people tear up when I ask them to tell me why they like her and quickly run out of superlatives to describe her, but one of them—Kourie, who has worked at the farm for years—tells me to just look around his office and points out all the things she has made for him with her own hands, including a gorgeous bracelet, a butterfly-shaped windchime, a snow globe with a flamingo in it, a Christmas tree ornament, and many other gifts, which Kourie claims warm his heart because none of these are easy to make, irrespective of how abled or disabled you are, but she makes them for many people because the true craftsmanship involved here is pure love.
And speaking of love, I decide to search for its source, and I slowly begin to understand why Cheyenne is the way she is when she casually refers to her family teacher April as “mom,” so I call her on the phone and she just as casually refers to Cheyenne as “my girl” and tells me that they have known each other for twenty years and that the priceless shelter we call childhood was not always kind to Cheyenne and she had to overcome a lot of obstacles to become a strong, smart, and independent woman, so April considers herself lucky to be part of her life, and as the years passed, they have become inseparable and enjoy every moment together, even the little ones that seem insignificant but reveal so much, like when they watch TV on the couch and Cheyenne always switches the channel to shows that evoke happiness and tears of joy, such as videos of soldiers surprising their loved ones by coming home, and I can’t help but think that we unwittingly become the characters in the videos we watch, and since Cheyenne’s heart is so full of empathy, in this particular case she is probably both the soldier and his family all rolled up into one big ball of unconditional compassion, and when April starts telling me all the things “her girl” appreciates, it comes as no surprise that the list is very, very long, because only people who have overcome a lot can learn to value the little things in life, like sunsets, or a stranger’s smile, or the colors of fall at Midnight Farm, where Cheyenne chooses to spend her time five days a week, and if you decide to visit the place, chances are you’ll get to meet her, and it is very likely that she will show you the lodge, the arena, and of course the animals, and she might even read you a wonderful book about horses, like she did for me the other day, and since you’ve made it all the way to this part of the story, don’t be surprised if when you leave you feel a little different, a little changed, a little elevated, because that’s what Cheyenne does to people like you.
And as I step outside and turn around to look at the majestic red lodge, the twisty trail embracing verdant currents of tall grass, and the translucent greenhouse, my thoughts take me back in time when I was standing on that very spot years ago before any of this was built, and if the past could somehow remember the future it would probably remind me that one day in this empty space there will be 40 acres of beautiful sanctuary shaped like a farm, providing shelter from the pressure cooker of daily life to people like you and me and a particular girl with a big smile and even bigger heart, and then the farm will gift us the understanding that if you love the right place, the place will love you right back and will tell me the story of Cheyenne, and then I will tell it to you in one single sentence, and you hopefully to someone else, and God willing, thanks to this story, we will all become a little bit kinder, a little bit more tolerant, a little bit more human, and when life throws at us its challenges, let us all remember the strength, radiance, and grace of Cheyenne, whose story continues and will never end, because if there is something we’ve learned from her gentle tale it’s that destiny never slams the door completely shut, and there is always room for a new ending, for yet another audacious dream, and for yet another unlikely victory, and until there are people on this earth let there be someone somewhere thriving in their own Midnight Farm, proving that happiness is often a decision, and if you are anything like Cheyenne, people will soon realize that having a disability doesn’t mean that the disability will ever have you, and you will keep swimming against the currents, fighting the windmills of prejudice, overcoming every obstacle, and marching forward with so much more balance and dexterity than most of us, just so you can discover, like every other human being, your own triumphs and tribulations, tears and laughter, lights and shadows, joys and struggles, prose and poetry, present and future, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera…
