“The Lucky One” — A Story of Breath, Boundaries, and Becoming

I was just a girl when I first learned what it meant to be truly honored—not ogled, not dismissed, but respected. That kind of reverence is rare, especially for Young Women. But I found it standing outside Bonneville Junior High, cigarette in hand, with the clean-cut Peterson Brothers—Marky, Georgie, and Abe.

They were Cowboys in the best sense. Gentlemen. They had that Western stillness, like they knew who they were without having to say much. They brought me into their circle with no judgment, no agenda—just kindness and respect.

The Peterson Brothers taught me many things, but the one that stayed with me was the twist—the “lucky cigarette.” They showed me how to push a horse hair through the tobacco, just enough that when someone tried to bum a smoke, they’d get a mouthful of burned hair instead. The taste would remind them of one simple thing: respect. If you wanted something, you asked. If you wanted to take something, you gave something back. No exceptions.

The Peterson Brothers never needed the twist. They understood. But not everyone did.

When I lived at the Linden Colonial Apartments, I met people who weren’t always mindful of boundaries. That’s when I really learned how important it was to stand firm in the Lesson of The Lucky Cigarette. If someone asked for a Smoke, it wasn’t just about giving it away. It was about teaching them respect and ensuring they understood the unspoken rule: Ask first, and always give something back. That’s what I learned from the Peterson Brothers.

In time, I met Corey—a man who carries that same respect, that same quiet strength, but in a different way. Corey doesn’t try to diminish me to feel strong. He stands beside me, not above me. And he shows me what it means to be steady, grounded, and true.

I come from the Garrett-Kirton Family built on that same kind of strength. Veterans. My Father. My Grandfathers. My Uncles. My Great Uncles. Even my Auntie. Warriors who wore their Service with quiet pride. They protected and served—not for applause, but because it was right. And behind every one of them was a Woman—a great Mother—who held the House, the Faith, and the Family together, even while their Loved Ones were away at War. Those Women were Soldiers too—just not in uniform.

And somewhere along my Journey, I traded Tobacco for something else.

About three years ago, I found relief from something besides nicotine smoke. I’d been a Smoker for most of my life, enjoying it like a chimney, but the constant cycle of using nicotine had taken its toll. I had developed neurosis from overuse, something I wasn’t even aware of until I began using cannabis to help manage the stress and trauma I had lived through.

I turned to cannabis not to escape, but to face my pain, my demons, my history. With every inhale, I remembered. I saw why I am who I am. I felt connected—to Myself, to my Family, to the Divine. I didn’t numb. I sat with the TRUTH. Through each breath, I felt God.

Not the distant, impersonal God people talk about, but the kind of presence that’s right here, right now. My Heavenly Father has never left me—not since my Father crossed over in 2005. He walks with me. My body is His Temple. We are One.

My 2.5 acres? It’s not just land. It’s Kingdom ground. Sacred. Watched over. Protected.

I don’t need to shout to be heard. I don’t need to fight to be strong. I just breathe. And in that breath, I set the boundary. Like the horsehair in that cigarette—silent, but unforgettable.

But lately, I have been feeling angry. Angry at the ignorance of others. I know I don’t need to shout to be heard or fight to be strong. But sometimes, that anger builds because people don’t understand, and that’s when I have to do what I must. I will stand up for myself and my family—especially those closest to me. I will lay down the Law to those who believe they rise above it. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my peace and my ground.

To those who respected me—thank you. To the Peterson Brothers—for teaching me the power of the twist and the Lesson of BOUNDARIES. To Corey—for standing beside me, not above me. To my Family of Veterans—for your sacrifices. To the great Mothers who held it all together—for your strength. To my Father in Heaven—thank you for never leaving my side.

I don’t smoke cigarettes anymore. But I remember everything. And I walk this life with breath, with grace, with grit. I am the lucky one—because I never stopped becoming.