There’s a dressage show at a stable just outside of town next Saturday. When I found out about it a few weeks ago, my first thought was, I want to be in it.
I miss showing my horses. I miss competing. I miss having the confidence that I could win. I miss having the confidence that I could ride. Every time I get on lately, I feel inadequate. Unable.
So, I think I’m going to try to get back into it. I’m going to take some lessons and ride the horse I’m trying to sell. And maybe, when/if they have another show next spring, I’ll be there as a competitor instead of a spectator.
Maybe.
Have you noticed a pattern? Every four weeks or so, my posts are depressing and morose? It’s gotten worse as I’ve aged, and it was particularly bad this month, which I am pretty certain I can attribute to a recent prescription change.
However, my last post wasn’t entirely due to my mood. I am seriously considering the Peace Corps. I think it’s something I would really enjoy and find meaning in doing. I’m also worried that if I don’t grab the bull by the horns now, I’ll find something else to keep me here and never go at all.
Three and a half years ago, when I ended a long-term relationship, if I had known then how the next 3 years of my life were going to go, I would have signed up and never looked back. Now, I’m afraid if I wait until I get my teaching degree, another 2 years or so, I’ll look back and think, I should have gone then.
Some of my best decisions have been spur-of-the-moment decisions… the times when I’ve trusted my gut and gone with it without really stopping to analyze. Yes, occasionally this impulsivity has bitten me in the ass, leaving me struggling to get out of debt or backpedaling to prevent all-out disaster. However, sometimes my gut instinct forces me into situations that I never would have experienced if I had allowed myself to stop and analyze ahead of time.
I’m at a crossroads right now. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but it opens up myriad other tunnels, and I’m simply left wondering now, knowing I can never go back, which do I follow?
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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
“The Road Not Taken” — Robert Frost
More and more lately, I’m wondering if the movie The Matrix isn’t fiction after all. Often, I feel delusioned. I feel like a puppet on a string, doing the bidding of everyone else but me. Day after day I struggle, with very little to show for my sweat but dirty clothes and restless nights. And the problem is, my struggle is nothing compared to countless others. Yet, in our society, my struggle is all I have. It’s all I do. It’s all I am.
I’m sick of corporate America, and I don’t even work in it (although the bastards still control my paycheck). I’m sick of slaving away to pay bills and make ends meet when none of it really matters anyway. I’m sick of chasing after some stupid outdated American “dream.”
I don’t want this life. The one where the next pay check is all I’m looking forward to. The one where you can’t be different without being judged. The one where marriage then kids and happily ever after is droned into your brain from the age of 3 on.
I feel like I need to get out. Like I need to be anywhere but here. Like I’m missing out on countless adventures and I’d be foolish to waste another day.
It wouldn’t be running. It’d be running free.
You know what I love?
Getting up early, naturally to the sound of my dog getting restless, even if I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep.
The sun is more brilliant in the morning than at any other time of day… maybe it’s the dew sparkling off the grass that makes it that way… but it’s my favorite time of day. The birds are active and chattering… the town is still quiet… the coffee pot is brewing and sending a “good morning!” smell into the air…
…and for that brief hour of calm before the day, everything is at peace.
I haven’t really figured out how to deal with grief. I have conflicting emotions about it, and that only seems to intensify the feeling because I’m not sure how to handle it.
One of the horses in my care was put down this morning. Ariel. Such a pretty name. Such a sweet mare. She was old. She had cancer. It wasn’t the cancer that pained her, however, it was an abcess she developed in her throat. It wouldn’t go away, and there was nothing we could do. She was miserable and straining to breathe, and the only humane thing to do was to help her go peacefully.
That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, unfortunately. I was expecting this to happen soon because of the cancer. But I wasn’t expecting it today. I’m grateful for the rain today… rain makes tears seem more appropriate.
The thing is, my first reaction upon hearing about Ariel being put down was to shout to the world that she was going to die. I wanted to blog about it immediately and make everyone feel my grief. But I couldn’t write. I didn’t yet have the words, and I felt like I was doing her a disservice by telling the world. I needed to let her go peacefully.
So my second reaction was to bottle it in. To push my grief down and feel it. To let the tears flow inside. To simply remember her, and grieve for her, and let it hurt for a while before seeking comfort. So I did that. And I’m still doing that. But just now, I wrote a little note to her people, telling them how sorry I am and how much I’ll miss her. And in that note, I said I trust she’s now happy and pain free in greener pastures than ours.
And I truly believe she is. And that. That makes me feel better. Knowing she doesn’t hurt anymore. But that hasn’t assuaged the tears just yet.
This horse stuff is hard. It’s hard on my emotions. It’s overwhelming and exhausting, and days like this, I wonder why I even do it. Why I let myself get sucked in so intensely. Why can’t I keep them at a distance? Aloof-like? But I know it wouldn’t be the same… and it wouldn’t be worth it.
I suppose it’s healthy to grieve. It puts things into perspective and allows you to reevaluate what’s most important. I do it because I love it. Because I love them. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Rest in peace, Ariel. I’ll miss you.
