Day 10

You know, every time I log on here and pick my font, I get this sinking feeling it looks the same no matter what I pick...today is called trebuchet. What the hell is a trebuchet? I think it's french for jackass, just type and don't worry about the font.
I digress.
Today was the kind of day you'd like to have had someone along with you. Watching the moon this morning just before sunrise, riding in the sun with nothing but deer to keep you company, contemplating this mornings podcast, meeting in kennett with a lady to discuss my yoga/local food/community center, even going to the dump and helping an elderly couple dispose of there lawn trimmings...all essentially unimportant tasks I fill my life with, but isn't that the biggest part of our lives?? Just because we're doing something less than life altering doesn't lower the experience...and ever since my near meltdown last Wednesday I can't help but notice my mood. Or perhaps even closer to the truth is my lack of moods. There is this placidness, even when I'm hungry (which is every day) or wanting that freakin' box of brown rice. I find I'm not getting lost nearly as easily in the distractions and defense mechanisms...Of course I still have my moments. But increasingly, this is exactly what they are; moments. They haven't been turning in to minutes (oh alright, they do turn in to minutes from time to time) or hours. I'm able to recalibrate simply by identifying where I'm at. Lord only knows how far I still have to go, and if I actually go racing while on this juicing cleanse it could get ugly quick. Real quick. And yet, I am smiling at the thought of knowing one of the greatest lessons I learned from yoga is in me for good...practice. Just practice. It's such a simple word, isn't it?? But in yoga, your practice (what it is called when you come to your mat and do yoga) is merely that. Practice. No judgment. No good or bad. Just practice. And in the ten days since I started, and turned off the tv to write, to explore, to read spiritual books and commit to my podcasts every day, I can see the fruits becoming ever more readily available. Now if only I can practice reaching those fruits.........
Today I read an e-mail from an old friend who happened to also be an old flame of mine. She very serendipitously asked me about why I thought our relationship failed. Being the sweet woman she is, the only two options she gave me both involved some failing of her own. I had to chuckle at the temptation to take the bait and give one answer or maybe even both, knowing full well she's a stubborn ol' cuss who likes to argue...but I could not. I felt bad there was a lack of understanding here, and though I had apologized more than once for ending our relationship, not knowing the why can be a hard thing to let go of. So I told her. The correct answer was me fearing not being good enough. Good enough for what, you might say? Make her happy? Convince her to move here? There is a little background here necessary to make it complete. When we were together, this lady, despite being utterly optimistic and joyful from first thought to last, always carried around with her a sense of worry, an insecurity almost like a shadow...never in full sight, yet never far off either. We weren't together very long, and since she lived in another country our time was often shared with family when she was here, so the chance to really develop a deeper connection didn't come to us. The reason I share this is so I can relate why I eventually came to the point of worrying about not being good enough. I worried I couldn't help her get past what I knew was there, yet hadn't discussed at great length with her. I wondered if I was up to it, and most certainly I feared I wasn't. What should happen if I can't get her past these insecurities, what if she won't acknowledge them? But far far worse, what if I could?? Ahh, now this is the nitty gritty...I'm not convinced this is the answer, but I do know full well it is entirely possible. More than likely I stopped short because I worried I wasn't good enough to help get her past her fears, and that was hard enough to admit to myself, much less anyone else. But I've come to realize how incredibly important it is to understand most of our relationships that end, end because we give up on them. We quit. Pointing the finger at another is just our clever ego working his fiendish magic. And I'm not talking about those relationships that needed to end, either. There are certainly moments where we need our intelligent discernment. Some people have a different life view, one in contradiction to our own. I'm not talking about those relationships. I'm talking about the ones we miss. The ones we regret not having. And even some of those we're pissed about, years after the fact. I have finally realized how it all comes back to me. If I refuse to give in, if I refuse to be locked out, if I simply won't accept a relationship ending, it won't. Period. It is that simple. That painfully simple. Oh, I used to get lost pointing the finger and taking the high road. I was a master at that. Still am from time to time. Which is why Geoff is back in my conscience. Sure, he was the one to not call me back. Again and again. Sure I used that as the perfect reason to not call him all these years. But you know what? I miss him. And I'm filled with sorrow we both have missed out on having one another in each others lives all this time. There is only reason for the sorrow and regret, too. That is the feeling of responsibility weeping...Ego kept me from calling again and again. Ego kept me from going to his house. Still does. And it's nothing more than a figment of my godforsaken imagination. Some poor little perceived hurt. And it totally effin' ridiculous.
So what can I do about my lady friend all these years later? Nothing more than be honest. We can't go back in time, we can't change anything that happened. But we can come to an understanding that reconciles the hurt we've been carrying around all these years, allows us to walk forward without looking behind us.
The cool part is now, every once and a while I'll remember doing something inconsiderate to another, and I'll pick up the phone and apologize. From the heart, too. Not once has the person not accepted it. And just as easily as that you have a friend back. We can make it as complicated as we want, we can create all sorts of distractions, but if you want that friend back, all you have to do is pick up the phone and say I'm sorry.
Of course, feel free to say a bit more than that.

So yesterday I brazenly decided I was going to be unreasonable about two phone calls........And all day I've been in this mildly detached mood, hovering close to being snarky, borderline judgmental with just about everyone I came in contact with. This evening I was yet again preparing myself to eat a big ol' bowl of rice. The defense mechanisms seemed to be warming up. I wasn't in a funk, but I was a lot closer than I thought. Until now. I just got off the phone with Katherine, and I told her about Geoff, our history and what brought me to make that declaration yesterday...and while I freely admitted my ego was running the show, I thought I was merely examining my ego for what lay beneath it, supposedly not taking anything personally. Merely curious was the belief I clung to. But the cool thing about friends and honesty is, they won't let your ego run the show. The last couple of days I've been slow to see how beneficial it is to have one of your friends stay with you while you're contemplating something like my 30 day journey, or even just why I've not callen a long lost friend. And Katherine, to her credit, simply kept repeating herself as she is wont to do, 'why not just call him?' again and again. It didn't take long before I started to feel annoyed, and luckily for me a switch switched, and I saw what was going on...the infernal ego is at it again!! I could see this dilemma of calling Geoff taking on all sorts of big, HUGE, meaning, whether I called or moreso if not. And my stinking ego really wants to keep the upper hand here...I called him, I've called him numerous times over the years. He's called me the same amount of time Brandi Carlile has to join her on tour. That would be zip. Nada. I have this terribly convenient out, thanks to that scorecard. And isn't that something, the desire to keep a scorecard?!?! What a devious way to avoid getting real about what the hell is going on.......
So I called. Left another message. And after I called, sure as the sunrise I felt better. A few minutes later it dawned on me; Geoff is in for it. I mean really in for it. Every day. I'm going to call and wail down the phone to his kids (this is a house phone, by the way) to let their Dad out of the basement, to his wife his long lost best friend needs him! I'm going to overwhelm him with my love and friendship, and refuse to take no for an answer. I'm going to threaten an intervention, to throw a party in his house, by me. But I'm going to do it with a smile. Some grace. And my own Big Mind. I know in my heart he loves me. I was the best man at his wedding fercrissakes. Courage for two. Yep, letting go of the past can be a bitch, but I know better. It can also be like Sunday morning sex. With the windows open, a breeze blowing. Poor Geoff. If he only knew how little chance his ego has. Ha.
Don Quixote has found his windmill.
And yes, I do have a major crush on Brandi. That girl is all that and a box of chocolates. Dark chocolate at that.

For the first time since I began this journey of reflection and hopefully change, I missed sharing on a day...Yesterday was both encouraging and humbling. Encouraging because I took one step forward, humbling for taking one step backwards. I went to Quaker meeting in the morning to practice my group meditation and to see what might come up while I sat for almost an hour. Needless to say my mind was fully awake and full of thoughts. So I practiced tagging my thoughts and then letting them go. Good thing I had the better part of an hour to sit! The great thing about meditation is you really can't have a bad practice, if you are actually practicing, and the more you stick with it the deeper you unravel the layers keeping you from being present, the distractions we find ourselves wrapped up in from day to day. While I was sitting, my mind started with the usual stuff; horses, friends, family. As the thoughts kept coming up, one theme re-visited again and again. Acceptance, and the insecurities which keep me from being there. Sitting in the group was a woman who had in the past year expressed her interest in me time and again, usually in ways I found most uncomfortable. And though I had firmly stated my position of disinterest each and every time we spoke, it never failed when I hung up the phone, this sinking feeling of knowing she would try again. Why did I know this? Yesterday, it dawned on me the reason for this was the fact I hadn't communicated with her from her perspective, only from my own, and there was always an aloofness in me, a distance. It made me wonder if perhaps I alter my approach, let this woman in for a bit so she can spend the 5 minutes she says she only needs, then maybe we can each go on with our lives in a way neither one of is looking backwards...and while I sat in meeting, it dawned on me if I can accept her path in life, one that involves past lives, even if I do not see it/feel it/am not aware of it, then I figure we might find some common ground. Enough for her to move beyond any feelings of attachment to me, to let me go. So I called her and offered to meet for a cup of coffee. I'll see what comes of it.
The humbling part of my day came later at the races. And it's so ridiculously ironic this thing we call life, I mean I'm drivin' to the races, fairly pleased I took the opportunity to at least try and grow, patted myself on the back at least half a dozen times, drove in to the races and the very first person I see is someone who hasn't spoken to me in something like ten years. We were best friends, roommates, hell I was even the best man at his wedding. I actually made contact with his wife, exchanged pleasant waves from a distance, and though Geoff was walking next to her, I immediately chickened out and went a different direction. It was so spontaneous, the decision to turn away...I didn't even have a conscious thought before I did it. Naturally those thoughts came pronto, yet I didn't act on them, didn't take the opportunity to simply say hello to Geoff, never mind broach a subject the both of us had been avoiding for years and years. A little history; there was a Christmas party, lots of people, lots of drinking. Geoff and my first best friend have an argument, a fairly loud and tense one in front of the whole room...I happened to be in a different part of the house, never heard a peep. The next day I'm told what happened by Sean (1st best friend), I call Geoff to find out what he thought. No answer. Left him multiple messages. He left that day for Boston with his wife, and I've never spoken with him since. For years I justified my phone calls as good enough. If he wants to talk, he'll call, I kept saying. I had no bad feelings towards Geoff, none. He was a great friend, the most decent human being you could ask for, and a hilarious roommate. We argued like cats and dogs about anything and never once took it personally. I missed him and our friendship terribly. But in my mind I had reached out, more than once. And the fact he never once returned my calls was the perfect out for me and my precious ego...at any rate, after taking Landmark, he was on my list of phone calls. So I called him again. Left him messages. Didn't return my calls. Some people would say it's time to move on, I did what I could. Yet the man lives half an hour away. I still have his number...and if I let it go at that, can I really and truly say I did the best I could? Course not. Sometimes in life you simply have to be unreasonable. Go to his house or call him every day til he talks to me? It's gotta be one or the other. You see, I have the ace up my sleeve. I know whats behind Geoffs stubbornness. If I live the rest of my life without Geoff at the very least hearing me out once, it will be no ones fault by my own. He may not be willing to see past the pride and ego, but not only am I willing, I already have. There is nothing for me to take personally, despite the fact I am the one who didn't get called back, despite being the best friend who missed out on being Uncle Chip to two kids, and a relationship that made my life special.
So I'm going to do one or the other. Maybe even both if he clings to his considerable orneriness.
You want stupid?, I'll show you stupid! Hahahahahahahaha, the Miller mantra at its best........
Wish me luck. On both counts.

Saturday night...a really long, rewarding day, and in many ways one worth remembering. I've been sitting here pondering for a while, just returning from the Cheshire point to point cocktail party after another successful foray watching others eat and drink some scrumptious food. I'm loathe to say it's getting easier, because the first hour was anything but...hands in the pocket, lots of talking and even more listening seem to have done the trick. Better write that down for future reference...
Back to my pondering. I spent this morning riding alone with my trusty ipod, singing like only I can. Ahem. It was one of those mornings you just can't help but looooooooooooooooooove. Cold spring morning with bright sun, frisky horses. I took one of my young horses out for our 2nd to last day of foxhunting, and Snuff was great. What got me to thinking later in the day was a question posed to me by an older gent...he asked me if I was going to succeed my father as fieldmaster, whenever that day might come. Of course I had no answer, since it certainly isn't my decision. Fieldmaster is the person who leads the entire group of folks on horses, and it is an important position to hold. The fieldmaster decides where everyone goes, has to understand what the hounds are doing, where they're going, oftentimes before one can truly tell...a good fieldmaster is kind of like a great referee; you hardly notice what they're doing. And a great fieldmaster is one who can keep up with hounds when they are running (chasing the fox) without making a wrong decision about how exactly to do that...believe me, it ain't easy. Fortunately for me, Dad is just about the best anyone has ever seen. A tremendous part of my knowledge about riding and life with horses has come from following Dad the past 30 years. When I was at the cocktail party, I couldn't help but notice the age of everyone, and how I'm still one of the younger ones in the local horse community even at the age of 39...at any rate, what has been percolating in me since driving home is the passing of years.
When I was little, my sister and I would take our ponies or horses out hunting and simply have a blast...running and jumping, never knowing what was coming next. The rush of jumping fences you wouldn't dream of doing on your own, surrounded by others, the inexplicable adrenaline rush you get when you have no idea what is around the next corner and under what circumstances you'll get there...will someone cut you off, jump in front of you, FALL in front of you, will two horses converge side by side just as they jump smack in front of you, thus robbing you of any view...for a kid with a great pony, a little bit of guts and tons of trust, it was nirvana. Naturally, I didn't know it at the time. I grew up thinking this was simply life. As the years passed, my life as a steeplechase jockey began to supplant foxhunting, as did the all the many ups and downs every Saturday. A good days foxhunting when I was growing up was often like riding two or three races in a day, and it was the perfect breeding ground to riding races, but as racing took more and more of my time, when I did manage to get back out hunting I couldn't help but notice a subtle shift in my experience. Granted, I never once forgot how amazing three or four hours with your horse out hunting can be so damn exhilarating. The shared moments of fences jumped well, or poorly, of holes just avoided stepping in, the agility courses in paths through the woods, jumping off banks or simply walking along out in nature among some of the most breathtaking countryside I've ever seen, ten feet from deer, a hawk peering down his beek at you from just above, 200 year old Sycamores proudly manning their solitary post. As the years went by, though my heart never took for granted all these wonderful things, my mind began seeing pieces of decay...fences we once jumped old and tattered, now too delicate to risk breaking. A line fence, enough room for five to jump together, by far the most fun and challenging, replaced by smaller chicken coops with room for two but jumped mostly single file, by far the most dreary experience on a horse. Folks getting older, a little less brave, the land slowly but surely shrinking in to smaller parcels fully equipped with some functional fence for one but nary a post and rail to be found. I kept noticing what I saw as deficiencies, of a standard I cut my teeth on diminishing such I found myself wondering if anyone got goosebumps anymore, if anyone relished those moments where your butt puckered and you had an instant of doubt before jumping/dodging/surviving whatever was rapidly coming upon you. I could see those moments becoming increasingly rare. And it made me sad. Melancholy. Just as I know I was born to ride a horse, my life has prepared me to one day follow Dads footsteps. For years all I could think of was how our precious countryside has been allowed to become average and mediocre. We don't have a Mrs. Hannum to pay for miles of post and rail fences. And almost as importantly, we haven't had anyone acknowledge the importance of a days hunting being a challenge and ensure that it remains so...Wouldn't you know it, a part of me has always kept a running tab on how to do it. The stark reality, though, is the painful reminder I'm the exception on the back of a horse. I don't say this with the slightest hint of hubris or ego, for I know deep in my heart and my bones I am nothing more than a reflection of hundreds of amazing horses. It was said in the last century a person had a talent for something. Not that he or she is talented, but they have a talent. And though I do indeed have a talent to understand what a horse is thinking, I can't take credit for it. It is simply a part of who I am. I didn't buy it, discover it buried in a hidden forest, nor conjur it out of thin air. If there is any pride in this talent, it is merely in my willingness to use it every second I'm with a horse. Time and again you'll see someone riding a horse as if they're driving a car. Frankly, it drives me batty. Why on earth would you even care to ride a horse if you're not interested in experiencing it WITH the horse?!?! And the harsh reality is today most people out riding/racing/eventing/foxhunting are doing it while missing out on the best part...having the best seat imaginable watching/feeling/understanding what your horse just did. To spend your days so close to a horse, to first help him navigate and understand and then to trust him implicitly is beyond measure. I'm old for a jockey. Really quite old. I've pondered finally hanging up the boots for six months now...and my young horse Snuff had me dreaming about winning the English Grand National in three years time this afternoon. Plotting how to get there. Imagining how we would do it. It was so real and vivid you might think I'd been smoking funnybush. Not being a parent denies me knowing this for sure, but I'd swear any mother or father who even has the slightest inkling of joining a young horse in his journey through life would agree it is much like having a child and raising it. It is what makes for a life well lived. Hell, me'thinks it's even better because in my case I'm right on their back while they're doing it!!!!!
So I sit here and I wonder. I wonder if 30 years from now I will have succeeded in ensuring people get goosebumps while out foxhunting. I wonder if I could handle being shouted down for wanting to do so. I wonder if there is a way to allow the older folks to age gracefully while bringing back bigger fences so the younger ones can have experiences like the ones I grew up with. I wonder if I'll help some 12 year old start to see life the way I do now, if I can sow the seed of trust so it may reap looking forward to the unknown, not fearing it...or if life on the back of a horse as I've known it will become nothing more than an old mans memory.
I'm so torn, in so many ways. To have a talent and let it go to waste is shameful, and for the last 20 years I've used it so many times it feels a part of my breath...but to share it? Share it when some don't even want it? Do I continue on or do I allow the spiritual journey with a different community to become the central focus of my life? Is there another magical National Velvet movie to be made, or has the time come and gone...mercy do these thoughts wreak havoc on my mind. I see my 75 year old father justly revered for leading so many on countless days of joy and wonder what my 75 year old fate will be.

Day 5...I had been hoping to write today about old relationships, burying the hatchet, the impact of how protecting your own hurt can have on others...but I'm going to wait for another day, since the final act didn't commence as expected.
Instead, I'm reminding myself of a few things. I've been sharing the last couple of days here and with friends the calm freedom that's been washing over me after Wednesdays near meltdown. Lo and behold, driving home from feeding the horses this evening, due to not packing either a cleanse or a juice my old friend intense hunger came for a visit...and it wasn't 3 minutes before I was back to the old wheel...but fortunately, before I came home, I realized hunger was with me, for a very good reason, and all I needed to find something to drink. But I mean the good kind! A cleanse or juicing...couldn't help but smile knowing this particular episode lasted minutes vs. hours from Wednesday, but I did remind myself just how easily I can fall right back in to it, and I damn well better be more prudent about having some water nearby. Reminder #1.
The second thought came after a great conversation with a friend of mine. We spent an hour and twenty minutes talking, first about me and this 30 day journey and all the tangents involved, then even better discussing some really cool Landmark Education material...In a nutshell, we covered what it means to create a story. When we're kids, some event (usually one that impacts us greatly, either real or imagined) befalls us...and after the event, in our little 8 or 12 year old mind, we create a story around it...and it comes as a result of trying to protect ourselves. All of us do it, more than once too, and those stories have a huge effect on shaping our personalities growing up...For example, in my case, when I was 10 or so, my parents forgot to organize a baby sitter for me as they were going to a cocktail party...and left me home alone. Not necessarily a big deal, really. But we had been robbed the year before, and seeing as it was the first time home alone at night, I got scared. So like any kid with a pony in the field, I went out and laid on my ponys back waiting for the folks to get home. I was alright actually, except I fell asleep on my ponys back, and woke up to hearing my Dad yelling in the house CHIP CHIP, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!?! My plan to make it back to the house before my folks failed, so when I got to the house, both Mom and Dad were a tad upset...and of course I had to explain where I was, and worst of all, had to confess I was scared. The very thing I wanted to hide. Tears flowed like a flood, and Dad being the kind guy he was in moments of angst and upset decided he'd yell at me for being scared...So naturally, as a result of that night, I had to come up with something in defense of my poor wounded little heart. What did I come up with? Ahh, my clever little mind constructed a story that I simply don't care what you think. And over the years I came to perfect this nice little fantasy of my 10 year old mind, eventually arriving at a place where I firmly believed I really don't give a shit what you think...to this day I still implement my defense mechanism when someone pierces my little 10 year old heart, but what Landmark showed me is that while the story can in fact help you out, can lead you successfully, it is still nothing more than a story...and the downside to the story is how it prevents intimacy with others, most definitely including my Dad. And when you can see it as nothing more than a story I am responsible for, one created 29 years ago, eventually with enough practice you can choose to put it down and not let it run the show. Doesn't mean you're not going to have the impulse to use from time to time, and it certainly doesn't mean the defense mechanism isn't going to kick in from time to time...but if you begin the work of seeing it for what it is, you can begin to choose not to use it. Not caring what others think has been at times a most beneficial part of my makeup; it's allowed me to ride races the way I know they should be ridden despite criticism (and jockeys are always criticized, part of the job description), it's led me to skipping down the street just to make someone laugh, whether with me or at me. It's allowed me to have a lot of freedom. The bummer is just how much intimacy it's cost me over the years. The cost has been hard to quantify, but I know it's been great. And it's a work in progress. I keep trying to see my mind at work, catch my defense mechanism before they can act, apologize for them if I don't catch them til after...believe me, it's a whole lot easier to apologize for a story then it is for what I think is a part of me. Practice practice practice.
Which leads me back to my friend. We talked about this in her life, and I tried to help her deconstruct one of her own stories. Time will tell whether any of it takes root, but she freely admitted giving her plenty to think about, and if nothing else it cemented our friendship being able to spend our time talking about something that really and truly matters. I sit here and know I got to spend an hour and twenty minutes in friendship and intimacy. And I'm grateful. Grateful for trying to help, grateful to have a friend willing to go places not normally visited. Just grateful. I like that.
Maybe more later, but I'm going back to Moon for more water with my buddy Jim, probably more practice of one kind or another...hug the monster, right?

Well, I'm happy to report day 4 has treated me far better than yesterday...In case you wondered, when I posted last night, I did head to the Half Moon (my local bar) pretty much convinced I would either eat, drink, or possibly even both...I had it justified in my mind I had to go to the Moon because I had agreed to meet a friend, and couldn't possibly bail out. And on the way there, some feeling of desperation crept in and got right between my eyes, almost taking over my thought process. I reminded myself this is exactly how it felt every Thursday and Friday, but reminding myself didn't exactly stem the feelings nor alter how I viewed this experience, the one I CHOSE to undertake...you shoulda heard me when I sat in my familiar seat at the corner and all but pleaded for a pint of water. Three gulps it was down, and if Jamie (the bartender) hadn't kept replenishing my pint time after time, I was going to order a ketel and tonic. Any second, or maybe even every second I kept thinking 'O christ, just get a freakin' drink and get it over with'...and though I was pleasantly chatting with my friend and Jamie, this sinking feeling of knowing I was going to order a drink kept pulsing through me...and of course, every time a waitress brought an order of bar food (the Moon serves gooooood food too), the hunger deepened and my faithful reflex of ordering a drink chimed in repeatedly. Strangely enough, after half an hour or so, there was this subtle shift in my mood. I went from hanging on to some form of acceptance. I wasn't going to order food or a drink. Can't say I was thrilled about it, but I no longer fought it tooth and nail...and by the time an hour passed, the storm had ceased. When I got up to leave sure I was hungry, but my attitude had changed. It's okay to feel hungry. Feel it, own up to it, and then let it go. By the time I got in my car I was smiling...
I was asked on Formspring, this website somehow attached to facebook, about my relationship with food, and fucked up it seems. I'm not sure if this person (the questions are asked anonymously) knows about my life as a jockey or 20 years of dieting...but the questioner is absolutely right, my relationship to food and to hunger is screwed up. And the impact it's had on me is precisely why I chose this 30 day juicing cleanse. The resentment, the harshness that's a part of me is what I'm trying to alter...and yesterday was a monumental exercise for me. I went through every antagonizing emotion and defense mechanism in 5 hours, the very things which have driven me to the edge over the years. And I'm still not sure why I didn't eat or drink, to be honest. I don't recall even once reminding myself this is exactly what I signed up for, to confront the demons and deal with them in a different manner. Acceptance, grace, choice. Simple choice.
But I know for sure and certain I came home from the Moon a different person. Not changed for life, no way in hell, I know that. But different in that I wasn't wracked with any guilt for either eating or drinking, nor desperately wishing for either one. Sure I was hungry, but I was okay with being hungry.
And today, I've spent the whole day sort of humming along knowing the first painful step was taken. I made it. Would it have killed me to have a couple of drinks? No, course not. But emotionally it very well may have. There is a certain notion in the Buddhist world about living in the moment, being present, allowing yourself to let the past slide away...and one could say why not follow this train of thought?? Honestly, one day soon I hope it will be second nature for me to do just that...but I'm not at a point where I can happily choose something yet. To continue to give in to the devil on your shoulder year after year has a way of destroying your self-esteem, keeping you in a place you just can't be proud of. Your fears and resentments run the show only one direction. Down...And I wanna go up. I hope the next day I start pining for potato chips, or even a saltine, I hope I can stop myself right there and smile, knowing what I need to do. Remind myself it's simply the waves right then, and I'm the Ocean. It will pass. Just hold on.
Today I drank 2 24 ounce bottles of juice, and 1 24 ounce bottle of the cleanse, 1 bottle of 12 ounce water... I might have one more cleanse before bed. Peace.

Well, it's taken all of three days for the old feelings to resurface...the hunger pains, and all the remora's clinging along to the underbelly. It's a funny thing about years of dieting, there is an element of total acceptance, of watching people eat and drink with nary a jealous twinge. The evil twin of that element is the heightened level of sensitivity, the physical reality of your body gettin' mighty pissed I'm not showing it any love, or even a freakin' saltine, a peanut fercryin' out loud! There is a physiological reality here of course, the internal clock of survival ticking increasingly louder...and I think combined with the heightened sensitivity, I used to become something like a winter animal coming in to town out of desperation doing all sorts of weird things. Landhope, my local store, has a buffet style lunch that goes for a couple hours of the day, soups and whatnot...and they kindly offer saltines to go with whatever gumbo you choose. I can't count the days I would stuff them in to my pocket to have in my car whenever Saturday would roll around, the races would finish and I would be driving home...needless to say, the fact I was stuffing my pockets on Monday did raise a few alarm bells. But can you believe I managed to not eat the stinking saltines all week?!?! I did. Not sure how, but I did. And really, this is the crux of my curiosity inside this juicing cleanse...the angst of being hungry hours a day, the ability to continue, the mental hoops and masochism just to avoid eating what I shouldn't...over the years it continued; the trade off of a commitment towards dieting with something like a few drinks with my salad...then I added two slices of bread. Ironically enough, I never increased the bread intake, just the vodka. From two, to three, then finally to four. And right now, as I sit here and flail around in the dark trying to describe some of what I'm going through, this very second some part of my brain is bargaining...we won't eat, but you gotta give us something!! Amazing how my puny little cerebrum can get clever. But what is the source of the bargaining mind anyway? I mean, is it simply survival, trying to fend off the physical experience of hunger? Yes, one of alcohol's many devilish traits is the numbing effect it grants you...Yet, I sit here and wonder, is it only this, or does the psyche go to much deeper levels at times like this? Am I attaching something to the act of cleansing, or dieting in years past? Hmmm. As soon as I type it, it hits a nerve. All the years of showing up, having done my job, only to sit on a horse ill-prepared, not good enough, running in the wrong race, etc. etc...and yes, I'm nodding my head in agreement, for I can easily admit the resentment I've allowed to build up over the years when this happens...and it happens almost every weekend when you're riding regularly. It's the nature of life with horses we get it wrong, whether you're a jockey, trainer, groom or exercise rider. The science of reading a horses mind is inexact at best, and if you're not inclined to read it at all, which is a sad reality I'm afraid, it's harder to get right than a first date.
I remember spending three weeks getting ready to ride a horse for my dad last fall, Pierrot Lunaire, at Belmont. We had won a big race in the spring, beat the reigning horse of the year and in the process became the favorite for the Eclipse Award, for horse of the year. The race at Belmont was a prep race for the biggest race of the year, the Grand National, but it was a $150,000 race and big in its own right...I didn't ride much during August at Saratoga, and it was something like 5 or 6 weeks between rides for me...which means too much time to continue with a rigorous weekly schedule if not riding every week...at any rate, after 3 weeks spent dieting for one horse and one race, I'm headed to Belmont early so I could sweat off the last 4 pounds...being the first one in the jocks room has always been an ego boost, kind of like being the first to work. Well, after driving 3 hours and 3 solid weeks of anticipating one ride, the last thing I wanted to hear when I signed in the jocks room was, ummm, Chip, your horse is scratched. Sorry to tell you, but he's not running. Now lets get one thing straight, I've been around the block long enough to know Murphy's Law exists, everything that can go wrong will go wrong, at some point. It is life with horses. I get it. But at the end of a 3 week commitment for that one stinkin' horse, the days of running and yoga, the hours of hunger, the meals passed up, to have nothing more to show for it than an egg sandwich and a bag of chips from the jocks room kitchen...it'll drive a rational man bonkers. In that particular moment I was anything but rational...And then when the trainer, who also happens to be your dad, calls you up an hour later to say he simply couldn't get some paperwork in order, but he managed to only drive an hour up the road before finding out the horse isn't running...well, a man could go postal after that.
For me, I don't have much of a postal inclination, and it has always been my nature to see a bigger picture...but there are times, I gotta tell you, where I would like nothing more than to bite someones head off. And now that I'm sitting here typing about a similar feeling washing over me, I can see how shortsided this line of thinking really and truly is. Instead of accepting the sacrifices in and of themselves as worthy, as I did for ten years or so with a small amount of equanimity, I have to admit to myself I allowed a different mindset to creep in...WHAT IS THE PAYOFF?!?! Yep, a one way street to strings attached way of being. Even now I can see the progression, the slow decay of integrity and non-attachment...Oh, I could hide behind some trainer not having a horse ready, paper work not in order or whatever to ease my guilt about having chicken on that salad, one more ketel and tonic...
Ahh, the irony. Here I sit, no race or horse on the horizon, and still these feelings bubble to the surface like old friends just waiting to keep me company. Choice? Gotta get there, gotta get there. Forgiveness? Just a vague notion somewhere in the distance...
And this is why I'm here. Beg your pardon if there is little rhyme or reason to all I just shared... The feeling of being scattered is something like eating soup with a fork. With two tines.
Where is that spoon???? I read A Million Little Pieces last year, by James Frey. You might remember the kerfuffle when Oprah had him on the show, told her audience what an inspiration it was, and everyone should read his true story...only to have it come out some time later he took a few artistic, oh what do they call it?, oh yes liberties. I didn't really see what all the fuss was about really, I mean the guy smoked crack and drank a quart of liquor every day, how on earth is he supposed to remember every detail? I think he had a pretty good idea without total recall. At any rate, I thought the book was scary good, and I came away with one mantra I hope I never forget; when things are getting rough, just hold on. Hold ON...
And I'm trying like hell to.

Alright, day two is almost in the books...they're either celebrating the most important legislation in a generation in Washington, or lamenting the end of the human race as we know it. I think giving up the tv might be next on my list. Listening to excerpts of Glenn Beck give me seriously homicidal thoughts, to say nothing of Tea Baggers. How the hell am I supposed to remain true to my spiritual quest of 30 days with such lunacy infecting the airwaves?!?! O, what was that? Did you say turn the tv off?? Good thinkin' Batman.
I've been listening to Tara Brach for the better part of three years, and in case you don't know her, I highly recommend her to anyone. At any rate, part of my 30 days is listening to one of her podcasts first thing in the morning while mucking stalls...you'd be surprised how meditative mucking out can be.
But I gotta interrupt this important telecast with a stomach now in revolt...jesus christ, be right ba
Phew. I made it. Barely I might add. Can anyone tell me why stomach pains have to come along for the ride?!
Where was I...Tara. So in my earnest desire to alter my perspective when it comes to why I do things in life, I've brought along some alternative theories to keep me company...as I mentioned yesterday, buddhism, Landmark Education and yoga will be my main squeezes, with a healthy mix of bare bones honesty.
I was asked the other day how I deal with 'Letting Go'. Am I any good at it, Katherine asked me. And I got to thinking, hmmmm, am I? My first impression was a simple yes, of course. One can't ride horses with any success without being able to live in the moment, and one can't really live in the moment if they can't let go...which is shorthand for bringing the past with us, right?? And if you've never ridden a horse, if you're not fully present to what's going on between your legs and your hands, you ain't gonna do too well. Trust me on that. So I got that part down pat, no sweat. Then I got to thinking a little more...and I had to admit I'm one who gets off a horse swearing a blue streak for what I did or didn't do that cost us...it is a trait which has served me well. You can't learn the lesson if you're not aware you screwed it up in the first place...But moving past horses to my life, I realized this letting go is something of a human struggle, a daily part of our lives, for better and for worse. We relish the good moments, rue the bad ones. How long am I going to stew in the hunger which comes with eating half a grapefruit for breakfast when Dad brings his help egg and cheese sandwiches (and a cup of tea fercrissakes!)? A daily practice indeed...which brings me back to Tara and her podcasts. She's a buddhist, and one of the big foundations of Buddhism is living in the present. Being present. So if you're so hungry the bale of straw you're carrying around suddenly looks tasty, are you being present for burying your face in the straw while drooling out the side of your mouth or what?! Ok ok, a rhetorical aside. Forgive me. I think Tara would say being present means acknowledging the hunger, then letting the moment pass forward to filling the water bucket, raking in an o so zen manner etc. And this morning I had just such a moment...I can be present to the hunger, but I choose to let it slide away so I can be present with tacking my horse up, scratching his withers so HE can let his tongue hang out in pure bliss. And damn if it didn't work! Still, this question of letting go kept with me, and of course it didn't take long to realize I'm good at being present and simultaneously crappy at it...there is a part of me which takes great pleasure in not letting go of slights, of my warts, of everyone else's warts, and that same part of my ego delights in this clever little ploy of distraction. Slowly, ever so slowly, I've come around to see this for what it is; holding on to the hurts I've accumulated over the years. And why on earth would I choose to wallow in the past when every second is an opportunity to see a hawk fly over head, to play tag with Snuf while I tack him up, or simply follow my breath and remind myself I only have this moment. It sounds so damn trite, doesn't it, saying we only have this moment...so damn spiritual and groovy, so ethereal!! (oh hello ego, still here are you?! bastard, I'll get you yet). But honestly, when I just sit down on the bale of straw I've stopped abusing and ponder such eloquence and simplicity I almost want to cry for missing out on all those moments I could've been witnessing beauty, creating it even, for being lost in the distraction of the past...and this to me is the essence of letting go. The real reason why I must practice this day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute. If you're holding on instead of letting go, you cannot be in this moment. And if you cannot be in this moment how the hell can you possibly savor it, enjoy it, LOVE it?!?!

Wow. I just got hit between the eyes. Me'thinks the reason for inducing carpal tunnel has just sat in my lap. I think I'm going to cuddle for a while...............

Day One of Thirty

Hi.
The next 30 days I'm going to be doing a juicing cleanse...and I've been told journaling is a great way to help explore what exactly transpires while doing so. While I'm fairly sure inducing carpal tunnel syndrome will certainly help curtail my fingers desire to shovel food in my mouth, I'm not at all convinced sharing it with others will have any effect on you or on me. Perhaps I'll improve my communications skills, and hopefully along the way find some folks who inspire me to keep going with this idea of mine....
I realize cleansing has a rich history in the eastern philosophies, and though I could do far, far worse than simply spending a month cleansing, my aim goes a bit beyond giving up solid foods and treating my body to a long holiday.
Having been a jockey for 19 years has meant a lot of things to me, one of the most impressionable being on a diet 9 months a year, 6 days a week...and over the years I've had to accept how dieting has helped to shape the kind of person I am today. For better, and often, for worse...Thanks to my chosen profession I've become something of a walking contradiction. I eat salad for dinner 5 nights a week, grapefruit for breakfast, yet I started smoking 20 years ago as a feeble way of dealing with hunger when I first started having to lose weight. I spend hours maintaining fitness as a means to be fit and as a way to keep weight off, yet for the past 8 or 9 years I've also had on average 4 drinks a night, 6 days a week.
The past year or so it has finally dawned on me I wouldn't in fact ride races for the rest of my life. Ridiculous, I know. In light of this revelation, I slowly began to see the destructive ways of my life as a steeplechase jockey...4 years ago I began practicing yoga, and it began a sort of seismic shift in my world view, and how I fit in it. My desire to smoke and drink as a way to deal with the pressures of being hungry for hours a day, 6 days a week changed...I could feel a small part of me grow to something larger, this awareness that had been percolating for years in me slowly grew to a voice I could no longer ignore...
You see, while I was dieting all these years, I developed a defense mechanism, one which enabled me to be successful in both losing weight and winning races. It was accepting this notion I had to. I had to run on days I felt like shit, I had to practice yoga even though I wasn't sure if I was riding the next weekend...and when riding races, there were places you rode that demanded a certain style of riding if you wanted to win, plain and simple. I was lucky enough to learn this lesson a long time ago, and use it time and again to win races. You simply cannot win a race at Nashville if you're more than 5 lengths off the lead at the bottom of the hill, you will not win a race at the Gold Cup if you move too soon, and on and on it went...I kept revising this with each horse I rode, each year that passed. As anyone will tell you, I can be a prick when it comes to my convictions. Unwavering. And most of this stems directly from being one who listens to horses...I didn't arrive at my knowledge for being a good jockey due to dumb luck. I listened. And over the years, after thousands of horses and races, my intuition became something of a second nature...and when something becomes second nature, it can come across as rather arrogant when you combine the comfort of knowing something in your bones with a loud mouth.
I digress. Fairly certain I'll be gettin' back to that point from time to time.
So I allowed myself to fall under the illusion it was alright to smoke if it was the price to pay so I could ride...of course, most folks would tell you it's called addiction. Not me. It was just what I did. The past 4 years has seen a lot of different schools of thought come to me...buddhism, Landmark, yoga...and they're all amazing, in their own way. Slowly, ever so painfully slowly, I began to see how I had this default place that justified my smoking and drinking...
And frankly, I'm using this cleanse as a test pilot so to speak. I'm going to test the various theories I've come to admire. Choice. Forgiveness. Openness. Sangha. Meditation. Being present. And I'm going to see if I can finally kick tobacco and drinking out of my life doing it this way...oh, and vomiting on anyone who happens to be reading this. Apologies in advance.
If it makes any difference, this sharing will not consist solely of lamenting what it feels like to be hungry, though I'm sure there will be enough of that...I do hope with all my heart I can share in a way someone will find worthy of reading.
I wonder if the power of choosing is as powerful as it is made out to be. I wonder a lot, so hopefully you can deal. Ha.