Monday...two weeks on the calendar. I'd love to report I just blissfully swam through Easter weekend, but alas, this couldn't be farther from the truth. The fact is, I had a meltdown. Two, really. The first came on Saturday, when I violated on of lifes ultimate truths; Don't go food shopping when you're hungry. Thanks to my cupboard being bare I didn't get to juice for lunch, then realized I better get to the store before dinner time...so I strolled in to the Super Fresh foolishly thinking I'm only getting fruits and veggies, lemons and limes. As you could guess, the fruit and vegetable section in my store just so happens to be located right next to the salad bar and take away sections, for those who want their own ready made lunch or dinner. Simply out of curiosity I wandered by the salad bar, and before I knew it was salivating over what the sign said was grilled chicken but looked like the meat version of fake crap legs you see from time to time...in other words, it looked inedible. But try telling that to my stomach...nooooooooooo. In less than a blink of an eye I had a strip in my sweaty palm, quickly deposited in my awaiting mouth. Since this was the first bite of anything in almost two weeks, instead of abating my appetite, naturally it only inspired more hunger. At precisely the moment after wolfing down the chicken, an aroma caught my attention...looking around for the culprit, I noticed the rotisserie chicken in the ready to go section, and though this sight didn't trigger a mad dash over, the big, plump potato wedges sitting next to them most certainly did...and like a seasoned jewelry thief I sauntered past and swept two juicy fries right out of the tin. Thinking alarm bells would soon go off and security beckoned, I high tailed it out of there. Luckily the cops weren't called, and I escaped unharmed. It's such an amazing thing, being captive to hunger and how it simultaneously cuts off oxygen to the part of the brain that operates reason and logic. I didn't have a single thought while skulking around the salad bar and rotisserie chicken, it was all impulse. By the time I made it to the checkout aisle (and digested the wedges) I had to laugh at my pathetic outburst. I was rabid for only a few brief seconds, but there was no stopping my transgressions...
My second breakdown may have been a tad more nefarious. I stopped by my friend Butch's house for a little Easter get together his family was having...Everyone was out on the porch drinking and chatting, and though I had kindly refused the offer of a drink (I wasn't staying for dinner, either) my buddy Butch had his drink sittin' next to me while we discussed terribly important topics like Easter Bunnies and such, his bourbon and coke started whispering in my ear. I swear it was wooing me. And like some body double swooped down and took over, I watched my right hand slowly take Butch's drink and bring it to my lips...once. Twice. Three times. Finally he said, 'dude, why don't you just let me pour you one?'. No no, I told him. Don't want one. Really. Two minutes later, when dinner was announced as ready, I thought I was heading for the door, when I found myself following Butch to the bar. He poured himself another, which I promptly picked up and took two swigs of. It was the strangest thing. Again, no thinking, no conscious decision making. Just instinct. I didn't pour my own. I did leave right then. But why did I have those swigs of his drink?
I like to think it's as easy as remembering how during the weekend, when I was at Quaker meeting in the morning working on my meditating or contemplating almost two weeks of my juicing cleanse under my belt, thinking I was due a break of some kind. People have expressed some concern for my body dealing with such a long break from real eating, thinking I'm going a little over the top...and some part of my ego got hold of that, pretty soon turning it into a justification of sorts...I deserve a break. Some food. A drink. Something! I look back now and realize there was a little storm brewing in me. I called my friend Geoff. Never heard back. And I left it at that. I didn't follow up again and again, as I promised myself. My conviction started to waver, lo and behold my old defense mechanisms pop up...
By today I could see the picture clearly. One step leading to another. And though frankly it irks me I managed to go almost two weeks with only the one bad day, today I humbly acknowledged to myself this is a work in progress. I'm a work in progress. And to quit with the judgment...you know, if I ever meet the freakin' Genie with the magic bottle that grants me 3 wishes, the first one is going to be to not have any judgment in my life anymore. It is my achilles heel, and it torments me so. The only good thing about it anymore is how I know something is going on when I'm in it, so I begin to look, I start an inquiry...one day perhaps I'll be able to start the inquiry without suffering from judgment first. Perhaps.
There is always something to work on, isn't there??
Monday, April 5, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
Day 12...
A day to make you chuckle. To ponder this crazy thing we call life and all the ups and downs that come with it. Today wasn't merely a morning spent riding and schooling, it was a day worth remembering for many reasons.
When I was a kid, my sister Blythe's best friend growing up was Sanna Neilson. We were next door neighbors, our parents were close. In fact, Sanna's mother is Blythe's godmother. Sanna and I always got along great, though never terribly close during those years...as we grew up and started to make inroads in steeplechasing, Blythe and I as professional jockeys, Sanna as an accomplished amateur. Soon enough Sanna started training for her step-father George Strawbridge, and not long after I took over riding races for her. Sanna and I won our first race at Saratoga together, and her barn began filling up. Before long she started dating another jockey, Craig Thornton, and then one day, as often happens to jockeys, I found out I was out of a job by looking at the entries. No phone call, no conversation. Normally this isn't the biggest deal, but Sanna and I had been lifelong friends, and it did hurt. On top of that, her boyfriend was someone I had an intense dislike for. Not only was he a good jockey, which created a understandable professional tension, in the time he came over from New Zealand had shown a style of riding bordering on ruthless and a personality to match. For a couple of years everyone went about their jobs, all of being successful. Blythe and I both became champion jockey, and not long after Sanna won leading trainer...despite being neighbors and sharing the land to train on, there wasn't very much drama nor animosity between Sanna and I, and she and Blythe remained best friends. Blythe actually moved in with Sanna and Craig, and it was after this things took a heavy turn. I was riding up at Saratoga when my friend Gus and best friend Sean took me aside to tell me Craig had sexually assaulted Blythe.
I was dumbstruck initially. Then outraged as they shared the details. Knowing my feelings towards Craig, which I had always been outspoken about, combined with the family histories and Blythe's friendship with Sanna had discouraged Blythe from speaking to anyone for a few days, when finally she told Sean what happened...At that point in our lives, my relationship with Blythe was tenuous at best. We had grown up fanatically competitive, and that only grew during our time riding races against one another. When you both ride for your father, against each other, against our father and one another, it only got more heated. Having said that, when Sean and Gus told me what had happened I knew I had but one choice; take care of Blythe. And really it wasn't a choice at all. The only other option would be unthinkable, and it never occurred to me to do nothing. So I drove home, took a baseball bat and a friend to the house Craig was staying in, met him at the door and told him in no uncertain terms he was leaving town.
The next stop was Sanna's house (Craig was sleeping elsewhere after assaulting Blythe). I told her my feelings, told her I was worried about her well-being since Craig had already broken a guys jaw with a beer bottle and been known to rough up a prior girlfriend...and that she should be careful before Craig leaves town. Of course, I had made up my mind what was going to happen without consulting too many people, Sanna included. Blythe had only a month or so before moved to another house a mile down the road, and there was simply no way she could remain living so close to the man who had assaulted her. The fact Craig and Sanna had a thriving operation made no matter to me. Nor did the two of them being together as a couple make a difference. In my mind, some things are just too important. Too sacred. It wasn't long before I was made to realize these feelings weren't shared by everyone. Craig was sent off to sober up, after claiming he had a problem, with the understanding he would come back to ride for Sanna, the question of resuming their personal relationship to be decided at a later date. I was flabbergasted and torn up. My pleas for reason to prevail were met with mute silence. By almost everyone around me. Parents. Friends. The local community seemed to think the most important element was the continued success of Sanna's training operation, and Craig riding for her was the desired situation. Blythe went to work for Jonathan Sheppard full time so she wouldn't have to confront Craig every day out on the gallops. As for me, I had to put up with it.
Needless to say, it wasn't long before things changed. Sanna was no longer comfortable seeing me every day, so I was told my presence on the gallops was no longer tenable. I had to leave. By this time I had started to train myself, so it meant I had to not only find a barn for my horses, but also find suitable places to train the horses...As fate would have it, my training suffered, as did I. The steeplechase world is a small one, sometimes painfully small. Those years were beyond difficult. I lost a lot of faith during that time. Faith in people. Faith in life working out.
Eventually, Blythe retired from riding due to consecutive concussions. She married, moved to Maryland and had two beautiful kids. She's happy. I kept on riding and training, kept winning races as a jockey but struggled training...Sanna remained at the top, her operation cemented as one of the most stable and reliably successful. During that tumultuous summer, I had taken a horse from a local man named Michael Moran to train and ride. A horse he was fed up with, no longer interested in trying to work with. We did well, won our first race together. Michael was great about it, though he took the horse back after winning, thinking I had sorted him out. One bad start later, he was back again for the fall races...of course, as fate would have it, the weekend the horse was slated to run was a double weekend, and I had to go to Georgia to ride while Michael's horse was going to Virginia. Despite being the trainer of the horse I had more commitments in Georgia, though I really wanted to ride Michael's horse. Michael understood the situation I was in, not being able to ride his horse. But who was going to? Michael wanted Craig. Simply on the merits of best available jockey, it was a no-brainer. Craig was the best available. But in my mind there was no way. No fucking way. Over my dead body. I didn't want to, but I had to tell Michael why I felt the way I did. So I told him about Blythe. To a man who has 3 daughters, no less. And when I was finished, he said this was business. I nearly exploded. But nothing was changing his mind. I called the other people who owned half the horse. They said it was Michael's decision. I was apoplectic. My head was swimming with the thought, what is wrong with people???? Have they no morality, no sense of right, no sense of community?!?! That Saturday, Michael's horse left my barn in the morning to be ridden that afternoon by the man who assaulted my sister only months before. My relationship with Michael, one that started on the best of terms, disintegrated. Vanished. I didn't speak to him for years after. And that winter he sent a 3 year old to Sanna's barn for her to train. His name was McDynamo. Some 8 years later he retired the sports all-time money career money earner.
Sometimes truth is indeed stranger than fiction.
When I took Landmark Education 3 years ago, I had a revelation. I had many revelations, actually. My world was turned upside down, in the best possible way. One of them allowed me to see the person I had been, and why. Without judgment either. And Sanna was among the first phone calls I wanted to make. For something like 5 years we could barely tolerate being within shouting distance of one another, sworn enemies of the deepest kind. But in the weekend I spent at Landmark, it all washed away in me. The hurt and the hate evaporated. Where I once sneered I now sympathized. It was the single most powerful weekend of my life, and I couldn't help but want to share with my friends and family, with my ex-girlfriend even! And yes, I wanted to share it with Sanna. After all, we had grown up together, and our history went back long before any of us rode a race. So I called Sanna. I apologized for taking matters into my own hand, and my hand only, when Craig assaulted Blythe. I took ownership for not realizing how what I did affected Sanna's life, for when it all happened it was generally assumed Sanna and Craig were going to get married one day...I said I'm sorry, and I meant every single word of it. As you might imagine, Sanna had a hard time believing what she was hearing. She politely declined coming to my dads house for a meeting of my family and friends so I could share the Landmark experience. And she kept her distance after that, too. But that was okay. I had no axe to grind anymore, no daggers to carry. In me there was nothing but kindness and compassion. You see, what Landmark does is give you the tools to understand why you do what you do, but also the tools to see why other people do what they do. And from then on all I could think was the shy little girl who only wanted to get along. I couldn't see the snob who took her life as successful trainer as fait accompli anymore...it was nothing more than a thin veil covering the snot nosed 10 year old I grew up with.
Since Landmark, Sanna and I have been cordial. She hasn't even attempted to explain, apologize or offer a handshake, and you know what? It doesn't matter. Oh sure, there is still some little ego in me who wants my pound of flesh, my heartfelt apology, but I see it for what it is; my poor little ego. Nothing more, nothing less. It's nothing short of amazing, not only the complete lack of animosity but even better the human spirit of kindness and empathy I felt flowing inside. And how, you might very well ask, has this manifested itself? In what way have I shown this complete and utter turnaround?
Sanna has lost her job as trainer for her soon to be ex-step father. Kicked out of her barn, kicked off the gallops. Where she once trained 30, she now has 5 or 6. Instead of picking up the phone to give orders, she's in the barn riding out. She has one rider working for her instead of 6. Yesterday she called me to ask if I would school a horse for her. And I quite happily said yes. The fact we were schooling over my fences, and she didn't ask permission? No matter. I was just happy to help her out. And you know how I know just how far I've come? The idea of reminding her how life has changed didn't even cross my mind.
I'm on my way. I might not be there yet, but I am on my way.
A day to make you chuckle. To ponder this crazy thing we call life and all the ups and downs that come with it. Today wasn't merely a morning spent riding and schooling, it was a day worth remembering for many reasons.
When I was a kid, my sister Blythe's best friend growing up was Sanna Neilson. We were next door neighbors, our parents were close. In fact, Sanna's mother is Blythe's godmother. Sanna and I always got along great, though never terribly close during those years...as we grew up and started to make inroads in steeplechasing, Blythe and I as professional jockeys, Sanna as an accomplished amateur. Soon enough Sanna started training for her step-father George Strawbridge, and not long after I took over riding races for her. Sanna and I won our first race at Saratoga together, and her barn began filling up. Before long she started dating another jockey, Craig Thornton, and then one day, as often happens to jockeys, I found out I was out of a job by looking at the entries. No phone call, no conversation. Normally this isn't the biggest deal, but Sanna and I had been lifelong friends, and it did hurt. On top of that, her boyfriend was someone I had an intense dislike for. Not only was he a good jockey, which created a understandable professional tension, in the time he came over from New Zealand had shown a style of riding bordering on ruthless and a personality to match. For a couple of years everyone went about their jobs, all of being successful. Blythe and I both became champion jockey, and not long after Sanna won leading trainer...despite being neighbors and sharing the land to train on, there wasn't very much drama nor animosity between Sanna and I, and she and Blythe remained best friends. Blythe actually moved in with Sanna and Craig, and it was after this things took a heavy turn. I was riding up at Saratoga when my friend Gus and best friend Sean took me aside to tell me Craig had sexually assaulted Blythe.
I was dumbstruck initially. Then outraged as they shared the details. Knowing my feelings towards Craig, which I had always been outspoken about, combined with the family histories and Blythe's friendship with Sanna had discouraged Blythe from speaking to anyone for a few days, when finally she told Sean what happened...At that point in our lives, my relationship with Blythe was tenuous at best. We had grown up fanatically competitive, and that only grew during our time riding races against one another. When you both ride for your father, against each other, against our father and one another, it only got more heated. Having said that, when Sean and Gus told me what had happened I knew I had but one choice; take care of Blythe. And really it wasn't a choice at all. The only other option would be unthinkable, and it never occurred to me to do nothing. So I drove home, took a baseball bat and a friend to the house Craig was staying in, met him at the door and told him in no uncertain terms he was leaving town.
The next stop was Sanna's house (Craig was sleeping elsewhere after assaulting Blythe). I told her my feelings, told her I was worried about her well-being since Craig had already broken a guys jaw with a beer bottle and been known to rough up a prior girlfriend...and that she should be careful before Craig leaves town. Of course, I had made up my mind what was going to happen without consulting too many people, Sanna included. Blythe had only a month or so before moved to another house a mile down the road, and there was simply no way she could remain living so close to the man who had assaulted her. The fact Craig and Sanna had a thriving operation made no matter to me. Nor did the two of them being together as a couple make a difference. In my mind, some things are just too important. Too sacred. It wasn't long before I was made to realize these feelings weren't shared by everyone. Craig was sent off to sober up, after claiming he had a problem, with the understanding he would come back to ride for Sanna, the question of resuming their personal relationship to be decided at a later date. I was flabbergasted and torn up. My pleas for reason to prevail were met with mute silence. By almost everyone around me. Parents. Friends. The local community seemed to think the most important element was the continued success of Sanna's training operation, and Craig riding for her was the desired situation. Blythe went to work for Jonathan Sheppard full time so she wouldn't have to confront Craig every day out on the gallops. As for me, I had to put up with it.
Needless to say, it wasn't long before things changed. Sanna was no longer comfortable seeing me every day, so I was told my presence on the gallops was no longer tenable. I had to leave. By this time I had started to train myself, so it meant I had to not only find a barn for my horses, but also find suitable places to train the horses...As fate would have it, my training suffered, as did I. The steeplechase world is a small one, sometimes painfully small. Those years were beyond difficult. I lost a lot of faith during that time. Faith in people. Faith in life working out.
Eventually, Blythe retired from riding due to consecutive concussions. She married, moved to Maryland and had two beautiful kids. She's happy. I kept on riding and training, kept winning races as a jockey but struggled training...Sanna remained at the top, her operation cemented as one of the most stable and reliably successful. During that tumultuous summer, I had taken a horse from a local man named Michael Moran to train and ride. A horse he was fed up with, no longer interested in trying to work with. We did well, won our first race together. Michael was great about it, though he took the horse back after winning, thinking I had sorted him out. One bad start later, he was back again for the fall races...of course, as fate would have it, the weekend the horse was slated to run was a double weekend, and I had to go to Georgia to ride while Michael's horse was going to Virginia. Despite being the trainer of the horse I had more commitments in Georgia, though I really wanted to ride Michael's horse. Michael understood the situation I was in, not being able to ride his horse. But who was going to? Michael wanted Craig. Simply on the merits of best available jockey, it was a no-brainer. Craig was the best available. But in my mind there was no way. No fucking way. Over my dead body. I didn't want to, but I had to tell Michael why I felt the way I did. So I told him about Blythe. To a man who has 3 daughters, no less. And when I was finished, he said this was business. I nearly exploded. But nothing was changing his mind. I called the other people who owned half the horse. They said it was Michael's decision. I was apoplectic. My head was swimming with the thought, what is wrong with people???? Have they no morality, no sense of right, no sense of community?!?! That Saturday, Michael's horse left my barn in the morning to be ridden that afternoon by the man who assaulted my sister only months before. My relationship with Michael, one that started on the best of terms, disintegrated. Vanished. I didn't speak to him for years after. And that winter he sent a 3 year old to Sanna's barn for her to train. His name was McDynamo. Some 8 years later he retired the sports all-time money career money earner.
Sometimes truth is indeed stranger than fiction.
When I took Landmark Education 3 years ago, I had a revelation. I had many revelations, actually. My world was turned upside down, in the best possible way. One of them allowed me to see the person I had been, and why. Without judgment either. And Sanna was among the first phone calls I wanted to make. For something like 5 years we could barely tolerate being within shouting distance of one another, sworn enemies of the deepest kind. But in the weekend I spent at Landmark, it all washed away in me. The hurt and the hate evaporated. Where I once sneered I now sympathized. It was the single most powerful weekend of my life, and I couldn't help but want to share with my friends and family, with my ex-girlfriend even! And yes, I wanted to share it with Sanna. After all, we had grown up together, and our history went back long before any of us rode a race. So I called Sanna. I apologized for taking matters into my own hand, and my hand only, when Craig assaulted Blythe. I took ownership for not realizing how what I did affected Sanna's life, for when it all happened it was generally assumed Sanna and Craig were going to get married one day...I said I'm sorry, and I meant every single word of it. As you might imagine, Sanna had a hard time believing what she was hearing. She politely declined coming to my dads house for a meeting of my family and friends so I could share the Landmark experience. And she kept her distance after that, too. But that was okay. I had no axe to grind anymore, no daggers to carry. In me there was nothing but kindness and compassion. You see, what Landmark does is give you the tools to understand why you do what you do, but also the tools to see why other people do what they do. And from then on all I could think was the shy little girl who only wanted to get along. I couldn't see the snob who took her life as successful trainer as fait accompli anymore...it was nothing more than a thin veil covering the snot nosed 10 year old I grew up with.
Since Landmark, Sanna and I have been cordial. She hasn't even attempted to explain, apologize or offer a handshake, and you know what? It doesn't matter. Oh sure, there is still some little ego in me who wants my pound of flesh, my heartfelt apology, but I see it for what it is; my poor little ego. Nothing more, nothing less. It's nothing short of amazing, not only the complete lack of animosity but even better the human spirit of kindness and empathy I felt flowing inside. And how, you might very well ask, has this manifested itself? In what way have I shown this complete and utter turnaround?
Sanna has lost her job as trainer for her soon to be ex-step father. Kicked out of her barn, kicked off the gallops. Where she once trained 30, she now has 5 or 6. Instead of picking up the phone to give orders, she's in the barn riding out. She has one rider working for her instead of 6. Yesterday she called me to ask if I would school a horse for her. And I quite happily said yes. The fact we were schooling over my fences, and she didn't ask permission? No matter. I was just happy to help her out. And you know how I know just how far I've come? The idea of reminding her how life has changed didn't even cross my mind.
I'm on my way. I might not be there yet, but I am on my way.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, March 29, 2010
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.
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, March 27, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, March 26, 2010
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?
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?
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