03/21/2024
I am sometimes teased about the little part I play in this great big game, which is buying, improving and selling fair-to-middlin’ horses… writing books about being an ageing horsewoman… and also, teaching ordinary people how to ride.
I don’t show. I’m not a clinician. I’m not selling an online program, or video downloads.
It would seem that in the horse business, everyone is supposed to aim at being a star. That if you somehow missed the bus when you were younger, you should just hang your head and trudge on home. One pro—a fellow with a partner working a full-time job in town—pointed out that I’ve done many other things, besides this latest gig with horses.
I could only stare at him, somehow willing him to make his point out loud.
As though it is a shameful thing, to change one’s mind about how one wants to spend her life… even though I, too, have been quietly plugging away in my own lane, for many years now.
As though my willingness to pitch in—to work at so many jobs that sure as hell were not my dream, and for decades—is somehow a failing? No. I’m not buying that. You and I were never meant to feel badly, rather than to think and learn, experience life, look ahead and grow wiser.
We were never meant to be ashamed of all that we did to feed our kids. Maybe, let’s read that again, until we believe it.
Like many of you, I’m largely self-taught. I have no paper credentials. I regularly drop the ball, disappoint other people, screw up, make a fool of myself, waste my hard-earned money, make mistakes—I mean learn hard lessons—wrestle with habitual shame and I absolutely know how to binge watch Netflix when there are other, more pressing Things To Do.
What I do know for sure, is this. Whatever I can’t go five minutes without thinking about, is somehow allied to the Real Me.
What is it you do to get in the ‘flow zone’, that place where time has no meaning? This is such a good clue as to who you genuinely are. It has zero to do with wanting to be famous.
I can study horses, work in my leather shop, or write for so many hours that I am surprised when I come up for air. The dogs will need to go outside, desperately, and I won’t have eaten a single nutritious meal, all that day. Not the healthiest outlook, perhaps, but it does tell me that what I am doing is a balm to my creative soul.
Whenever we lose track of time, I’d say we’re on the right path. We begin to trust that what is in our hearts, what feels right, can be encouraged with this simple act of expressive artistry.
We’re making something from scratch. Whether it is a poem, a work of art in stained-glass, a painting, knitted socks, a novel, hiking out with the camera, singing like we mean it, painting the bathroom walls, sewing crate quilts for the local animal shelter, inventing and sharing a great pot of soup… what this is doesn’t really matter.
We’re not holding anything back. We’re all in. Note that this has nothing to do with my training horses, or your earning a living.
Creating gets us out of our heads and into our heart space. It is a sure way to sit and forget about the passing of time. We forget to hold our stomachs in, which is miracle enough. If we’re wholly involved, we forget about anyone judging us, at all.
Our art—like deep horsemanship and singing out loud—needs breathing and letting go. Self-consciousness kills all the feel within us. So, take the art classes, not to create a work of art, but to remember what building beauty feels like.
You knew this, once upon a time… until growing up, being an adult, killed it. Until you learned to stay down and blend in. Go ahead. Help yourself to the bright red crayon and start colouring, however the heck you want.
***
We’ve been renovating our old house. All the necessary things, like floors without slivers, doors without draughts, lights that don’t fizzle and pop. While repairing the water damage to the ceiling between the dining room and kitchen, I wondered about the narrow opening between these two rooms. I have always dreamed of a plain and gentle archway, something authentic to the spirit of this 1920s house.
I am not a carpenter but if I was…
Well, why not? Why not leave an act of self-expression and beauty in an otherwise ordinary doorway? Why not dream a little, during the slog of filling dumpsters and making a mess?
The fact that neither myself, nor my husband, knew how did not stop us. Step by faltering step, we somehow made it so. Now, each time I enter the kitchen, my heart actually soars. I’ll soon be at work on an oil painting, of all things, for the vast emptiness that is the far wall.
This week, we’re digging deep into that buzzword called ‘authenticity’. Every day, we’re working to develop our own critical thinking on this theme. The depth of our horsemanship is allied with our being as real as we remember how! This is part four, to be continued tomorrow.
