A brief post is long overdue, and to meet my quota for said short posts... I give you "Pitbull in Love". Why is it entitled as such, you might wonder? Aptly named, it references my brother's sexually frustrated dog. As I compose this entry, he humps the entire right side of my body. And he won't leave me alone for 10 minutes. What does this say about my ability to attract a suitable partner from my own species? I won't even go there...
And another thing. How low do the grocery store people have to be to put Halloween chocolates on the same aisle as "feminine needs"? That is just vile.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Keep on Truckin'
Whether it's a moment that slips through the fingers, a paralyzing heartbreak, or having to build back from nothing... it's of no consequence. All force you to look in the mirror and make the decision to keep moving. Forwards, backwards, side step, two-step, and promenade. But what if we'd rather hang out at the punch bowl and settle with watching others get their groove on?
Now I know that falling off a runaway horse isn't the type of thing to make most people scrutinize their lives. However, after sustaining unexpected trauma to the head and left leg, I've realized that this accident has become the window pane through which I survey my life (as it was, as it is, and what it should be).
The morning after, I woke to find current time an unfamiliar place. It was very unnerving... kind of like having the wind knocked out of me. MY plans, MY future, MY hopes: all of these things were seemingly dashed by two carefree horses in a matter of minutes. As it turns out, I'm no longer moving to the Rockies. And now that I can't run for a couple of weeks, I've been forced to sell my Atlanta Half Marathon entry to someone else. I don't have a job or insurance, and currently I live with my crazy family, AGAIN! At the age of 24! What now?!
I move. With divine help, no doubt.
But moving is so painful and slow when coming back from what's been inflicted upon my hopes and body. The couch begins to look like a plush retreat, and the horse can have a day off to play in the pasture. And if I let the couch comfort me and the horse run free too long, these days could matriculate into weeks. Fear and self-preservation, hand in hand, could take hold.
I'd like to believe that I've learned, through this little exercise, not to protect myself with that double-edged sword. Don't get me wrong, I didn't ride Beamer the day after the accident or even a few days after the accident. Proper healing time is essential. Just ask anyone who rushes into something as a sort of "rebound". That almost certainly causes further damage (and in some cases, more severe).
No, I waited almost two weeks to ride again. Two days ago, Mom rode the horse as I sat in the pasture. I was content to watch, and at the same time, I was terrified about having to get back in the saddle. Yesterday Mom rode Beamer again. And, knowing that my leg could carry my full weight again, I was worried about getting on the horse. However, after encouraging me, Mom held the horse still as I hoisted myself to the top of Beamer. It was a scary height. At any moment she might bolt. Or at least I thought. But she didn't, and Mom led her back to the barn with me nervously gripping tight.
Today I got on alone. I rode while Mom watched, and maybe tomorrow I'll ride alone. All in time, I suppose.
And this way is better than the alternatives. Yeah, I could trade Beamer in for a tamer, tired nag. I could settle for pony rides at the fair. Perhaps I could just watch as Mom rode and be semi-satisfied to live vicariously. Or I could put the tack in storage and turn the horse out to pasture for the rest of her days.
But no. I want to ride a horse with spirit: a horse that keeps me sharp. I want a trail companion that challenges me to stay focused on the joint effort at hand. Is this the safest way? Is it certain disaster? On both counts, no. But it could be beautiful. After all, there is nothing better than galloping across the creek bed in Fall.
And yes, my life plans have changed. That doesn't mean I am without future or hope. The Lord must've had something else in mind. And so I move forward slowly... sore body and unsure feet.
Now I know that falling off a runaway horse isn't the type of thing to make most people scrutinize their lives. However, after sustaining unexpected trauma to the head and left leg, I've realized that this accident has become the window pane through which I survey my life (as it was, as it is, and what it should be).
The morning after, I woke to find current time an unfamiliar place. It was very unnerving... kind of like having the wind knocked out of me. MY plans, MY future, MY hopes: all of these things were seemingly dashed by two carefree horses in a matter of minutes. As it turns out, I'm no longer moving to the Rockies. And now that I can't run for a couple of weeks, I've been forced to sell my Atlanta Half Marathon entry to someone else. I don't have a job or insurance, and currently I live with my crazy family, AGAIN! At the age of 24! What now?!
I move. With divine help, no doubt.
But moving is so painful and slow when coming back from what's been inflicted upon my hopes and body. The couch begins to look like a plush retreat, and the horse can have a day off to play in the pasture. And if I let the couch comfort me and the horse run free too long, these days could matriculate into weeks. Fear and self-preservation, hand in hand, could take hold.
I'd like to believe that I've learned, through this little exercise, not to protect myself with that double-edged sword. Don't get me wrong, I didn't ride Beamer the day after the accident or even a few days after the accident. Proper healing time is essential. Just ask anyone who rushes into something as a sort of "rebound". That almost certainly causes further damage (and in some cases, more severe).
No, I waited almost two weeks to ride again. Two days ago, Mom rode the horse as I sat in the pasture. I was content to watch, and at the same time, I was terrified about having to get back in the saddle. Yesterday Mom rode Beamer again. And, knowing that my leg could carry my full weight again, I was worried about getting on the horse. However, after encouraging me, Mom held the horse still as I hoisted myself to the top of Beamer. It was a scary height. At any moment she might bolt. Or at least I thought. But she didn't, and Mom led her back to the barn with me nervously gripping tight.
Today I got on alone. I rode while Mom watched, and maybe tomorrow I'll ride alone. All in time, I suppose.
And this way is better than the alternatives. Yeah, I could trade Beamer in for a tamer, tired nag. I could settle for pony rides at the fair. Perhaps I could just watch as Mom rode and be semi-satisfied to live vicariously. Or I could put the tack in storage and turn the horse out to pasture for the rest of her days.
But no. I want to ride a horse with spirit: a horse that keeps me sharp. I want a trail companion that challenges me to stay focused on the joint effort at hand. Is this the safest way? Is it certain disaster? On both counts, no. But it could be beautiful. After all, there is nothing better than galloping across the creek bed in Fall.
And yes, my life plans have changed. That doesn't mean I am without future or hope. The Lord must've had something else in mind. And so I move forward slowly... sore body and unsure feet.
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