One reason for my jauntiness may be that I’ve been spending more time at the barn helping out. I’ve really enjoyed the relationships I develop with all the horses - not just my own. But especially the newer ones I’m only just getting to know. Like Miley. Miley is a lovely small horse, who has been living in the barn rehabbing from an injury. Each day, I look forward to her pretty face popping out of her stall when she hears me coming. She’s been so gentle and sweet that I’ve developed a bit of a crush on her and love checking in with her throughout the day.

Funny thing about recovery though, is that now that she’s feeling better, her feistiness has been coming out and, in a sort of cute way, she can get a little pissy.

She gets gently walked around the property every day as part of her physical therapy. These walks started off slowly with frequent stops and her little bit of a limp was visible. But now that she’s not so sore, she wants to really move and I have to hold her back.

It’s hard to explain to a horse that you’re just trying to keep them from reinjuring themselves. Miley doesn’t care. She wants to be outside and running around. And having recovered from a few injuries myself, I can really empathize with her restlessness.

Eventually, she’ll be fully recovered and back to her pasture where I know she’ll be happier. I’ll miss visiting with her but it’ll be good to see her healed and in her element. Even if she is a little pissy.

As with all things, nothing lasts forever. Whether good or bad, there will be another season and just as we do now in Spring, we welcome new growth.

Working, like really working, not just hanging out, at the ranch, has been great for me. The more I handle horses, take care of horses, and even ride more horses, my knowledge grows and so does my confidence. I’m not going to lie, it’s hard, dirty work. But I’d rather be handling horses, getting my hands knee deep in mushy feed, and mucking pile after pile of manure than being trapped inside an office any day. I go home filthy, sweaty, sore, exhausted, and so very happy.

Between the ranch, my horses, and my Pilates practice, my life is so very different than it used to be.

I used to wake up in the morning and groan, trying to get my game face on during my long commute. Trying to keep my smile in place while sitting through meeting after meeting, many completely unnecessary. Trying to find meaning in what was mostly meaningless, or a positive lesson I could take from what was increasingly negative and toxic. All while trying to maintain some balance and stability while the corporate engine exerted control of employees through threats of job and income loss.

I would sometimes look out the window from my office and wonder how my horses were doing while wishing I could be with them. It seemed a dream that was so far away.

When I had my accident and took up Pilates to continue my rehabilitation and healing, I remember struggling to hold a plank. Recovering from a fractured back, broken ribs, and a badly broken arm repaired with metal, I was unable to hold myself up for long. And the classic Pilates pose of Teaser (for those who don’t know it’s balancing on your rear and forming a “v” with your body) seemed unattainable. But now, well, not only can I do all of that and more, I teach others and hope to help them progress as I did.

Leaving the Pilates studio last week, one of my students walking next to me asked, now that I was done teaching for the day, what did I have planned?

“Well, I’ll swing by the ranch and check in on my horses. Then I’ll head home and play with my dog and have some late lunch. Then I might write a few pages and at some point, since my day started at 4:00am, I’ll probably pass out and nap for a bit.”

She smiled and looked at me for a moment and said, “Your life sounds amazing.”

I stopped in my tracks as I realized she was right. “You know what?” I said, “It doesn’t suck.”

Life moves on and what you struggle with now will one day be just a memory. So, try to flow with it, and find what you can enjoy. And if you feel you can’t do that, just hang on the best you can. Nothing really is forever and, as Spring reminds us, seasons change.

Coming back from injury, I’ve talked about my struggles and occasional triumphs around getting back into the saddle. It took time for me and my wonderful trainer to find the right rhythm and focus for lessons that allowed me to take it slowly but still progress. In her genius, my trainer has been teaching me in small, focused sessions where we focus first on the basics, then progress to movements where I have to learn how to use my body, my cues, to communicate with my horse in a way they not only understand but appreciate.

It has changed my way of riding and made me a better rider now while providing the foundation to continue to grow.

Recently, I’d been trying to master a turn on the forehand. It’s basically trying to move Ty’s hind end around while keeping his front end still. It’s a move he knows well. The problem was mine trying to communicate this to him. So, my trainer and I broke it down and working through each element of the maneuver, found that with a shift of my foot position, Ty finally understood what I was asking. We accomplished the move.

One shift of my foot position, that was the nugget. Every lesson, I find one. One shiny piece of information that registers in my brain and changes the outcome. Like when I finally figured out how to cue Trudy in a completely different way than I cue Ty, and it worked. Or finding the right placement of my hands to help keep Ty straight. Little things that are not so little in the end.

It’s kind of funny to me that I worried about my brain going stale once I retired. What I have found is exactly the opposite. When I think about it, I’ve spent most of my life responding to the expectations of others. First my parents and family, then the military, then employers, even a spouse and other relationship partners. Always trying to be what others wanted. Sometimes with success, many times not.

I’m generally competent and reasonably intelligent so I’ve been able to have some small success in my life. But for so much of it, I’ve felt restless and unsatisfied and at times it was difficult to mask those feelings. I sometimes think if I had been better at faking it, I would’ve accomplished so much more!

But would it have made me happier? I doubt it. Just look at the world now. All those billionaires and their accomplishments and what the world considers amazing success. And yet I can’t name one that seems happy to me. Just look at the list of rich and powerful in the Epstein files. People so miserable and unsatisfied that they participated in horrible things just to try to feel something, anything, regardless of who they hurt and destroyed in the process. But that’s more airtime than any of them deserve in my blog.

For me, settling now into “retirement” I’m finding myself learning constantly, all the time. But this time, for the most part, I get to choose the subject. And this time, I’m older, slower, more precise, and dare I say wiser. The way I learn now is different and the little bits of wisdom I find are precious.

Figuring out the right amount of lightness and pressure that makes Trudy happy? Nugget. Realizing that Ty, my brilliantly trained Friesian, just needs me to catch up with him and give him the correct cues he’s looking for? Nugget. Understanding my dog Alya is not broken, just reacting from fear? Nugget. Learning a Pilates movement and practicing it so I can feel where it hits in my body so I can teach my students effectively? Nugget. Understanding I need to keep in touch with friends and colleagues, so I don’t become isolated? Nugget.

Nuggets, light bulb moments, glimmers even; whatever you call them, these little bits of treasure accumulate and create change, growth, improvement, and, dare I say, contentment.

And really when you look at that pile of gold, a common theme I see is communication. Communicating with my students, my animals, all the people in my life.

I think back on my life in the corporate world. Most of the time communication was a one-way street. Information always coming at me, expectations being laid out for me, then feedback about how well I was meeting those expectations (or not) being dumped on me. As a people manager, I tried to hold space and listen to my team. But even so I can imagine they felt like, and rightly so, I was just there to translate the messages from above and ensure we continued to progress toward goals that others had set for us.

Being a middle manager, if no one has told you before, is pretty thankless. You can generally be assured that at any given time, someone above or below you will be unhappy and somehow it will be all your fault.

These days the only person I really have to report to is myself. Yes, and also my horses and my dog. Oh, right and my trainer and my editor and….

Okay, like Bob Dylan sang, you’re gonna have to serve somebody. The difference here is the satisfaction I feel when I pick up one of those nuggets is so much better than any corporate feedback ever could have been. The moment I know my horse and I are in sync, the times my dog comes back to me in recall, the smile on a friend’s face when they see me walk in the room, or the glimmer of recognition, the head nod, of a Pilates student when they feel in their body what I’ve been trying to teach them.

People, like horses, are living breathing souls, chock full of feelings and opinions. And there is no such thing as control over another living soul. But communication and understanding can get us where we want to go.

Nugget.

p.s. If you liked this post, please remember to like, share, comment. It helps me feed the algorithm and makes it happy.

But of course, those are just feelings and feelings aren’t facts. So, we push on and keep going.

Thankfully, I was on the way to my happy place, the barn. The place I knew I needed to return to after decades away. The place I was convinced would help me heal from cancer and illness and grief. The place I knew I needed to counter the dreariness and stress of a corporate job. The place where I could learn more about horses and enjoy the beauty of nature and leave everything else behind.

That morning when I arrived, I got the good news that I would get to ride Ty for the first time in weeks. He’s had a problem with an abscess in his hoof that was being stubborn, so we’d been giving him plenty of time to heal.

Friesians have these big, furry feet that are like giant mops sucking up moisture. While he was being treated, we had a good spell of rain so we made sure his stall stayed dry and added extra shavings. We’d walk him inside the barn or, during breaks in the weather, we’d walk him along dryest parts of the trail. Once the round pen was dry enough for him to get some exercise, my trainer and I took him out there. We were chatting for a second while he was at liberty until we looked up to see him standing in the one puddle – the ONE puddle – still remaining. Boyfriend was not helping!

Anyway, now I was so pleased for him to be back to full form and it was a treat to be riding him again. It felt amazing. We were able to work slowly and focus on an exercise I’ve yet to master. I mean seriously, turning on the forehand looks so easy when everyone else does it but I struggle to get his ginormous rear end to move while all the time keeping his front end still. I actually got a cramp in my hip for my troubles if that tells you anything. The good thing is I was so focused on this move I could ignore the undercurrent of anxiety I’d been feeling.

I know this sounds a little woo-woo but there are actual studies that have proven the ability of horses to synchronize their hearts with humans familiar to them. Thankfully Ty brought me down to his relaxed “I’m just a cool dude who stands in puddles” level, not the other way around.

It was just me and my Ty. My past life, current life, future life, forever heart. We’re a bonded pair, the two of us, and just being in his orbit calms me.

Later in the morning, since I was feeling a little more settled, I decided to also ride Trudy. Looking back, this may have been a step too far.

Trudy is a very different soul than Ty. They each represent a different part of me. I love Trudy to bits and she is the reason this blog was started. But my Tennessee Walking Horse with the beautiful face and soulful eyes, has lots and lots of opinions that she readily shares.

Ours is a heart connection too, but it’s more like me professing my undying love for her and her saying, “yes, you are absolutely correct to do so and, frankly, why wouldn’t you?” Oh, and she might begrudgingly let me hug her if no one is looking.

Ty is big and strong and requires clear, definitive cues. Trudy demands lightness in hands and legs and does not respond well to pressure. Sometimes switching from one to the other is a challenge, especially if I have any anxiety brewing. And, of course, I did.

There’s no sugar coating it. The world feels like a scarier place than any time I can remember. It’s tempting to try and ignore what is happening somewhere else but anyone with even an ounce of empathy finds that impossible. It hurts to see families in distress. It hurts to see people, especially those trying to help others, shot and killed. It hurts to know that people you care for, neighbors you know, individuals and families that intersect with you every day, are being marginalized and reduced to living in fear.

It is so demoralizing when you think it can’t get any worse – and then it does.

Though I rode Trudy out to the trail, I ended up walking her back in. I just could not get my heart and body to regulate. Where I was able to focus and ignore it while on Ty, Trudy’s extra forward “I don’t feel like stopping when you ask me” energy overwhelmed me. I’d been teetering on the edge and this just pushed me over.

All of that grief, horror, and rage that I’d been trying to stuff down were bubbling away in my body.

But those are just feelings. Feelings aren’t facts. Until one day they are. Sitting there on Trudy, I felt everything. And with that, I dismounted and put my feet back on solid ground.

On the walk back to the barn I took the time for a heart-to-heart and reconnected with her. I reminded her of my undying love and she accepted with a, “well, duh, of course you do” toss of her head.

My desire to be a good person, a good friend, a good owner, a good horsewoman, and a good rider, can take over sometimes. After all I was raised to be a “good girl” and to not cause trouble or problems for anyone.

The noise of the rest of the world has been so intense and so loud, I’ve been living life with no room for myself. Trying to stay small – again. But if I don’t allow myself to feel my feelings, I cannot move forward.

And Trudy, because she thinks it’s her job, makes sure I feel them - every last one of them. I suffer such shame when I feel like I’ve failed and of course I had to work my way through that.

But you know what? It was okay. It was good. I have the right to fail sometimes, and I have the right to feel vulnerable.

I stayed at the barn for hours. Bathing in the presence of nature and animals and my barn family’s humor that eventually pulled me out of my self-flagellation.

The barn has always been my sanctuary. It still is.

So sure, feelings are not facts. Nonetheless, feelings are real. Allow yourself to have them.

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Practicing feel is something we’ve restarted in lessons in the new year and I want to continue to refine. That’s not a resolution, mind you. I know that January is the month for resolutions. But not for me. Resolutions feel arbitrary and performative. They are like pronouncements I’m not ready to make. I don’t have enough information yet. I don’t know what’s coming. And frankly, if there is something I need to work on, I don’t see any point to hanging about waiting for the new year to give me permission.

That said, a new year can be a good time to take a look back and acknowledge where I’ve been, what I’ve been through, and how I came through it.

Usually when I do this, I experience moments where I pat myself on the back at how far I’ve come. Occasionally, I might wish to rap myself on the knuckles for making a misguided decision that likely resulted in a mess. But honestly, even in those moments I can find the lesson; the biggest of all being that a mistake isn’t really a mistake at all, but just a “teachable moment”.

Now listen, I’m not really trying to write a self-help book here and I promise I’m not always positive and zen. I curse something awful when I’m driving, I eat a shocking amount of sugar for a diabetic, and I buy more leggings and shoes than any human with only two legs and feet could ever wear. I periodically beat myself senseless over past idiocy, long after it matters to the universe. And I still find myself awake at three in the morning sweating over whether some quip I made trying to be funny was actually just annoying, or worst of all, accidentally insulting. Ooh, I also run a tally in my head of people I may have offended even though it’s likely most of them don’t even remember me, much less anything I may or may not have said to them.

You might wonder if that gets exhausting. Well, yes. Yes, it does.

But enough about my “teachable” qualities. Let me tell you about last year. For me, 2025 started without a job, my career in the financial industry having come to a close. The year ended with me working on my Pilates Teacher certification and beginning to work at a chain of studios here in LA.

From Banking to Pilates in one fell swoop. All of this, directly or indirectly, a result of falling off my beautiful horse. Twice.

Now please, please, don’t feel like you have to fall off a horse to leave your job or learn Pilates or to make any other life change. Really. There are less painful ways to get the message. That method was reserved for me and my thick head, with the universal acknowledgement that I’m a fast healer. Supposedly.

Pilates has been a lifesaving practice for me. Not only has it been integral for me to heal the broken bits but has truly helped me transform and reshape my entire body and even refocus my mind. I’m stronger, leaner, and much more fit for riding my horses safely.

Yet now that I’m leading Pilates classes on a regular basis, it will come as no surprise to you that I lay awake questioning who I think I am trying to teach anyone anything. I spend a stupid amount of time replaying my class in my head and criticizing it. Wondering if I cued that correctly or if I rushed through an exercise or sweating over trying to get through fifty minutes of the next class and, oh my god, what if I totally blank? And my favorite twinkie: what if they all hate me and think I’m the worst teacher ever?

See? Not very zen.

For someone who recognizes I have never been and never will be perfect, I can spend an awful lot of time impersonating a perfectionist.

This is even more obvious as I work on compiling past blog posts for a book I wish to publish. And let me tell you, I blush at my past writing. Reading some of my early blogs makes me cringe. They are overly long, overly sentimental, and I can tell that I was still finding my voice and my reason for writing. And of course they are full of mistakes. I mean, ahem, teachable bits.

But I carry on, hoping to continue growing and evolving. Very little progress gets made by just sitting alone and wishing, as tempting as that can be. You have to actually DO something, and likely fail a few times, for real growth to happen. You have to get into that saddle and feel it.

So, if you reel, stumble, and wobble through life making a shit ton of teachable moments, it’s okay.

Not to be a broken record here, but Pilates could help you with that wobble. I know a teacher, if you’re interested.

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Though I do wonder what movies they’d enjoy. Trudy is such a strong and grounded character, I’ll bet she’d like Alien. She’d be Ripley, saving humanity from all their nonsense. “Again!”, she’d say, looking into the camera and rolling her eyes as the credits roll.

Ty is such a sensitive soul, so romantic. Maybe a Jane Austen adaptation. “Oh, that Elizabeth Bennett,” he’d say, “so proud”, as he looks soulfully into the lens. And all the girls would swoon.

Except Trudy, of course. No time for that. She has a world to save.

The other day I went to an actual film festival. Completely horse-free. Well, sort of. Since I live in the LA area you’d think I do this all the time, but I don’t. Even though I have a lot of artsy Hollywood friends and acquaintances and two nephews who are filmmakers, I’m not really one of those people. I like seeing films but if it’s a fancy big deal, I get very stressed at the thought of being gawked at and judged for what I’m wearing, or not wearing, or how much I weigh, or how old I look. My fragile self-esteem can’t handle it.

In reality though, most film festivals are not glamorous affairs, and thankfully this one was small and pleasant. I was there to see a screening of “Blue Zeus” about a wild mustang stallion and his band who were forced off of their land by the Bureau of Land Management.

The plight of wild mustangs in the US has been a cause I’ve cared about for some time. They have been brutally removed from their ancestral lands in horrific roundups and in the process, many are killed or injured to the point they must be destroyed. Those who survive that terror are shoved into overcrowded pens in generally deplorable conditions. They can waste away like that, in long-term holding, until they succumb to age, injury, or disease. A few are sold and adopted into actual homes to people who care about them, but many more are sold to monsters and more often than is morally comprehensible, end up in the slaughter pipeline and shipped away to meet horrible ends.

This movie is the true story of how Skydog Sanctuary not only rescued Blue Zeus but searched for and finally found his family, bringing them back together to live free again on the sanctuary’s 9000 acres in Oregon.

The reunion of this family is a happier and more satisfying ending than you’ll find in any Hallmark movie. Such a moving and beautiful film, shot artfully and with such heart. If you ever get the chance to see it, you really should.

So, you might ask yourself, what have wild mustangs done to deserve such treatment? Well, nothing. The problem is, you see, there are a lot of greedy, heartless bastards who want that land for their own use and have deemed the mustangs to be disposable and of little to no value.

No Value.

It makes me want to scream. How can anyone look at these beautiful creatures and not see the soul behind those eyes? Or convince themselves these creatures have no feelings and do not form connections and families or do not feel love? Seeing them and their majesty, how can anyone not care about them being slaughtered? Or, for that matter, how can anyone be arrogant enough to declare any living being to be of no value?

We, like all animals, are only here on this earth for a short period of time. I don’t know if the cosmic whack-a-mole that resulted in life was just a fluke or whether there is really some deeper meaning or purpose. You can give yourself a truly cracking headache wondering about it. But it does seem to me, given the temporary nature of our time here, that we shouldn’t be wasting it being unkind and cruel. Or by being so fixated on money or power or the accumulation of things that we harden ourselves to the suffering we see or, even worse, the suffering we cause.

During the holiday season, it’s so easy to get wrapped up in material things. There are gifts to buy and receive, décor to hang, special meals to make, tips to leave. It’s so much pressure and it feels like there is a price tag on everything.

Yet, my favorite Christmas memories are small experiences. Like arriving at the airport and running into my mother’s arms, both of us in tears. Or the quiet afternoons, taking a nap while your parents favorite classical music plays in the background, feeling completely safe and at peace. And the laughter, invariably at something ridiculous that loses something in the telling but leaves you breathless and knowing you’ll never laugh that way with anyone else ever again. It’s a string of moments, vignettes captured in time, that I wish with all my heart I could have again.

Perhaps this year we can stop stressing about “stuff” and appreciate real life and all that comes with it. Especially love and family. And we can acknowledge that family comes in many forms, whether the one to which we’re born or the one we choose and build. Like Blue Zeus and his band. A family that shares the same bonds that we do. A family that is just as precious as my family and yours.

Because all life is precious. And all life has value.

I mean, if it didn’t, Trudy wouldn’t be working so hard to save us all the time, would she?

But I admit that this set me to wondering: where in our lives do we feel safe enough and comfortable enough to just relax into being fully ourselves? When and where and with whom can we be truly authentic, no costume required?

When I started riding horses again, I tried all different ways to get myself past the accident and the lingering PTSD from it. I had days when I tried unsuccessfully to tough it out and push through the fear. I would mount up and pretend I was fine, until my body started shaking uncontrollably and there was no getting around or through it.

As time went on I could gently “fake it till you make it” a bit more. But in the end, I had to be honest with myself and transparent with others by acknowledging what I was experiencing and just letting myself feel it.

God bless my trainer who, in her infinite patience, tried all kinds of ways to work with me until we finally hit on the place where we are now – low pressure lessons in a controlled environment – where I have the space and safety to progress a little more every week.

And, of course, it means everything to me that I have a lovely horse who, having come through some of his own issues, is willing to meet me where I am.

So yes, I’ve been thinking about this, and a lot of things, lately. The last couple of years have been chock full of change. Not just in my own life but everywhere. While there’s a lot in the world I’d argue is worse, there are also things that are better. And a bundle that is neither better nor worse, just different.

Taking a look around, very little appears the same as it once was, including me.

There used to be a shape to my daily life, a pattern that I knew. And while I wasn’t particularly content with much of it, I recognized it. I knew who I needed to be to make it work.

That shape doesn’t fit now, and I’m not always sure what skills or what part of me that I need to bring to the table. I try to be open and flexible, to just see where it takes me. I don’t always manage and have to fight off the dreaded “what ifs” cycling around in my head, hunting for danger and pitfalls. There are times when I’ve been detached, a little shut down, not sure if it is safe to expose my true self, even stepping back a little from those who know and love me best.

But the only way forward is to accept what has been.

Earlier this year I hosted a memorial for my brother. His mental illness and the trauma filled childhood I experienced because of it had cast a long shadow over my life. It was a cloud I lived under for so long that the darkness had become a part of me, affecting every relationship I ever had and everything I ever dreamt of achieving.

Finding him, who had been missing for so long we had presumed him dead, was a shock. And while he was dead by the time we found him, he had just passed. For forty years he’d been missing but alive. Though his life, full of illness and addiction, was surely not a happy one.

It is hard to describe the shock, pain, and ultimately, the relief of finally having a real ending to his story. Having some answers now, could we, could I, finally move past the darkness?

In the process of planning his memorial, I resurrected some sweet memories of a time before. Stored away with old photos and keepsakes, there was a letter he had written to me before sickness took hold of him. It was just a note accompanying a birthday gift written with love from an older brother to a little sister. Like a perfect piece of innocence that thankfully I had managed to save all these years.

That letter, those memories, allowed some light to break through. And slowly my perspective changed. I had seen myself as damaged, different, unlovable. But here in my hand I had proof to the contrary. From the person who, in so many ways, had more impact on my life than anyone else.

Perhaps this message was the legacy he meant to leave. Perhaps this is the memory that means the most. Someone loved me just because he did.

I feel like my life is remodeling itself. Like some amorphous cloud it is formless now but eventually will settle into something with shape, with matter. This is both exciting and frightening.

So, for today, I just keep moving forward, one step, one ride, one word at a time. Trusting the universe to see me through. I ride my big, beautiful, deeply soulful black gelding as I work my way back onto my strong-willed, funny, and opinionated gray mare. Each of them so very different from each other and each with so many more lessons to teach me.

It has been a rocky ride this year, yet here we are in November. The month of the Thanksgiving holiday in the US (which to be honest, is a holiday that has roots in some problematic history). But when taking my place at the table this year I can allow myself to be present and, in the moment, grateful to be surrounded by people who don’t need me to be anything other than who and what I am.

No costume required.

I don’t know about you, but I like this time of year. A cool breeze starts to blow and here in SoCal we might finally get some rain. There are milder temperatures to enjoy, a crispness in the air, and the smell of pumpkin spice stirred into your coffee. Or baked into your muffin. Or burning in your candle. Or mixed into your dog’s treats. Or wafting from your scented trash bags.

Yeah, okay, so we go a little whacky for the pumpkin spice. But I still like Autumn. In fact, if I had to choose between holidays, I’d probably take Halloween over Christmas. Spooky decorations and ghoulish costumes, chasing away demons and warding off evil. And let’s face it, with things as they are in our world right now, we need to do some serious warding.

Obviously, on top of that, there’s candy. Candy for the kids. And maybe some for me. I want candy for me. So. Much. Candy. For me.

I have an incredibly creative barn bestie who really outdoes herself this time of year. Not only does she have some amazing costumes for her gorgeous horse, but every week she and her husband arrange a new Halloween tableau on their lawn. Each depicting a scene from the life of a family of skeletons, known as “The Skellies”. The originality and humor in some of these displays is beyond anything I could ever come up with and endlessly entertaining. (Note: you can check the displays out on Instagram @skelliesonwelly)

I love The Skellies and seeing our horses decked out, but if I’m honest, I’m not great at the whole costume thing for myself. Many, many moons ago, when I was working as an actor, I felt like I spent a lot of time dressed up and pretending to be someone else and I didn’t really have energy for it at Halloween. But time has passed and thinking about it, I’ve come to realize that we all dress up for whatever role we’re taking on.

Such as my first job at a grocery store and that god awful double-knit getup we were required to wear (seriously, I can’t believe we wore that stuff). Or my uniform at the Sheriff’s Office. Or even more, when I was in the military and my many uniform variations: khakis, camo, dress, formal. And then the corporate world. It is generally more casual now but there was a time when suits with skirts were the norm and, you won’t believe this, we had to wear pantyhose.

Yes, pantyhose! It’s shocking I know.

But all these uniforms, or costumes, had a reason for being, a specific presentation goal. While working for a prominent financial firm in New York, I had a meeting set for a final negotiation of a multimillion-dollar deal with a supplier’s representative. He was too aggressive by far and was always trying to manipulate me. He could barely disguise his own misogyny, and he tended get oddly sweaty and whiny whenever I countered any argument he was trying to make. I found him incredibly annoying. So that day I purposely wore a very flattering and sharp designer suit and some pricey high heels that made me tower over him. It gave me the boost of confidence that I needed and, judging by his behavior, he was suitably intimidated.

Perhaps I wasn’t driving out demons or warding off evil (or was I?), but my costume had the effect I was looking for. Costumes are for how we wish to be seen by the world but perhaps even more, they are about how we wish to see ourselves.

I tried partnering with my horse for a costume event. About three years ago, I decided that I would dress up as a character from Lord of the Rings, with Ty as my noble steed. I found a long medieval style dress for me, and had a caparison made for Ty. A caparison, or trapper, is the medieval cloth covering on horses, usually showing a coat of arms or other identifying design. I had one made with the symbols of Rohan, the kingdom of horse riders in Tolkien’s world. It matched my dress and was made to Ty’s measurements. I was quite looking forward to our Halloween parade at the ranch.

Sadly, that was the October I flew off of Ty and shattered my shoulder and wrist (the first time, for those of you keeping score). I certainly couldn’t get on Ty and with my shoulder such a mess I could barely dress myself. My costume clearly wasn’t happening. But I did make it out to the ranch for photos with Ty. He looked so handsome. And then there is me standing beside him, hiding my sling behind some random costume items someone had brought to the barn, seriously hopped up on pain killers. Not my best look.

But just as seasons pass, so do difficult times. I’m all healed up now and getting better at looking the part of a competent equestrian.

In one of the Pilates Teacher Training classes, I had to “teach” someone else in front of the class. It’s pretty intimidating to do this when you’re just learning and don’t know what you’re actually doing yet. But practice is how we get there, right? So, I switched into my professionally honed “presenter” voice and did my best to not fumble around for words as I made my way through it. Our instructor commented that I came across very confident to which I responded that it was all a façade. It’s just that my costume of the day was that of Pilates teacher.

You know, I think maybe deep down we’re all still just little kids, playing dress up and pretending to be grown-ups doing grown-up things.

And you know what? That is okay with me. Because kids get all the candy.

As a sickly asthmatic kid, Joseph Pilates focused his energy on improving his health and his life. He became a true believer and advocate of physical fitness. Finding himself in a prisoner of war camp during WWI, he kept himself and his fellow prisoners fit with regular exercise. He devised methods for helping injured soldiers recover through movement, even finding ways to help those confined to bed by using the bedsprings for resistance training. After the war he moved to the US and continued his rehabilitative efforts, working with ballet dancers and other athletes while sharing his message and knowledge broadly.

Pilates originally called his practice “Contrology” and I rather like that term. I find myself applying it, with my own connotation, to my life overall.

I’ve been inspired by this man’s story and by Pilates as a practice in general. After my accident, I was tired of physical therapy and felt like it was okay for the specific injuries we were focused on, but I wanted to do more. I wanted to rehabilitate and strengthen my whole body, aiming not just to recover certain functions, but to be in the best possible shape I could be to help prevent injury in the future. I switched from physical therapy to Pilates classes at my local studio.

I’ve been active in one way or another most of my life, at least until “the sick years”, when cancer and multiple infections resulted in many surgeries, huge weight gain and, honestly, a lot of depression. I’ve written before that my quest to find joy and something to bring me back was the impetus for once again having horses in my life.

Funny how a single decision can make such a difference.

I still count to three before I mount my horse Ty. Having come off him twice, the reason is mental as well as physical. When I was first getting back on, it was a lot about feeling weak physically and using my breath to help me climb up and over. Now, feeling my leg easily sail over with plenty of clearance, I know my strength is there but the breathing and counting continues and is now an effort to center and ground myself. A way to breathe through any fear that might try creep in.

Now, I know things happen and horses are living beings who can have their moments. Things you can’t predict. But I should be, as the rider, as well equipped to handle what comes as I can. And that means to be stronger through my body, and eventually my mind, than I was before.

Seeing an older woman who was still carrying extra weight from my “sick years”, the orthopedic doctors who visited me while I was in the hospital didn’t expect much from my recovery. One even suggested not worrying about fixing my shoulder, which was a ludicrous statement as we could all see a piece of the broken bone pressing up against my skin as it painfully slipped further and further down my arm every day. (Don’t get me started on that guy!)

Now with a proud one fingered salute to him, I stand here showing off my amazing recovery. It has surpassed all of my doctor’s (even the good ones) expectations and I am stronger and leaner than before my accidents. The accidents weren’t fun, but what I’ve gained in the aftermath of them, has been nothing short of miraculous.

I remind myself of that when I’m standing on the mounting block, counting to three.

So, after my ride on Ty this past weekend, I got myself cleaned up and headed out to the studio for my first weekend of Pilates teacher training. Yes, I’ve turned into one of those people who found something so effective they turn into a (hopefully not obnoxious) fanatic. I am just beginning my journey to receive the credentials I need to be able to teach what I’ve discovered.

I think back to being in the bed of my last hospital stay. The bed with the alarm that would go off if I tried to get up by myself because, with a back fracture and all those ribs broken, not to mention my mangled arm, I wasn’t supposed to do that on my own. I really was that broken.

I didn’t know the story of Joseph Pilates then, overcoming all the health issues he did to become a scion of physical wellbeing. But I do know it now, and it really strikes a chord.

As I work through the teacher training course, I’m staying as present as I can, not trying to think too far ahead about what I plan to do with those credentials once I get them.

I’m no Joseph Pilates (I don’t even know if he had horses), but I hope one day I can pay something forward and help someone the same way I’ve been helped. I can show them they still have plenty of strength and plenty of life ahead of them.

And maybe the next time a woman has been made to feel she is too old to bother with, I can be there to help her prove everyone wrong.

I guess it’s a rule of Nature that how we appear to others is often not how we feel inside.

I’m a “live and let live” person when it comes to wildlife, so I haven’t really worried too much about this vole that lives in my garden. A couple of weeks ago I heard a ruckus in the yard and heard my German Shepherd, Alya, yelp like she’d been injured. Naturally I went running, only to come upon a surreal scene, like some kind of standoff before a duel at high noon. The vole, looking a little wet and rumpled but unbowed, was staring down Alya, who was now unsure about what she’d gotten herself into. I nodded at the vole and got a hold of Alya, who seemed relieved I was stepping in, if only to salvage her dignity.

You have to be impressed by something the size of a gerbil taking down a German Shepherd. Alya was not physically injured, but whatever he did to her made an impression.

With a flounce and a cranky grumble, not giving a literal rat’s ass, the vole stomped off to his lair, stopping to grab a couple of sticks on his way, sneering as he said, “This is mine, and this one, and yeah, this one is mine, too.” I could only salute him as he faded from sight.

Just as most horses don’t see themselves as big and as powerful, the vole did not see himself as small. And Alya, who is of a size that can scare a full-grown man (and has) felt vulnerable. We as humans can sometimes have the same dilemma.

Years ago, I worked for a woman who was (there’s no nice way to say this) a complete and utter and horrid bully. Initially I had empathy for her, knowing something about how she was raised by a brutal mother. But she never seemed to understand that she was behaving the same way. She hated women and was particularly hard on me. It really was so bad that even my male colleagues could see what was happening and became my allies. She would ignore my ideas and belittle my accomplishments in meetings. Yet, if one of my male colleagues raised the same idea, she would think it was great. It got so bad I learned to text my suggestion or solution to one of my male colleagues and he would raise it so it could be heard.

I found myself feeling smaller and smaller. Fearful. On the outside I may have looked fine but on the inside I felt broken.

Could I have handled it differently, refused to back down? I tried sometimes but there wasn’t much help to be had from her superiors. Ultimately it became just an effort to survive; to figure out a way to manage her so I could keep my job, protect my people, and hopefully retain some semblance of my sanity.

It’s not only horses, for all their size and stature, that can be incredibly sensitive. Sometimes things outside of ourselves can feel way too big to handle. So much of how we show up in the world boils down to how we see ourselves and what we tell ourselves.

When I get back on a horse and am frightened, I feel vulnerable. Too often I hear an inner voice that is berating me for being such a wimp, for wasting my trainer’s time, for being a poser. The voice that tells me not to put on my good boots to ride because I’m not worthy of them if I’m just going to sit there.

Seriously. That inner voice is such a bitch. I know that she came with the intention of protecting me but run amok she’d have me believe that any risk is not worth taking.

But sometimes, I get to hear the other one, the cheerleader, who reminds me what I’ve overcome to be here. How someone else might have buckled and let themselves be disabled but not you! You worked hard to heal your body and now you’re being so brave by coming back out here and getting back on. You are a good rider. And darn it, you wear those nice boots, girlfriend!

I like her. She’s nice. She’s a bit quieter than she should be sometimes. But I’m glad she’s there. She helps counter all the negative.

To sit on a horse, to ride a horse successfully, requires balance. Harmony and strength in nature is not about who is big and who is small, or who is bold and who is cautious, but in the balance of both existing and working together.

Staying balanced is not easy. We’re living in a world where bad people make themselves large to frighten and control us. But the truth is that those who seek to make us feel small are small themselves. It’s down to us to stand strong and stand together. To hold each other up and amplify each other’s voices when we are feeling unheard.

And if you hear a plastic bottle crackling behind you, I am 99.99% sure it’s not a monster. So, you know, just keep calm and carry on.

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Don’t get me wrong, I’m aware of his potential to spook and the explosive nature of it. All our riding for now is in the smaller pen, in close quarters with my trainer close by. It’s a very controlled environment. But I’m doing it. Or rather we are doing it, Ty and I, together.

When I was younger, anything that scared me became a challenge to overcome. Bad dreams about drowning? Pardon me while I scuba dive the world. Heights a problem? Hold my beer for me while I jump out of this perfectly good airplane.

God, I miss that bravado. I miss that audacity to think I can muscle my way through anything that dares to stand in my way. I miss that inexhaustible drive to prove myself to…well, myself.

I’m older now, theoretically wiser, and considerably more mellow. But honestly sometimes it doesn’t feel like I’ve been mellowed. It feels like I’ve been cowed. Beaten down. And I don’t like it. I want to resurrect that Feisty Girl who took on the world. She was a pain in the neck sometimes but dang she kicked ass.

When I had my second riding accident, there were those who tried to suggest perhaps a woman my age should consider giving up riding horses. I felt some of that feistiness then. While the mature woman I am now found tactful ways to thank them for their concern, Feisty Girl wanted to tell them where they could stuff their suggestion.

That stubbornness is what drove me to push myself so hard physically to recover that I’m leaner and considerably stronger now than I was when I was injured.

I know that there are times that anger, that desire to punch a wall – or a face - can be useful when channeled. It’s not always destructive. But it can be complicated to manage and difficult to pinpoint. Sometimes the sheer depth of my anger scares me. And sometimes it’s unclear what triggered the anger, and even harder to find the root of it. And so, I tamp it down until it looks like something else.

Lately I’ve been feeling terribly low. So inconsequential. In my quest to keep the peace, I see that I’ve allowed myself to shrink. At times I’ve been so non-confrontational, so desperately trying to be diplomatic, that I’ve disappeared. The anger, the outrage, is still there, but it is turned inward, holding me down, making me smaller and insignificant. The weight presses down until I’m convinced that I don’t matter and if I were gone, the world would be fine without me. And that anger becomes depression.

A couple of weeks ago, I held a memorial for my brother where friends and I got together to scatter his ashes at sea. My brother was mentally ill and had been missing a long time before he was found, recently deceased. The story is hard and goes back decades. It is so much more complicated than just grief. Even though his death has brought some resolution, there has also been the release of decades of unspoken feelings, and a large amount of anger has bubbled up, demanding to be addressed.

Honestly, it's hard to find peace anywhere in the world right now, certainly the country I live in, where anyone with a conscience can’t help but be enraged. Every day people are being marginalized and damaged. Individuals are being violently dragged away from their lives and their families, with no due process. It’s almost impossible to breathe through the outrage I feel in my chest. I have felt so tiny and powerless.

I’ve been looking for my inner hero, Feisty Girl. She has proven time and again that anger can be useful. I know she is still in me. Somewhere.

I try to make my blog something useful, as a small way of service. I want to help those who are feeling as I do now, to show you how to channel your fury, to make something positive out of negative feelings.

I want to tell you how, but I’m still figuring it out. I guess the first step is honesty about what I’m feeling, what I’m going through, which is why I’m writing about it here. I need to allow myself to feel what I feel and not stuff it down.

I’m not going to lie, it’s freaking painful.

And as much as I loathe conflict, we’re past being neutral now. I’m reconciling myself to the fact that in taking a stand, in finding my voice, some relationships may suffer or even be lost forever.

The next step is to rise back up and get on that horse again, so to speak, as I slowly and steadily find my feet.

As my wounds heal and my broken heart mends, I climb on board my champion, my Ty. I let his strength, his stillness, hold me for a bit.

Because even Feisty Girl, superhero though she may be, needs a trusty sidekick.

In this increasingly troubled world, everyone needs a place where they feel safe.

Trudy is not a fearful horse; she is full of personality and feels she has a right to know and be involved in everything that is going on. Her stall is where her food is, where her water bucket is, and where she gets a front row seat to all the activities and drama of the barn.

And something a little unique to Trudy as a horse – perhaps many humans can relate – is that she feels most comfortable peeing in her stall. Seriously, not kidding. If she gets antsy in the cross ties, I can almost guarantee she needs to pee. When a horse next to her, especially a gelding, pees in the cross ties, she looks at them with such disdain and disgust. I mean, she looks at the geldings with disdain anyway, but the additional disgust is tangible.

Everyday Trudy, as well as Ty and all the horses, gets groomed, then walked, then exercised, then ridden, then turned out into the paddocks to relax, enjoy the sunshine, and breathe the fresh air. She spends most of the day outside of her stall. When Trudy is turned out for free time, she enjoys it for about ten minutes. She’ll roll, thus ensuring her almost white coat stays filthy. She might run around a bit, suck up some water, try to eat some leaves off the shade trees, but then she’s well and done. She can’t see what’s going on in the barn from there and gets bored quickly. If any of the grooms or I walk by and don’t collect her to take her back to her stall, she verbally complains and throws daggers at us with her stares.

Horses, like people, get accustomed to routines and surroundings, and find comfort in what’s familiar.

When I lived in New York City, I loved the energy and activity, the feeling of being at the center of world events. I loved the way the whole city could bond together as one in times of crisis, and the way neighborhoods developed their own identity and vibe. There was always something happening, something to do. Part of my heart will always be in New York, and I thought at one point that I would always be a city dweller there.

But I also tired of sharing walls, of knowing too much about my neighbor’s activities and personal lives as it floated to me through those walls. And vice versa. Many times, I wished for a yard so I could let my dogs out instead of having to dress and walk them several times a day. I yearned for more personal space while smashed up against a crowd of people on the subway, with my face in some random dude’s armpit.

Whenever I hit my limit and felt too hemmed in, I’d go traveling to places as far away and as different from the city as possible. I’d go to Africa to safari and marvel at the wildlife, to Nepal to trek the Himalayas, to Chile to walk on icebergs and ford rivers on horseback. I’d go diving the depths for shipwrecks in the South Pacific, or cavort with Great White Sharks in Australia, or swim with Whale Sharks in the waters off the Galapagos Islands. I climbed up to Machu Picchu to marvel at the ancient wonders, then rode horses and learned to surf (albeit very badly) in Costa Rica.

I contemplated being a traveling nomad: Photographing and writing about my experiences, never settling in one place. Of course, I would have to give up having pets and my penchant for having a lot of clothes was problematic. So, there was that.

Sometimes for my New York, then later Los Angeles, getaways, I’d visit my sister at her small horse ranch in Northern Florida. Her horses have stalls with big green paddocks and large pastures to laze in during the day. Her largest pasture is especially idyllic, with a huge moss-covered tree in the center providing ample shade and situated so that you can watch the horses from the house.

At one point she decided to try not bringing her horses in every evening, but just leaving them out in the pasture instead. That evening, looking out the window, she found the horses lined up, watching the house, throwing very Trudy-esque stares at her. Clearly, they wanted to be in their stalls.

I began to dream of having my own green acres, where horses could roam my front yard and all sorts of animals could join the menagerie. Sure, I was by myself but maybe I could hire some help. If my money lasted. And I never went on vacation. And I kept cars for more than four years. And I sold all my nice clothes and maybe an organ or two.

But as we get older, we get to know ourselves better. Taking the pieces that worked for me and putting them together, I eventually came to some conclusions and an understanding of what I needed.

When I bought this, my first, house, I knew I didn’t want property I’d have to work on or update, as I had done so many times to apartments in New York, especially my last one. I had no more energy for fixer-uppers.

And as for a big green space and room for my horses to roam? I nixed that idea once I landed at our current barn. No. Better to have the experts taking care of my precious horses. And there is some freedom in that arrangement for when the travel bug hits me again and I head off to parts unknown.

For my home, I was looking for a gated community where the park and shared spaces are well maintained. I wanted a nice place where neighbors were friendly but not intrusive. With the convenience of having all the stores and services I need nearby and yes, now that I’m older, easy access to medical care.

And I found it. My own stall.

Last week I walked Trudy from the turnout, down the barn aisle to her stall, and watched as she stepped in. She let out a long sigh as she situated herself properly and began a nice long pee. I smiled – and then quickly moved out of the way. She finds it funny to run her tail through the stream and then flick it at me, so that I’m covered in a mist of urine. Hilarious, that one.

Later that evening I pulled through the front gates, then into my garage, and watched as the garage door closed behind me. I let out a long sigh and – no, I did not pee, what is wrong with you? – I was just glad to be home.

How we each live is a balance of the inside and the outside. What fits perfectly for one does not fit for everyone. But we all deserve somewhere we can feel safe. A place we can, each of us, call home.

They’re not the only ones.

This month marks a year since I moved into my house. My first house. Well, the first house I’ve ever purchased. I’ve lived in plenty of places in plenty of houses, they were just never mine, strictly speaking. So, this is my first home.

You’d think after all the moves I’ve made that I’d be good at it and surely after a year I’d have this one done and dusted. But you’d be wrong. Of all the moves, this one has been the hardest to get through. Some of the difficulties are just physical and practical: I was still recovering from injury while the move was happening. With a fractured back, broken ribs, and a mangled arm, the move prep was limited. As an accumulator, I always have more purging that I need to do. For this move, I just hired packers who boxed everything that wasn’t nailed down and got on with it.

Thankfully I have a best friend who has been determined to help me through my moving malaise and get me tucked in. It doesn’t help that on the first day we had a marathon unpacking session going, I had to break for a video call with my office where I received the news that my entire department had been laid off.

That can put a bit of a damper on your enthusiasm for the day, you know? But still we muscled through most of the boxes.

It makes sense I suppose that some of my difficulty with settling is emotional. I am in a season of my life where I am going through real change. And let’s face it, the world has changed a lot too.

It’s been a weird old year. Lots of stuff happening. Things both good and bad. Like I love being in my own house, even if I feel challenged getting it sorted and settled. And while it’s scary to be without a paycheck, I’m relieved to be out of an environment that was feeling more and more toxic.

It’s all part of the process. Just as we do when we’re going through moving boxes, I’m looking inside myself and deciding what to keep, what to purge, and what to acquire.

There are some belongings that I’ve had trouble finding, like my air fryer (my favorite appliance), my gray ratty sweater with the hole in the sleeve, and my brother’s ashes. I could buy a new air fryer and should probably throw out that sweater, but my brother’s ashes I need to find. With his memorial coming up, it’s problematic. But while searching for them, I found some photos of him I thought I’d lost and that was truly a blessing.

And I am learning new things all the time. Like this tree I discovered in my garden. It’s grown quite a bit since I’ve been here and suddenly popped out tons of fruit I didn’t recognize. It’s not a very big tree and all the fruit was weighing down the branches. All and all it seemed a little chaotic, and I could identify with that. I did some research and discovered it is a loquat tree and actually has a lot of beneficial things going for it and lots you can do with the fruit. I ended up making a batch of my very first, never done before (drumroll please), jam! Like spread on your toast and butter ooey gooey sweetness jam! And you know I was pretty dang proud of myself, being like a farmer, living off the land and everything.

Next year when this tree goes wild again I’ll know what to do. Jam! And maybe a salsa. What about a pie? Just wait till next year, you’ll see. Also, by then I’ll have found everything I need. Probably. And allowed myself to be even more settled.

Working with my bestie on projects is always educational. She’s so much more methodical than I am. I mean she actually measures things before hanging them on walls! It’s amazing. Like last week’s organizing session when we’d agreed we had to get the Ty and Trudy paintings up before we finished for the day. The portraits, fully framed, are large and heavy. They were painted by my trainer, who loves them both, and that makes them extra special to me.

My friend measured the distance from the floor to the ceiling, wall to wall, and then the hanging wire depth before marking a point for the hanger on the wall. So much better than my ol’ eye the wall, squint at my thumb, spitball the location, and hammer away method.

“Is that strong enough, you think?” I asked her, after drilling a hole and placing a small anchor and screw.

She tested it and pulled. It moved.

“Nope,” she declared, “if one of these come down, it’s not going to be good.”

We debated about finding studs, what kind of anchor to use, and what size hole to drill. After the first two attempts, both rejected, together we sifted through all the hanging hardware I had collected over the years until we found the one that Goldilocks deemed “just right”.

And there they were, finally hung side by side and level on the first try. On the wall in my very first home. We celebrated the win. Because…measuring! Amazing, right?

Every time I look up and see them there, side by side, I am reminded of nature’s beauty, of those that I love, of dreams that come true, of fun with friends. They are a reminder of so many things I am grateful for in my life.

On the wall above my dining table are two perfectly level portraits of my horses, Ty and Trudy. Dark and light. Yin and yang. Everything in balance.

Anyone who has regularly jogged on concrete and ended up with shin splints and sore feet can understand the need for a supportive surface.

I’m fortunate to have landed both of my horses at a great facility with a trainer and barn manager who is dedicated to her calling. Her crew is thorough in making sure the grounds are well maintained. When rain is predicted, they time their last arena run as late as they can. They have one last chance to drag and flatten the ground to avoid dips or grooves that can collect water.

Here we are in “April showers” season and weather watching has been challenging. We’re known for droughts around here, of course, but we’ve had some surprising weather the last couple of years. Remember the hurricane in Malibu? This season has been more about rain and its unpredictability. It shows up a day early or a day late or comes down in the morning when you’d been certain you had until the afternoon.

It’s hard to prepare for the deluge if you don’t know when it’s coming.

It's as if the weather reflects the state of the world around us. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on the madness, something else happens to prove you wrong.

A few days ago I was standing in the barn watching some rain that we weren’t expecting yet come down. I was listening to the oddly soothing patter on the metal roof and was trying to determine what to do with myself when my phone dinged. I was pleased to see a text from a much beloved barn buddy. She was answering a message I’d sent earlier and she let me know she was texting me from the cemetery where she was making arrangements for her father who had passed.

My heart literally clenched with empathy for her and her grief.

There are a lot of things in life you don’t get to choose. Like your parents. If you’re fortunate enough to have parents who love you, that is wonderful. What is hard to conceive, whether it’s a tricky relationship with them or not, is losing them, though you can be fairly certain that it will happen. And you don’t get to choose when or how or even if.

Loss is inevitable and so is having to navigate that loss.

I heard something that made so much sense to me recently. When you lose a loved one, part of you dies. Literally. Neural pathways that were wired to include the presence of that person in your life, continue to fire as they have. Like expecting that person to come home, or the kneejerk reaction of wanting to call them about something they’d find funny, or share a song they might like. Your brain fires as it always has, but then has to stop. Because the person isn’t there anymore. The neural pathways eventually die off and your brain has to rewire. It has to build new pathways. And it does. Eventually.

Does it make it hurt any less? No. But somehow I found it comforting to know that it’s not just my emotions, my sadness. It’s my brain at sea, searching for something or someone it had relied on, now no longer there.

Having had more experience than I’d like with grief, I could do a short “frequently asked questions” section on this topic.

How long will it last? Impossible to answer. There is no right or wrong here. It is all in your own time. You may find those around you, those also grieving, are responding differently than you are. If you can, try to keep from taking anything they do too personally. Pain affects people differently and everyone can cycle through a whole bunch of crap.

Presumably, their neural pathways are all akimbo too.

How do I keep myself from crying? You don’t. And anyone who expects you to have a timeline to “get over it” needs to just fuck right off. There is no going around it. You have to go through it. You must find a way to ride out the storm.

Grief is inevitable, not just for my friend but for all of us. We will all experience loss. Honestly, crying is the best thing you can do. Much like the rain, it’s a cleanser. It’s helping you to wash away the pain.

Just remember to hydrate. Seriously.

Spring showers don’t only come in April – rain comes when it does – that’s the nature of it. No matter how many times you drag the arena to prepare, sometimes it’s just gonna fall.

Allow yourself to be soft, but not too soft. And firm, but not too firm. And try to find level ground somehow. Sure, horses need this. But so do we all.

Should the day come that I lose one of them, getting a check from the insurance company would not be in my thoughts. To me, they are my loves, my family. They are enough as they are. They are priceless.

The relationship I have with my horses and my friend’s horses is good. Some of them perk up and nicker when they see me. I like to believe this is because of my kind heart, my warm smile, and the affection I have for them. More likely, it’s because they know me as “the treat lady” and they figure I’m good for a cookie or some apples or both. They regard me based on what value I bring to them, not for who I am.

This got me thinking: who decides your worth?

I raised this question with some friends recently and of course the first response was, “I do.” That’s great. That is how it should be. But is that really true? In the day in, day out of our lives, how often do we find ourselves questioning how much we are valued by those around us, whether at home, at work, or just out in the world?

Every day we see efforts to deem people as having less value based on race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, age, or the choices they make for their own lives. How does all of that not take something out of your heart?

As an employee, you’re conditioned to question your worth. Assuming you’re not one of those lucky people who are self-employed and/or doing what you love, you’re likely subject to the whims of corporate America and they get to decide your worth. Look at any budget sheet and employees are a line item, a commodity, right next to real estate and computers, frequently represented in fractions of units (as in partial people) with a dollar figure assigned. So what value do you bring? How much are they getting out of you in exchange for paying you? And how much does that vary over time? Hero one year, failure the next. There’s always the pressure to perform, to show what you can do today. Never mind the great thing you did yesterday, what have you done for me lately? It’s exhausting and, in my experience, absolutely soul sucking.

Since leaving my job, I’ve found myself over the last few months becoming even more reflective than usual and also spending way more than I should on new clothes. One great thing about not working is how much time I can allot now to working out and exercising and enjoying the improved fitness and the weight I’ve lost because of it. But even so, I’ve bought more fun clothes than I need. So I asked myself what am I trying to do with this “glow up”? What is this façade trying to hide?

To be honest, I grew up with a deep sense that I was not good enough, not pretty enough, and not particularly lovable. Where that came from isn’t for this post, but what I find fascinating, and frustrating, is how hard it is to let that feeling go. I have worked on, and continue to work on, determining my value for myself. To tune out the exterior and tap into my own heart.

The truth is, I don’t have to earn or prove my value. I am enough as I am. We all are. And that is so much harder to hold onto than it sounds. Especially now, at this point in history.

Trudy doesn’t struggle with these thoughts. She is pleased with herself almost all the time and gets any bit of validation she needs every day. Watching Trudy enjoying herself in the paddock, I envy her. She is content. She has a “herd” she loves, a crew that makes sure she has everything she needs, and she gets the best of care. She gets to exercise, go on trails, wear the nicest things. And even more importantly she gets extra loving from the “treat lady”. Life is good.

As humans we would do well to be more like horses. I look around and see the abundance of my life. Sure the material things: a comfortable home, a well-stocked pantry, a nice car, and all those fun new clothes. But even more importantly are the friends, the family, the community that accepts me as I am and where I can share and receive the love that we all so desperately need.

Sometimes I forget all of that and it’s good to be reminded. What is truly valuable, you can never put a price on.

Trying to keep a steady head is difficult. Especially now that we’re in February and all about chocolates, teddy bears, roses, and huge decorative festooned declarations of love.

It’s been a while since I dated but I remember sitting in a restaurant with a man I’d been fixed up with as we shared things about ourselves. Performing the verbal dance one does when trying to decide if this is someone you want to spend time with. Somewhere in the talk about families and ex-spouses he asked me if I’d ever really been in love.

Stopping mid bite, I glitched a bit and froze as I thought this question over. Have I ever been in love? It was an impossible question to answer. I mean, if I’d really been in love, wouldn’t that partner be sitting here instead of this random guy?

I know I’ve personally had times where I was “in love”, which is like a bit of lunacy. Different connotation in my mind than “love”. Being “in love” is that state of dementia where one person lives rent free in your mind 24/7 and floats in your thoughts like some kind of pixie. Where everything they do is interesting and wonderful. Where the way they chew, with their mouth a little open is somehow adorable.

It’s a phase that ends when the red flags you’ve somehow ignored begin to whip you in the face and you must find a way to wish that person a fond farewell. If you don’t, one more smack of those food covered lips in your presence could result in violence with the butter knife. So, kicking them to the curb is an act of kindness really. For their own safety.

But real love? The feeling of real love is constant, isn’t it? I’m not much of a bible scholar, nor a professed Christian for that matter, but even so, I still remember being taught Corinthians 13 and I know that…

“Love is patient, love is kind…”

My memory has faded some but I’m pretty sure that it doesn’t say love chews with their mouth open, drinks too much, stares at your boobs, and oops forgets their wallet so you have to pick up the whole bill.

While I didn’t continue dating that man, for obvious reasons, I still appreciated him asking a thoughtful question. And while I write out my thoughts here with some clarity, my verbal response in the moment was probably more like, shrug, “Uhhh, I’m not sure. I dunno. Don’t think so though. You gonna eat that last roll?” or something equally profound.

Really. What is love?

By February I was still dealing with January’s vertigo. The source seemed to be between my neck and ear on the right side of my head. Massages, chiropractors, medication, and I still found myself being caught by a complete stranger as I toppled over during a recent social event. Adorable meet-cute material in Jane Austen novels perhaps, but not practical in real life.

My trainer and I had seen some folks on social media who offer their horses for healing. They lay out a massage table and put the human on it, usually in some idyllic wooded fairy forest, while the magical herd gathers around and with an air of mysticism, share their intuitive horsey healing energy.

But why hire someone else’s horses when I have two completely adorable horses of my own to work with?

Ever since our accident, Ty and I have had healing to do, both mentally and physically. Tapping into a horse’s innate ability to connect and calm seemed like a great idea. While we didn’t have a forest full of fairies or any particularly mystical setting, we do have a big round pen, a massage table, and the will to try something different.

The day arrived and I lay stretched out on the table in the pen while Ty was at liberty to go wherever he wanted. The sun was in my eyes and I had covered my face with a cloth. I could hear Ty’s uncertain breathing as he slowly approached the table. For a few moments he just hovered over me blocking all the light. I slowed my breathing and went into as much of a meditative state as I could. I heard him begin to paw the ground underneath my head before he lowered his own and with his teeth removed the cloth from my face. Once he could see me, he brought his giant head closer and nuzzled the right side of my neck. For a while he used his lips to massage around my ear and then just calmly stood there, resting his head on my shoulder as we synchronized our breathing together.

And my vertigo went away.

Logically I suppose there are a lot of factors that came together that could account for my recovery and I don’t want to make you all wobbly with the woo-woo. You can make of it what you will. But in my heart, I give Ty and the pure love he shared with me the real credit. Just by being together, just by letting go of pain in the moment, just by sharing, we helped each other.

“Love believes all things…”

Maybe I do know love after all.

Thinking back to that date in the restaurant and the question that guy asked, I can answer more clearly now. Have I ever been in love? Yes. Yes, I have.

“Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love—but the greatest of these is love.”

And it’s remarkably horse shaped.

That is not a wobble, you might be thinking. That is just a fact of life. But hear me out.

A couple of weeks ago I had this wild thing happen during a Pilates class. I had a crazy violent attack of vertigo that was truly frightening. Had it not been for the instructor and a random woman in the class who jumped up to catch me, I’d have fallen hard and been injured.

Why do I have vertigo? Who knows? But that’s not important. This random woman, with a fabulous hippy name her parents gave her - which I won’t tell you for her privacy – sat behind me after she caught me and eased me to the floor and put her arms around me in a bear hug, keeping me upright. She even held the trash can for me as the nausea from my head spinning caused my stomach to heave. She was so kind and so grounded; she kept me calm. She was my angel. And no, good try, but that’s not her name.

I found out later she is a breast cancer survivor, proud of her altered, double mastectomy chest. And truly she has one of the happiest dispositions of anyone I’ve ever met. She’s a magnet and she’s drawn me to her. And I’m so grateful. And wobbly. Literally.

And then the world around me actually wobbled. You may have heard a little tidbit in the news about us here in Southern California. In case you’ve been in a cave somewhere, I’ll fill you in: we have been on fire. And not in a good, Alicia Keys kind of way.

There have been so many devastating and tragic stories. My heart, and likely yours, can’t take much more of that. When something bad happens and you feel so helpless, it’s easy to lose faith. I prefer to think about Mr. Rogers and his advice to “look for the helpers”. Sadly, Mr. Rogers is no longer here. But you know who are still here? The helpers.

In the last few months as I’ve been focused on my own physical and emotional recovery, I’ve been so lucky to come across some spiritually generous people. Like the woman in Pilates. And I’m still not going to tell you her name.

Every day I encounter regular people who inspire me and they are heroes in their own right. Some in a quiet way, just doing their thing, not knowing the impact they are having. And some in such a badass way, you can’t help but be in awe. And focusing on them, like I focused on my hippy hero and her soothing voice, helps me balance against the wobbly. Here are a few examples for you.

Heroes of self-care:

I just met a lovely woman who wanted to work for herself and opened a new, and may I say wonderful, wellness/infrared sauna in the town where I live called The Heated Room (@theheatedroomcamarillo on Instagram). I’m so impressed with her vision, her enthusiasm, her bravery, and her courage as she steps out on her own. Not only is she following her dream, she is doing it by providing a service of wellness and healing to others. She is a beacon and inspiration to me as I plan out the next chapter of my life and try to find stability.

Heroes of social media:

Now I know there aren’t many folks on social media who fit in that category. But there is this guy on Instagram and his brand of art with humor gives me just enough spark to keep me grounded. And that’s a real gift. I honestly don’t know a lot about him, but his name is Daren. He’s not an activist or anything so lofty, just a real person and talented artist keeping things in perspective. I bought a few things from his shop on Instagram (@realfunwow) and got a chuckle out of the fact that my shipment had a fortune cookie in it. The next day when I cracked the cookie open and found his own special brand of “fortune” inside, I laughed out loud. Who doesn’t love a cynical guru, with just the right mix of spirituality and snark?

Heroes of the community:

Now anyone in the equine community can tell you that sometimes it’s a tough crowd. They disagree and will argue about just about anything. Mention a particular bit and you will hear from advocates for a particular one and just as many adamantly opposed to that particular one. And of course, you’ll hear plenty from those who think any bit is a travesty. You want to kick up some dust at a horse gathering? Ask if you should blanket your horse or not. Whooee, let me tell you…feathers will fly.

But this same community, when crisis hits, will come together like no other. A call goes out for help and within minutes caravans of trailers and trucks and volunteers will be on their way to your front door. It’s amazing to watch all these badasses put their differences aside and roll right into the fires to help.

An example of this is Maya and Kalli of Viva Rescue (@vivaglobalrescue on Instagram). I met them a few years ago when they were just really starting up their small rescue in Menifee. They were following their hearts and doing what matters to them most in the world. They are so dedicated to doing things the right way and to supporting their community. Not only do they rescue (horses, goats, sheep, birds, pigs, a whole menagerie) but they run animal care training clinics, free sessions where you can have your animal chipped, meditation sessions, yoga (probably with goats!), art classes, craft fairs, you name it. They didn’t just build a ranch based on love, they walked that love right out into world and shared it.

When the fires kicked up in Los Angeles, it didn’t matter that they are a couple of hours away in another county, they hooked up their big trailers, lined up volunteers to run their rescue, grabbed other volunteers to come with them and hit the road. They’ve fielded thousands of calls for help and have evacuated hundreds of horses and other animals.

The last few days they’ve been taking requests from people who couldn’t get home to get their pets, or couldn’t find them before they had to run. Desperate for help, these people are reaching out to someone, anyone, who is allowed behind the police barriers to go to their house and find their loved ones.

In too many cases, Viva Rescue has gone to the provided address and found nothing but devastation. They then have to be the ones to tell the homeowners that their home, and their pets, are gone.

I can’t imagine what that takes out of them, the mark it leaves on their huge hearts.

But they keep going just to get that one win. Like the cat who was still alive in the garage, injured but okay. And another that had made it out of the house before it burned and they were able to catch it, though it was not happy to be rescued and scratched them to bits. And, my personal favorite, they found a pond, choked with falling ash, stocked with koi fish. And they rescued them! All of them!

They’ll be in the fire zones for weeks with traps trying to find animals that made it out but are lost. Because that is who they are. That is how much love they have to share.

So look…it’s January 2025. And Whooee, it’s been wobbly. It’s hard to find balance. I’m no Mr. Rogers but my advice is the same. Look for the helpers. In small ways and big ways, they are out there, and they are getting things done.

Those are my three today. Feel free to call out some of yours in the comments.

*******

Instagram links and other info mentioned in this story:

• The Heated Room @theheatedroomcamarillo

• Daren Thomas Magee @realfunwow

• Viva Rescue @vivaglobalrescue

For more information about Viva Rescue, check their website at www.vivaglobalrescue.org
If you’d like to support their current evac and rescue efforts, you can donate
via Venmo @vivarescuedonations
or Zelle 310-808-5943

To let you know I got a tattoo.

I know I’ve been busily working on publishing a serial, but sometimes in the middle of a story, you have to stop and take note.

And did I mention I got a tattoo?

Oh, and it’s not just like some wimpy little butterfly freckle of a tattoo, it’s a full sleeve on my right arm.

Now when people get a tattoo, there’s always the question…is there a reason? And yes, there is. Multiple reasons, in fact. Let me tell you about it…

In January, I had a serious accident with my horse. Broken elbow, broken wrist, broken ribs, fractured vertebrae. Oh, and a broken pinky which no one noticed. Poor little finger. I spent nearly two weeks in the hospital until I was mobile enough to go home. It was upsetting to have this happen considering it was less than two years since my first accident when I shattered my shoulder and had it rebuilt with titanium plate and screws. It really was a pretty crazy way to start the year. But hey, I figured it could only get better from here.

So, in February, my wrist and my elbow were surgically repaired, turning my right arm into a veritable titanium scrapyard. Always one for spectacularly bad timing, my landlord came to the door as I was leaving for surgery. She handed me a piece of paper telling me my lease was terminated as she wanted to sell the house. Standing there in my back brace and arm sling, I asked her when she expected me to be out and, as the stereotypically terrible landlady she is, she says in a month. I laughed as I tossed the paper over my one good shoulder and headed to my Uber. Pointing at all the orthopedic accessories I was wearing, I said, “Yeah, that’s not gonna to happen.”

You may be able to intuit that I didn’t really like her much. Lest you think I am just being mean spirited, you should know she still owed me for thousands in emergency repairs I paid for out of my own pocket when she was conveniently unreachable. But I digress.

March I spent in physical therapy and recovering at home while on disability leave from work. I spent a lot of time reflecting on my life and considering my next move. Like why I kept wishing I didn’t have to go back to work and what terrible events in life happened that caused my soon to be ex-landlord to become such a truly odious and greedy grinch.

In April I returned to work, feeling mostly put back together and almost perky. My team welcomed me in a wonderful fashion, but the environment around us felt decidedly different. The people at work hadn’t all fallen off their horses, but everyone was struggling. The seemingly constant reorganizations were taking their toll, and I felt the impact. I tried to chalk it up to my own anxiety after being injured and having to move while still recovering, but my spidey senses were tingling. Things were not right.

In May, I bought my first house. A real grown ass house. Like a house an adult, which theoretically I am, would actually own and live in. The biggest financial commitment I’ve ever made in my life (if you don’t count the horses). Which only goes to show sometimes good follows bad and maybe I needed a kick in the ass to finally buy my own home. Thanks, landlady, for being such an odious and greedy grinch.

June and July were pretty quiet. We did manage a couple of horse shows but otherwise I was still feeling low key on account of smashing my body, being evicted, and trying to settle into the new house.

August was very exciting. Though not for me. The night in February when I came home from arm surgery, a friend who came over to spend the night to keep an eye on me, met my other friend who had just brought me home from the hospital. They’re both entertainment types (this is LA after all) and the introduction resulted in one friend getting the other friend set up for a successful show run at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. So her August in Scotland was super. She tells me that I fell off my horse to help progress her career and I’m okay with that. I’m a giver.

September is the season of mellow fruitfulness but it didn’t feel entirely mellow. The discontent at work was feeling more prevalent and my gut was telling me some serious gaslighting was happening. But it’s hard sometimes when you’ve been through some traumatic stuff to be sure whether it’s just your own anxiety or whether it’s reality.

In October, my employer leaned into the spooky season by notifying me and my team that we were being eliminated. We no longer existed. We became ghosts for Halloween.

And then in November, what I had feared most of my life: unemployment. And it’s nothing like I thought it would be.

It’s been faaaaaaabulous!

First thing I did was have my hair dyed multiple fun colors that I would never have dreamed of doing while I was working in a corporate setting. My Edinburgh buddy says I am not unemployed, I am fun-employed (you can see why she’s so successful). On Thanksgiving, I was able to truly be grateful for life’s abundance.

Now here we are in December, and I found myself thinking, “Gee, Lee, this has been a bit of a year.” Coloring my hair was fun, but what else can I do now that I don’t have the weight of being judged at work? I’d been thinking for some time about covering those fun surgery scars. And what better way to do that but with a tattoo that includes my horses, since at least one of them (I’m lookin’ at you, Ty) was partially responsible for said scars.

So I did it. Not some wimpy little butterfly freckle of a tattoo, but a full sleeve. And I couldn’t be happier.

There’s a moral to this year’s story somewhere. Good things can come from bad, peace can come from disturbance, what you fear most may be what you most need, a friend’s freak accident can launch your stage career.

There’s lots of reasons to get a tattoo. But here is why I chose to get mine: to remind me, it’s all going to be all right. Always. All of it.

Happy Holidays!

I left home when I was only sixteen when my family was living in Tallahassee, FL. I was trying to go to school, having entered college early. With no financial support from my family, I was working full time and trying to take care of myself, which was a real struggle.

Lee was still in the Navy and had just returned from the Philippines where he had been Provost Marshall for several years. He was stationed in Orlando and would invite me to drive down and visit him.

He drove a custom made classic looking, I mean like 1930s classic, car and it was fun to ride around with him on base.  As a senior officer he was saluted constantly, and it was a constant process of salute, return salute, salute, return salute.  All while driving.  But I enjoyed being with him as we’d go to lunch at the Officer’s Club, or he’d send me off with his season pass to Disneyworld and some cash to have fun.

It reminded me of being a teenager before I left home and going onto bases with my father, also a Navy officer, and how he would scowl at any sailor who dared to look at me.  Uncle Lee had the same scowl. I appreciated his desire to protect me. And I needed protection. More than he ever knew. 

Over the years, Lee remarried, retired from the Navy, divorced and eventually settled near San Diego. I had done a tour in the Air Force, married and divorced also, and settled first in Los Angeles and then in San Diego. We’d get together regularly for drinks or dinner, usually meeting at one of his regular haunts.

There was one bar he particularly liked, a club on the beach where he’d become friends with the owners. They’d had a special barbeque one weekend and I enjoyed some chicken and we both had some drinks. On my way back home, I started to feel ill. I had to stop on the side of the freeway urgently as I had no choice but to empty my stomach, more than once. I waited awhile until I felt like I could drive again. By the time I got home I was running to the bathroom and spent the next few hours feverish and ill. My uncle called to make sure I got home, as was his habit, and I let him know what had happened.

He was mad. So mad that he went down to the bar and yelled at his friends for making his niece sick. Turns out I wasn’t the only one, the chicken was problematic apparently. He didn’t need to do that. After all, what could they do at this point? But still I remember feeling touched that he cared and felt protective of me.

As I thought back to our times together, he was always protective.

Over the years I’d done quite a bit of theater acting and Lee was supportive when I wanted to pursue acting full time. During one showcase production, I appeared on stage in a state of mostly undress for a part of the play. He acted cool, like it didn’t bother him. But a friend told me she nearly had to sit on him to keep him from running up on stage and throwing a blanket over me.

Later, when I lost my job and was broke, he took me in and let me crash on his guest bed while I worked on getting my act together. Because there he was, looking out for me. Again.

Over the years, he shared a lot with me. Sometimes he’d talk about his oldest brother, my father. He’d tell me great things my father had done but also things about my parent’s marriage that I certainly was not supposed to know. And in retrospect, some of which I wish I had never heard. But it helped me understand my family better.

Usually, we’d be drinking together when the stories would slip out. All of the men in my father’s family drank. If not to excess, then certainly too frequently. It was a challenge in all of their lives.

Later I found out that he’d been quietly writing regularly to my dad and telling him how I was doing and that he was looking out for me. Thankfully, he managed to leave out information about my costume, or lack thereof, on stage. Protecting me, of course.

“Yep, there is a lot to the process, but I can guide you through it,” David said. The law firm my brother had found had set me up with a very good lawyer. I’d never been an executor or administrator for anyone’s estate before, so I had a lot of questions.

My uncle was unmarried, had no children, and no will of which we were aware. So, we would be heading to probate.  His last home was here in California, just a couple of hours from me.  Not only was I closest geographically but our past closeness was certainly on my mind. I volunteered to deal with his estate and my siblings were more than happy to let me handle it.

Queen of spreadsheets, I opened my project tracker where I was gathering all of the information that was coming at me. I made notes based on the conversation with David and looked up the number I needed to call to arrange for my uncle’s remains.

I felt like all of this was my duty. It was right that I take care of everything. It was the least I could do after all he did for me. I don’t know why we lost touch, what happened that put space between us.  You don’t always get the chance to say that thing you planned on one day saying, or to ask that question that would trouble you sometimes late at night.

Now he’s not here.  It wasn’t anyone’s fault; he took a bad fall and was in ill health.  And though we had not been in touch, I was keenly aware of the hole that I felt in my heart.

Now it was my turn to take care of him.

When the hospital asked what was to be done with his body, I wasn’t sure. I consulted with his best friend and it was clear that he’d prefer to be cremated. So first part of the project was figuring out how to arrange for everything.

Speaking on the phone with my new lawyer, he had outlined how I would need to identify all possible heirs.

“Well, there’s my sister, my brother, and me.  And there’s Leslie.”

“Leslie?”

“Our brother,” I replied.” We don’t know where he is. He was sick. Mentally ill.  None of us have seen him for maybe forty years.”

There was a silence from the other end of the phone.

“Our family believes he is dead.” I said quietly.

“Has he been legally declared dead?” He asked

“No,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” coughed David, “but you’re going to have to find him.”

I hung up the phone and thought, what if he is still alive?

Navigating the 101, squinting through the windshield and the driving rain, I listened to the radio reporting accidents that had happened, thankfully behind me.  Keeping an eye out for rocks and sliding mud, I made my way through the canyons to the coast and wondered again if kicking off a few days at the beach in Malibu in the middle of the first hurricane to hit the area in a hundred years was the best idea.

But then again, maybe that was just perfect.

I’d been feeling restless as my birthday came and went, like there was a shift happening somewhere that I needed to prepare for.

I arrived at the hotel unscathed. Once in my room, I watched the storm from my balcony overlooking the ocean. The gray water churned as if trying to raise something foreign from its depths as the waves surged in an effort to expel it. Water washed far up on the shore, while the wind whipped in fits and starts, blowing away anything not secured and sending it on its way.

Despite the warm temperature, I settled onto the sofa and debated about starting a fire in the fireplace just to add to the dark ambience. It was then I felt the slow rumble beneath me and experienced the swaying. It took me a moment to realize the shaking was not just within me but was, in fact, an actual earthquake.

An earthquake. In the middle of a hurricane. What’s next, I thought. Locusts? We’d already had a plague and years of lockdown and I’d made it through all of it.

But now, gazing out across the angry seas and darkened sky, I wanted to cry out and beg for some direction. I just knew the answer I needed was swirling out there somewhere.

I’ve always loved storms. It’s something we don’t get often here in LA. When I was a kid, I would stay up watching the lightning and count the number of seconds to the first crash of thunder as a way of measuring how far we were from the heart of it. Even as an adult living in New York, I would open the window and sit half in and half out on my fire escape, breathing in the newly freshened air.  Leaning out and looking up, I’d let the water drop on my face as both the city and I were cleansed by the rain.

I wanted that same feeling, that same cleansing, during my time in Malibu. Once the storm subsided and the sun came out again, I walked the length of the beach, treated myself to a massage, and took time to read books I’d been putting aside for months. My mind calmed and finally I acknowledged that my life needed to change.

On the drive back home, the sky clear this time, my mind wandered.  I thought how lovely it was to be able to do what I wanted with my time and how I wish I could do that more often. I could spend more time with my horses and focus on my writing. I could go hiking and explore nature and finally have time to exercise daily. It’s a big world out there with infinite possibilities. There had to be more to the rest of my life beyond being confined in an office building, boxed in by cubicles, while tethered to a paycheck.

If only, I thought, someone would leave me a bunch of money. I laughed knowing that there was no one who was still around to do that. My parents were already gone and left all they were going to. My Uncle Lee was the only relative left that could possibly have anything, but I doubted he would.  He and I had been close once and he had helped me through another difficult time of change in my life. But we hadn’t spoken in a very long time. Stupid really, even though we were in the same state as each other again, neither of us had made contact. I had sent a couple of cards but received no reply.

Maybe it was because I’d been thinking of him that, while sleeping in my own bed again that night, he came into my dreams. It was so nice to see him. I often thought he was angry with me for some unknown thing I might have done when I was younger. But there was no anger, no drama, just a drop in to say hello somehow.

Or rather, perhaps, good-bye.

I received a message from my sister the next day that my uncle had died.  He had passed away the day I was driving home and just hours before he stopped in to see me in my dreams.

That weekend in Malibu and my uncle’s passing kicked off a cycle of events. No, he didn’t leave a large fortune, but he did, just as he had so many times when I was younger, help me come into my own again.

I cried out for direction.  And the universe responded. 

More to come. 

I was wrong.

That is how my year began. I fell, or rather jumped, off my horse, Ty.  He spooked and bolted at top speed with me hanging on. Fearing we’d hit the fence line if I stayed on, I jumped. Turns out hitting the ground at speed and with such force wasn’t a better option.  

2024 has been a doozy; so much to overcome, so many challenges, so much to navigate.

And yet there have been good things too: I am still alive, I am in a new home, I am living a new phase of life.  And now another autumn on the horizon, another chance to shed the past so the new growth can take hold. Time to ponder the cycles of life.

Ty is a deep thinker.  A worrier.  It’s impossible to know what is really going on in his brain of course, but he is a sensitive creature. He has always spooked at some things, but it has gotten worse, especially since our accident. We are working hard to try and get to the heart of it. Assessing the physical, searching the psychological, addressing the behavioral. Everything must be examined and either pursued or eliminated as a cause.

My trainer has been riding him in competition and they’ve done well. They’ve racked up a lot of firsts, earning championship qualifying scores. Thymen fan Bloemhof (Ty’s fancy-pants name) is a beautiful mover and I’ve been so proud of his success. But horse shows are very stressful. While he has been able to focus in the show arena, the tension is still there and his explosive spooking incidents at the ranch have been escalating. Escalating to the point that it feels unsafe to ride him. Not just for me, but for anyone. We’ve dropped out of competing for now.

I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed that we won’t see out the season to the championships. But his well-being is top priority, to both me and our trainer.  

After all, love comes first.

Now on the other end of the level-headed spectrum is Trudy. She is a horse, so I can’t say she never spooks, but if something startles her, her reaction is quick. She’s famous for momentarily splaying out her legs like a giant spider and freezing. Rather than being frightened, she’s more likely to be pissed off. With a “how dare you!” look on her face she is willing to get up close to the offending item to figure it out.

If I am nervous or frightened and get on Ty, all that nervousness transmits to him and amplifies his own worries. When I get on Trudy, I get the equivalent of an eyeroll and the distinct message to get over myself and out of my head.

Trudy is right. I do too much thinking. Too much taking stock. Too much of what my brother used to call, morbid introspection. I’ve read some articles recently about studies finding that a person who analyzes themselves frequently might be more likely to be depressed or nervous than someone who rarely engages in self-analysis. 

Lately I’ve had some spells of feeling invisible, unloved, unappreciated, and undervalued. This is where morbid introspection gets you. I have thought how much I would prefer to be blissfully unaware, floating in my own private cloud, not concerned about anyone or anything.

But I was grown this way. My dad used to make a joke when he encountered a particularly unaware person. “It must take a real load off of your mind,” he used to say, “not having to pay attention or think.”

I’d like to be more like Trudy and less like my dad. Aware, but not distraught. Reflective, but not submersed. I want to experience my emotions while staying grounded, recognizing my feelings are not facts.

As I continue to recover physically and mentally, and with Ty out of commission for riding, I have spent more time with Trudy than usual. And I am loving it. Sometimes I forget how down to earth and funny she is.  She is just what I need in this season of my life.

In Spring we are young, and everything is new and full of hope. Summer brings expectations and a need to matter somehow, to accomplish something. Now entering the Autumn of my life, I can understand and appreciate life as it is. I’m ready to embrace the cycle with gratitude in my new home with my re-healed body.

I started the Spring broken; I enter Autumn healed.

A friend referenced the poem “To Autumn” by John Keats and I found myself pulling it out to read again. Renewal, regrowth, rebirth.  It’s all there in much more lyrical prose than I can manage. The end of summer, the change that floats in on the wind and blows in autumn with all its gifts.

I am lucky.  We are lucky. To be here.  All of us.  

Sometimes, I still get that flash: the moment before. Hurtling towards the back fence of the arena. My reins flopping loosely in front of me. My field of vision shrinking into a narrow tunnel. But then I remember to breath. My vision clearing, I tell myself to stay on this horse no matter what. With another deep breath, I reach down to pull the reins taut as I squeeze my thighs. Pulling with all my strength, I turn Ty's head to one side, turning, turning, until he stops. And then we breath together. We are both okay. We are both safe.

No matter how painful, stay in your feelings and don’t bail. It may not seem like it at the time, but I can tell you from experience, it is far less dangerous.

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

                                                                      John Keats