"To everything turn, turn turn/ There is a season..." croon The Byrds, covering the Pete Seeger tune which he, in turn, lifted straight out of Ecclesiastes. We just stepped out of a beautifully, brutishly burly winter and into...
...Spring. A season embracing the promise and chaos of birth, rebirth and growth. A season demanding disposal of the ubiquitous accompanying afterbirths, and the detritus of all that is old, unfruitful or outgrown.
My spring launched with its annual rebirths of life's routine- renewals of insurances and certifications, horse vaccines and dentistry, tack repair and taxes. Snowmelt left safe footing and a full roster of awesome riding students, each bringing their own challenges to stretch me into being just who they need me to be to help them become who they dream of being. A full roster too of wonderful horses, belonging to clients or to Mark and I, and all the fun, challenge and possibility that comes with developing each individual's full potential and finding their perfect new owner. And of course a full farm roster of maintenance, desired improvements, and dream-birthed foundations for longer term visions.
In the beat of a heart that season morphed. I was tuning up a horse for an upcoming show when the world turned upside down. I found myself screaming in pain on the concrete earth while puffy clouds raced and tumbled wholly unconcerned overhead. Coltie and his geldings gathered at the fence a few feet away and watched over me until Mark saw me, and the ambulance came to collect me. Lying there waiting, I committed to this unexpected season and swore that when I looked back on it, I would say sincerely: "this was one of the best things that ever happened to me!"
I'm so grateful for the outcome. A few fractured vertebrae- no big breaks or internal damage. 4-6 weeks of healing should see me back in the saddle. A visit with the NueroDude this afternoon should confirm it. And so this season, planned for productivity, process and profit, takes the reins and guides me far afield.
I'm in a new place in my body. I'm used to constant pain, but not at this level. The meds that promise some degree of relief further mutate and alienate my body. A balloon poodle where my tongue once was. Cotton candy for a brain. A three-ring circus swathed in skin, lacking only the dancing pink elephants. I'm frustrated when when my body limits me so. I'm really embarrassed when it suddenly and violently turns against me, leaving me unable to do anything but scream "help me! help me!" when I don't even know what would help except to get me down safely and just get through this episode. The frustration, fear and embarrassment must help propel the journey.
Plenty of projects simmer on the backburner, once destined for time brought by rainy day cancellations. A half finished book delights in the prospect of completion. I've already signed us up for the Tai Chi class that Mark has been wanting to take, but I previously refused commit time to. I'm looking forward to spending unexpected spring time with good friends near and far. Meanwhile daily life itself is a new adventure-putting a sock on by myself has become an exercise in ingenuity, if at times impossibility.
As I drift inevitably between furious, philosophical, frustrated and fascinated, my heart is open and actively seeking the surprises, delights and insights I know this serendipitous season hides. Join me and Maurice Sendak as we shout out, "let the wild rumpus start!"