Wrung out and pooped from consecutive days of snow and 40 mph winds, interspersed with monster gusts that felt like open-hand slaps. The horses stayed under shelter until the storm broke and then dragged themselves out to open dirt and slept all afternoon. I was too tired. The difference between life and the weather is ... Read more The post Finding Sanity While Worrying for the Future appeared first on Anna Blake.
Wrung out and pooped from consecutive days of snow and 40 mph winds, interspersed with monster gusts that felt like open-hand slaps. The horses stayed under shelter until the storm broke and then dragged themselves out to open dirt and slept all afternoon. I was too tired. The difference between life and the weather is during a severe storm, you tie things down and wait for it to pass. In life, you half-believe you get a tiny bit of steering, even heading toward a cliff.
How I could tell I was losing it: I kept staring out my studio window during the storm. The window faces north, toward the barn. The snow had obliterated my window, so thick that barely any light came through. Then I’d go into the bathroom and stand in the shower looking out that window for the identical view. Then I walked to the freezer, pulled out a Girl Scout thin mint, and went back to the first window.
How I could tell I was losing it: I was way too interested in a small patch of bulbs at Emily’s farm. Emily lives in Washington state, where winter has fewer months. She has been posting daffodil progress updates, which I cling to like a lonely girl waiting for her phone to ring. Tiny shoots are buds now and the suspense is killing me. Meanwhile, the ducks and geese are loitering on our frozen pond, tapping their webbed toes, as impatient as me. Don’t tell them where I keep the cookies.
How I could tell I was losing it: I saw a cybertruck at an intersection with a magnetic door sign identifying a small local business. I felt sorry for him first because my immediate reaction was a blinding-hot desire to broadside him. I felt actual rage. And sorry secondly because his small business is probably struggling like mine. On top of that, I was in the passenger seat and couldn’t reach the gas pedal, anyway. Which is my overall feeling about life these days.
I’m a political science geek who got a jumpstart watching Meet the Press in high school. The world fascinates me, but my primary concerns are women, climate, and global welfare. I’m not as interested in partisan politics, other than to think there are too many old white men making decisions for women. Too many pasty-skinned office dwellers who spend too little time outdoors to know nature’s infinite worth. Too many power plays and false walls driving the world apart rather than building peaceful interdependence for all. Sure, it’s asking a lot.
This week, I agreed with David Brooks, a conservative who now seems moderate. We’re both nauseated. Bereft for the dream of America. Not recognizing our home or neighbors. So much loss, so much hardness. And I got depressed.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, my dog moves out of arm’s reach because the compulsive petting is keeping him awake. I worry about the future of our species. They say women our age are too old to care, but we aren’t too old to remember. I worry about who we might become if we lose our integrity. If we break all our promises. Watching Meet the Press hasn’t changed. Politics isn’t a faraway soap opera. It’s alive and personal. We carry the blood of the immigrants who built this country on freedom, not domination. The Wall Street economy lives in our pockets. The Golden Rule still applies.
Lately, it hurts to watch the news. Things we’ve done should embarrass us. We flipped sides and lost our way. We started fights with our neighbors. Maybe politicians can’t see out their windows either. They forgot America is bigger than its bickering parts. Ugly as it is, now is no time to look away. Maybe especially women of a certain age who have been told one too many times they are too “emotional” for the important work. They’re making us look more intelligent and well balanced by the minute.
Why should a horse trainer lip off about politics? I’m what they call a micropreneur. Just me, self-employed, and hanging on while paying higher prices for my online sites, liability insurance, and business overhead. And none of my horses seems prone to egg laying, so there’s all that, too. Not to mention I pay more taxes than billionaires who want to fly into space but don’t have the decency to make it a one-way trip.
I’m the sort of rugged individual one party claims to value, but like the other party, I feel compassion for those who have less. And I’m lucky. I have a farm and can’t stand around eating thin mints all day. There is manure to muck. It isn’t a literary analogy. It’s the physical activity that clears excrement from the barn, but also the mind. A couple hundred pounds of muck, and I remember just who I am.
Why should a horse trainer lip off about politics? Because in a free country, politics is everyone’s business. We can’t simply bear witness when we have voices that stand in the wind. Strength and wisdom to share. Horses are boring, they say. Horse women are all nuts, they say. What I write has a broader meaning in relationships, in life skills, and sometimes I hope these words encourage us to slog on. Even when it feels like spring will never come. I write parables about horses, but I intend to affirm the best of who we are, because I know us. We have watched love die, and against the odds, survived to love again and yet again.
I like to call us Gray Mares. Borrowed respect for elder mares who have a well-earned confidence, along with the practical knowledge of how things should run. Blind obedience isn’t even on a mare’s list of possibles. She takes herself seriously, a concept frequently lost on geldings. She keeps a sense of humor, also lost on geldings. How to get on the good side of a mare? Don’t underestimate her or get in her way. Respect her independence. Acknowledge her intelligence by listening. Be honest and keep your word. Be worthy of her trust.
If mares were to quote a human, they might choose Eleanor Roosevelt. She walked with a coltish stride in practical shoes, and was called “horse-faced” by people she intimidated. Roosevelt said: “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
Need a break from the chaos? Take a day to cry and howl and nap under your grandmother’s quilt. Then pull on your Wellies and grab your forks.
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