I jumped today--popped over a crossrail several times. My instructor, bless her, I could tell didn't understand why I seemed so unreasonably pleased with myself. Six-year-olds jump bigger fences after all. She just sees a neurotic, slim woman who runs everyday--athleticism like that should be a breeze.
I was always the last kid picked in gym class. Pudgy, and clumsy, I thought losing weight would give me grace. And as much as I feel and look better, there has always been an awkwardness in my movements, a sense of discomfort in my body I've never been able to shake. I can conceal it from people sometimes, but you can't lie to horses.
It is so humbling to see my teacher's seventeen-year-old daughter, shy in her own right, get on my horse and play him like a maestro plays a piano, when I struggle. Communication beyond words, in so many ways, has eluded me all my life. And even without trying--just jumps on the horse to show me what Sailor can do, gingerly protecting her nails and the good clothes she wore because she didn't even plan on riding today.
I learn so much from horses--about the world, about myself. I woke up this morning, feverish and stuffy-nosed and after time in the outdoors I feel alive.
I feel deep down, somehow, if I could only have a horse, live on a farm, make my money with writing yet still become more connected to the physical world, I would be happy.
I suppose that's the typical city mouse dream, though....
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