I haven’t written in some time. Something I don’t really have an excuse for. Yes, I’m busy, but who isn’t? It wasn’t totally a conscious decision, but I did choose to do other things in place of it—really, it was okay. This last month I have been trying to seize the ever-dwindling daylight and warmth and stave off the inevitability of the approaching winter: dark, cold, unforgiving winter. I really must move. I skipped some afternoons at trials to go hiking with friends; to explore flea markets—to re-home antiques (ie, I bought a 155 year old trunk which I will convert to a coffee table. More on that later.)
I’ve been doing too much thinking. Thinking about writing, more than actually doing it. Thinking about the future and thinking about I have and haven’t done so far. A dangerous place to be for sure. It doesn’t do any good to dwell on the past, nor the future—a fact I’ve been trying to convince myself of more the last few years. I’m finding myself in a place where the future is trying to eclipse where I am now; where the future remains uncertain in some ways, and quite certain in others. Wedding-planning (oh God, when do I actually start that!?), job-hunting, student loans, and figuring out just where the hell we’re going to live (warmer weather? Please?). In some ways I’m stuck thinking about what I “should” do, and what I want to do. I know one thing for sure: I do not want to fall in to the prescribed role I’m “supposed” to follow. There is a checklist I’m looking to cross off in this life, but it isn’t necessarily the one I was told we’re all meant to fulfill. I might be rambling now.
Making some promises to myself moving forward: I will write. It might not be great writing, it might suck some days and flow others, but I will write again; I will look for a job that will move me forward in this life, but I will not dwell too much, or put too much pressure on when and where that job will happen (this will be hard); I will keep the options of where we live open, but also realize that there is no guarantee of permanency in what we do; I will try and remember that it’s okay to fail sometimes (this will be harder); I will continue to do my best focusing on what is happening right now, right this very moment, instead of what’s to come (hardest?).
In other news, Bolt is brilliant (I know I’ve never acknowledged that before). But it’s not without a peppering of drama. After coming up slightly lame last weekend following a demolition of a jump stanchion I spun into a total panic. It was the moment when I realized that neither he, nor I, were invincible. Not that I ever truly believed that, really. But there he was, staring back at me wide-eyed and confused at why I was so upset. The unstoppable team stopped in an instant. He was never in any pain—he was in need of an adjustment and some rest. After getting an adjustment Monday he was moving well again and looking back to normal. Last night was the first time going back to some jumping and tunnels, skipping contacts and weaves. He was wild, incredible, fast—unable to do anything with half his heart, or half his speed. But he was fine. He was re-checked tonight and we were given the go-ahead to resume running. But will now there be a lingering doubt hanging over everything we do? Every time bars fall (they will), or he does something unkind to his body (he will) is there going to be a sense of fear? Likely for a while. Sometimes it’s hard to have a piece of your soul existing outside your body. I understand helicopter moms better now. Good God, I am one!
We’re adventuring this weekend to see and work with some friends down in Texas. I’m excited for the opportunity to connect and reconnect with some amazing people and spend the weekend immersed in the sport that ties us all together. Remembering how lucky we are in this moment.
(oh, and if you’re interested, here are some clips of Bolt working at Anna Eifert seminar last weekend)