My evolution after the death of my husband

Wedging. A procedure for preparing clay or a clay body by hand: the lump of clay is repeatedly thrown down on a work bench; between each operation the lump is turned and sometimes cut through and rejoined in a different orientation.

I am that lump of clay that is being pulled and kneaded and pounded. I have no idea who I am right now. And certainly no idea of who I will become. But if this experience (I refuse to use process) has taught me one thing, it is to not look too far ahead. Focus on the moment now, and leave the later to deal with itself.

Some recent experiences that I find inexplicable!

#1
I am at a riding clinic with my horse 150 miles from home. The woman who trailered my horse comes into the lounge at the barn hysterical. She and her husband had a fight and he has taken the truck. She texted him asking where he was, and he said just about at I-93. She interprets this as he is leaving and driving home. So she is wailing about how could he?!?! and how was she supposed to get her horse home?!?!

My inner dialog goes like this,"Hell her husband is alive. So they had a fight. What's the big deal? They can choose what they want to do. Mine is dead." And I was amazed to find that I had absolutely no compassion for her. Huh? And more to the point, here I am sitting 150 miles away from home with my horse and apparently no way to get back. And I am not hyper ventilating or worrying about how am I going to get Cici home. I am completely dispassionate. Detached. I am completely aware that this was not normal. Well not the old normal.

#2
Drive 300 miles to meet a friend at a trade show. She made the hotel reservations. Great, one less thing for me to deal with. After the show she drives to where she thought the place was, as well as putting the address in her GPS. We drive 15 minutes in one direction (on a highway) and are directed to take a cloverleaf and change direction and drive now for 45 minutes in the other direction.

Following the GPS instructions we finally arrive in a small town that is completely shuttered—it is almost 9:30 PM. When we pull up to the motel—lets just say in the past I would have immediately dissolved into a anxiety attack, "Oh no I could not possibly stay here!" My friend and I look at each other as she drives in. She parks, locks all the doors in the car and pulls out her phone to call and cancel the reservation and make a new one. We never get out of the car. And by midnight are tucked safely into our new motel. And I find this all—well again the new normal.

#3
Driving home after three days of trade show, I hit the wall of exhaustion. In the past I would have pushed through it, continued to drive, Rob was home waiting for me. I was going home to Rob. This time I pull off at the next service area, put my seat back to recline, lock the doors, and take a cat nap! And continue the drive home refreshed.

#4
At the barn several people have left and a new crop of people are going to be moving their horses in. I recognize that I have no control over who is coming and what life will be like with the new people and horses. I can let go and leave the details to the universe.

These are examples of the changes I am aware of in myself. I don't understand, I don't know where or how or why. I have no choice but to embrace them.