My fantasy, then dream, then reality of having a truck and trailer to take my horse places hit a road block. I was planning on taking her and my cat to visit a friend in the White Mountains of New Hampshire for a couple of weeks. I got everything organized, pack up the truck including my cat. The truck is filled with kitty stuff, horse stuff, my stuff. Trailer hooked up. All that is left to do is load my mare.
She had other plans however. Not interested in traveling this day, and hence would not load. I am a follower of Parelli Natural Horsemanship and don't believe in "making" my horse load, she has to want to get on the trailer herself. Spent 2-1/2 hours playing with "It's not about the trailer". And spent 2-1/2 hours letting go of any assumptions I had about traveling this day.
Her life was up. Mine was scattered. She was high headed. I was befuddled. I reached the limits of my horsemanship. I had the "book learning" but not the expertise. It felt like all my horsemanship efforts hit the wall.
And while I am fine with the outcome of not traveling that day, I am left feeling defeated. I know that this is a stepping stone to greater horsemanship. So why am I crying?
Because it is about emotional growth. Stepping over the edge. Facing a threshold. And realizing that for most of my life I have played it safe. Or so it seems to me. But since the death of my husband Robert, I seem to keep pushing and pushing and pushing my limits. And when I hit one of them I collapse inward.
I will get up and dust myself off and go on. But right now I just feel. And feeling hurts. And the only way that I express this latest growth spurt is through tears.
Friday, June 3, 2016
Monday, March 21, 2016
Move.....moving.....moved
Conjugating the verb to move. I am moved. Moved my stuff, moved in, moved on even. It is done, over, finished. Unpacked and everything put away. Not that I necessarily know where everything or maybe it is where anything is. Keep opening drawers to find out what is luring in them. And where did I put that? And where is such and such as I know I brought it and everything is unpacked but where is it?!!?!?
How is this all possible? The moving experience went smoothly. The path that is before me is open and I keep walking it. There have not been any disasters or events or crashes. Again I ask How is this possible? I all to well remember the last move and the move before that. I used to describe myself as a cat - hating change. Moving, even contemplating moving used to throw me into panic. Leaving behind what was familiar and safe and moving into the unknown was scary. But......
Now I seem to be embracing change. I was going to write How is that possible. But it just is. Clearly. More conjugating, to change. I am changed. I have changed. Life is changing. I keep moving forward. The How is that possible reverberates in my head. I did not ever think I would be able to move on, move forward, move beyond Rob's death.
I spent the last few months sorting through everything. Three distinct categories: what I was taking with me into a furnished living situation, what I wanted to hold onto and put into storage, and what I would/could let go of. I went through a lifetime of possessions, handling each one thinking about what it meant to me and deciding if I wanted to keep it close with me, keep it in my life or let it go. I have said it before—the realization that by letting go of an object does not mean letting go of or throwing away or dishonoring the memory. The memory lives on and I found I do not need many of the possessions I had been holding on to.
While driving back to my "old" house to clean up the after mess I realize I have indeed moved out, moved on, moved away. It is no longer "my" house. It is no longer a place I want or need to be. The memories are embedded deeply into my soul—forever. Seared into my soul is a more apt description.
I am different. All the aspects associated with the move are like holding up a mirror to myself that enables me to see—really see and understand—the myriad of changes within me. The move has shown me that I am embracing change. My path is about change and evolving and metamorphosis and transformation. How is that possible?
How is this all possible? The moving experience went smoothly. The path that is before me is open and I keep walking it. There have not been any disasters or events or crashes. Again I ask How is this possible? I all to well remember the last move and the move before that. I used to describe myself as a cat - hating change. Moving, even contemplating moving used to throw me into panic. Leaving behind what was familiar and safe and moving into the unknown was scary. But......
Now I seem to be embracing change. I was going to write How is that possible. But it just is. Clearly. More conjugating, to change. I am changed. I have changed. Life is changing. I keep moving forward. The How is that possible reverberates in my head. I did not ever think I would be able to move on, move forward, move beyond Rob's death.
I spent the last few months sorting through everything. Three distinct categories: what I was taking with me into a furnished living situation, what I wanted to hold onto and put into storage, and what I would/could let go of. I went through a lifetime of possessions, handling each one thinking about what it meant to me and deciding if I wanted to keep it close with me, keep it in my life or let it go. I have said it before—the realization that by letting go of an object does not mean letting go of or throwing away or dishonoring the memory. The memory lives on and I found I do not need many of the possessions I had been holding on to.
While driving back to my "old" house to clean up the after mess I realize I have indeed moved out, moved on, moved away. It is no longer "my" house. It is no longer a place I want or need to be. The memories are embedded deeply into my soul—forever. Seared into my soul is a more apt description.
I am different. All the aspects associated with the move are like holding up a mirror to myself that enables me to see—really see and understand—the myriad of changes within me. The move has shown me that I am embracing change. My path is about change and evolving and metamorphosis and transformation. How is that possible?
Monday, February 29, 2016
Step by Step
I am experiencing a surreal time, having taken the step to becoming house-less and unattached to a single location. Letting go. Snowbird. Wait, I hear the Beatles singing Blackbird.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.
Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.
Into the light of the dark black night.
Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.
Into the light of the dark black night.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Monday, February 22, 2016
Doors are opening
The trip to Florida opened my eyes to how my living arrangements could be different. I mean I don't have to live in the same place forever. Really?!?! I can move. And that leads to the thought of moving on. Going the way of Snowbird - six months in New England and six months in Florida. Who knew such a thing was possible for me?!?!
I remember after Robert died I wondered if I would stay in the house. The idea of moving was just too overwhelming at that time and I put the thought aside. But the time is right—NOW. I am on a new journey. Walking through a new door. Taking the first step on a new path. Wow!
I started thinking about what this all would mean. And started to explore the logistics in my mind. Trailing Cici and Casey, bringing my cat Leon, moving out of the house, finding a place to live here, finding a place to live there, where would the horses live?
When I think of the house, the mind exercise goes into what do I keep? Where do I store things? What can I let go of? Letting go of stuff. Of physical objects that hold memories. Acknowledge that letting go of an object does not mean letting go of the memory. Or of letting go of Robert. He will be with me always. And I do not need to be surrounded by things to remember him.
With all these thoughts swirling around in my mind, inevitably words begin to leak out. I find myself talking about selling the house and becoming a Snowbird. I am not sure how this will manifest itself but it is so large that conversations ensue.
And one of my good friends says, "Come live with me. I would enjoy having company for six months." And that cements the deal. I now had a "temporary" living arrangement here in the North, next challenge will be to find something in the South. I am through the door.
I remember after Robert died I wondered if I would stay in the house. The idea of moving was just too overwhelming at that time and I put the thought aside. But the time is right—NOW. I am on a new journey. Walking through a new door. Taking the first step on a new path. Wow!
I started thinking about what this all would mean. And started to explore the logistics in my mind. Trailing Cici and Casey, bringing my cat Leon, moving out of the house, finding a place to live here, finding a place to live there, where would the horses live?
When I think of the house, the mind exercise goes into what do I keep? Where do I store things? What can I let go of? Letting go of stuff. Of physical objects that hold memories. Acknowledge that letting go of an object does not mean letting go of the memory. Or of letting go of Robert. He will be with me always. And I do not need to be surrounded by things to remember him.
With all these thoughts swirling around in my mind, inevitably words begin to leak out. I find myself talking about selling the house and becoming a Snowbird. I am not sure how this will manifest itself but it is so large that conversations ensue.
And one of my good friends says, "Come live with me. I would enjoy having company for six months." And that cements the deal. I now had a "temporary" living arrangement here in the North, next challenge will be to find something in the South. I am through the door.
Friday, February 5, 2016
Rediscovering myself after the death of my husband
I have been saying that I am "reinventing" myself. But that did not feel quite right. Thought about it a while and decided "rediscovering" myself was better. Now I think maybe it is really a matter of "discovering" myself. As my blog says, "Who am I this time?"
Who am I? How perceptive of me in titling this blog. I can truthfully say I do not know the answer yet, but the process of discovery is a wonderful wild ride.
A couple of months ago a friend mentioned she was going to be trailering three of her horses from New Hampshire to Florida. I listened to her debate about when she would leave—sooner or later. The reason really depended on whether she was traveling alone or had a traveling companion. I listened, said nothing, and then drove myself home.
Of course during my trip home I kept thinking why couldn't I go with her? What was holding me back? Why couldn't I just up and go? Another Ah Ha moment. Like the one where a friend invited me to dinner last minute. An Ah Ha moment of acknowledging that I am not tied down. That I can make my own plans at the drop of a hat.
So yes we set off for Florida the following week. Driving from New England to Florida I encountered places, roads and town names that evoked memories of my life with Rob. My friend and I drove through parts of the country where Rob and I grew up, where we visited family, where we went to see our last client together, where we drove for vacations. As we continued South past these locations, I looked forward to starting to make new memories.
The trip took 4 days from New England to our destination in Florida, with three overnights at barns that had accommodations for horses, dogs and people. My friend made all the arrangements. I had no clue where we would be staying each night. And it did not matter. This is huge because the not knowing used to drive me crazy.
I find I can easily drop into a place where I do not have to be the one making the decisions. I do not have to know what is going to happen next. I can be open to the journey and not worry about the destination. It can take care of itself, and it (the destination) becomes part of the journey filled with new memories.
Who am I? How perceptive of me in titling this blog. I can truthfully say I do not know the answer yet, but the process of discovery is a wonderful wild ride.
A couple of months ago a friend mentioned she was going to be trailering three of her horses from New Hampshire to Florida. I listened to her debate about when she would leave—sooner or later. The reason really depended on whether she was traveling alone or had a traveling companion. I listened, said nothing, and then drove myself home.
Of course during my trip home I kept thinking why couldn't I go with her? What was holding me back? Why couldn't I just up and go? Another Ah Ha moment. Like the one where a friend invited me to dinner last minute. An Ah Ha moment of acknowledging that I am not tied down. That I can make my own plans at the drop of a hat.
So yes we set off for Florida the following week. Driving from New England to Florida I encountered places, roads and town names that evoked memories of my life with Rob. My friend and I drove through parts of the country where Rob and I grew up, where we visited family, where we went to see our last client together, where we drove for vacations. As we continued South past these locations, I looked forward to starting to make new memories.
The trip took 4 days from New England to our destination in Florida, with three overnights at barns that had accommodations for horses, dogs and people. My friend made all the arrangements. I had no clue where we would be staying each night. And it did not matter. This is huge because the not knowing used to drive me crazy.
I find I can easily drop into a place where I do not have to be the one making the decisions. I do not have to know what is going to happen next. I can be open to the journey and not worry about the destination. It can take care of itself, and it (the destination) becomes part of the journey filled with new memories.
Sunday, September 13, 2015
In the middle of time
I am in the middle of time—two weeks ago was Rob's Birthday and in two weeks is the Second Anniversary of his Death. Tears flow more frequently once again. I encounter memories wherever I turn. And I am seeing my gradual evolution.
Off to the feed and grain store (doesn't everyone?) and then go check out a different supermarket than the one on my usual route. Plug address into Celeste (my GPS) and I am off. Find myself marveling that I am on roads I do not believe I have ever driven on. I am on an adventure in my own backyard! In the past I would have gotten anxious about not knowing where I was, exactly. But now it does not seem to matter.
So I fly high and then hit turbulence. I am not familiar with this new supermarket and therefore don't know the isles and shelves to avoid. Ever think about what a mind (yes mind) field supermarkets become after your husband dies? Items you picked up just for him. Items he asked for. Items that were all he could eat. Numerous small explosions.
Plotting my own back roads route for my way home, I have the thought, "I can take the route home from the hospital." Home from the hospital offers up overwhelming images of that last trip almost exactly two years ago. Do all my back roads only lead from or to the hospital?
I understand that this is an emotionally charged time. And I am trying to keep an awareness of what is the same, what is different—what are memories. One change I want to acknowledge is that I have taken off my wedding band. I did not think I would ever do this. But I have a new ring to wear on my left hand now. A cigar band style ring with, of course, a horse on it. I am horse. Was going to say that I am becoming horse, but that is so passé . I am horse.
Maybe that is part of the ongoing transformation. Another difference is that I am slowly migrating back to using my maiden name. It feels right in the acknowledgement of all that has changed and the who am I this time. This middle of time space is turning into a place of experimentation. Trying different things on for size. Seeing what fits.
It is almost Rosh Hashanah. And that was when "we" went into the hospital for the last time. In 2013 Rosh Hashana fell on September 5th. I think of the first week as letting the reality sink in and the rush of visitors. Week Two was a transition week as the inevitability of the reality sank in. And Week Three was the end. We had 21 days.
One moment I am fearless flying to new heights and the next I am crashing and burning...ah welcome back Roller Coaster. But the ride is not as harrowing as in the past. It has leveled out and the drops do not last that long, and are no where as intense. The Roller Coaster is now just a reminder.
Off to the feed and grain store (doesn't everyone?) and then go check out a different supermarket than the one on my usual route. Plug address into Celeste (my GPS) and I am off. Find myself marveling that I am on roads I do not believe I have ever driven on. I am on an adventure in my own backyard! In the past I would have gotten anxious about not knowing where I was, exactly. But now it does not seem to matter.
So I fly high and then hit turbulence. I am not familiar with this new supermarket and therefore don't know the isles and shelves to avoid. Ever think about what a mind (yes mind) field supermarkets become after your husband dies? Items you picked up just for him. Items he asked for. Items that were all he could eat. Numerous small explosions.
Plotting my own back roads route for my way home, I have the thought, "I can take the route home from the hospital." Home from the hospital offers up overwhelming images of that last trip almost exactly two years ago. Do all my back roads only lead from or to the hospital?
I understand that this is an emotionally charged time. And I am trying to keep an awareness of what is the same, what is different—what are memories. One change I want to acknowledge is that I have taken off my wedding band. I did not think I would ever do this. But I have a new ring to wear on my left hand now. A cigar band style ring with, of course, a horse on it. I am horse. Was going to say that I am becoming horse, but that is so passé . I am horse.
Maybe that is part of the ongoing transformation. Another difference is that I am slowly migrating back to using my maiden name. It feels right in the acknowledgement of all that has changed and the who am I this time. This middle of time space is turning into a place of experimentation. Trying different things on for size. Seeing what fits.
It is almost Rosh Hashanah. And that was when "we" went into the hospital for the last time. In 2013 Rosh Hashana fell on September 5th. I think of the first week as letting the reality sink in and the rush of visitors. Week Two was a transition week as the inevitability of the reality sank in. And Week Three was the end. We had 21 days.
One moment I am fearless flying to new heights and the next I am crashing and burning...ah welcome back Roller Coaster. But the ride is not as harrowing as in the past. It has leveled out and the drops do not last that long, and are no where as intense. The Roller Coaster is now just a reminder.
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Life After Death
I never thought I would be saying this, but there is indeed life after death....life for me after the death of my husband. What better metaphor than my truck and now new horse trailer. I am going places I have never been. I am doing things I have never done. I am experiencing life as I have never before.
I am comfortable with "being only one". I do not have to check with anyone. I make my own decisions. A friend calls at 5:30 to ask if I want to go to dinner. When? and where? Another friend invites me to go camping with her. I have not camped in I can't remember how many years. But why not? There is nothing holding me back from saying yes. And yes I do go camping.
This does not mean I don't miss Rob. Or that I don't cry. It does not mean that I don't have times when everything seems totally overwhelming. It simply means that I am embracing the new path I am on. I am well aware that my journey to find "Who am I this time" is very much a work in progress. And I am open to exploring and searching and seeing what comes my way.
I am experiencing a huge paradigm shift. It is evolving and revealing itself bit by bit. Focusing moment by moment is all I can do.
I am comfortable with "being only one". I do not have to check with anyone. I make my own decisions. A friend calls at 5:30 to ask if I want to go to dinner. When? and where? Another friend invites me to go camping with her. I have not camped in I can't remember how many years. But why not? There is nothing holding me back from saying yes. And yes I do go camping.
This does not mean I don't miss Rob. Or that I don't cry. It does not mean that I don't have times when everything seems totally overwhelming. It simply means that I am embracing the new path I am on. I am well aware that my journey to find "Who am I this time" is very much a work in progress. And I am open to exploring and searching and seeing what comes my way.
I am experiencing a huge paradigm shift. It is evolving and revealing itself bit by bit. Focusing moment by moment is all I can do.
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