Rising from the ashes.

Jan 07

Over 2 years ago, surprise twins and a fast paced career put me on hiatus from one of the few extracurricular passions that truly leveled me, challenged me, and helped me feel (even on hard lesson/show days) free from the weight of the world on my shoulders. I sold it all. For too long a moment, I let myself believe that I couldn’t cram one more thing back into my life and that there wasn’t room for me. Not right now. No, it belonged to others during this “era” of my life. That’s a mostly unspoken rule that new working moms are taught to believe and follow, understandably, but sometimes to the detriment of their own emotional well-being.

With a little (a lot) of help from my friends and loved ones, I found the confidence and encouragement several months ago to start taking my weekly riding lesson at Double Deuce Farm. Things changed. I started going on Saturdays instead of Tuesday nights, I was a little rusty but not nearly as much as I anticipated. I forgot a few things, but they came back just like riding a bike. What came back first though wasn’t the memory of how to put on a bridle properly or breathe and smile through a spooky ride. What smacked me so sweetly in the soul first was the feeling of one hour of complete freedom from my seemingly endless worldly stress. With a hummingbird heart wired for sound, riding has always been one of the rare activities capable of playing my characteristic anxiety and thirst for freedom together, not against one another.

I won’t say it’s easy. I’m a 20 something mother of twin daughters now, with more color-coded calendars and lists than ever. I have no blood flow to my extremities when it’s cold, and some Saturday mornings I wake up tired, admittedly dragging myself to the barn. And every single time I’m done, I think, “Silly girl. That was hard, and it was awesome.” And like clockwork, I take the deepest most clean breath of my entire week.

This weekend, I showed for the first time in years. For the first time in my riding history, I heard the pleasant, “Rider off course, thank you.” But that was my schooling round. And then Avatar and I won Grand Champion of our division, just like old times. Taking risks and embracing passion. Old and new. That’s how I plan to start this new year.



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Free Yourself.

Nov 12

I always find it unfortunate and a bit jarring when it takes a major storm or event to bring people, myself most humbly included, back down to earth. Life has only kept going and with it – the earth spinning. But this space has grown quiet for far too long minus a few bits of random thought firings. And as busy as I am, trying to beat that alarm and pour my next cup of coffee, perhaps my next glass of wine, other things are slowing down. I’m losing someone really dear to me. I’ve always been a writer, never short on words and thoughts, a serial over-sharer. Yet, these types of posts remain a bit cryptic by nature. Still, I suppose I’ve felt the need for a bit of blood-letting so here we are, shambles.
Let’s do it old school. Bullets? Anyone?

1. Getting back to the barn and riding weekly has proven (as I both feared and prayed) to be a saving grace for my sanity. What a breath of fresh air. I can’t wait to start showing again. Adrenaline. Air. Large mammals. Pretty posture. Jumping.

2. My little girls just had their 18 month check-up. They are strong as ever, and only 19 pounds each. So precious and full of fire.

3. I’ve steered away from being particularly self reflective for the past, I don’t know, year or so? It’s happening again, and I’m choosing (today) to ride it out and let it just be. If you’re here, I figure…you fell in love with it, so, right.

4. Thinking about going from platinum to ginger this week…no big deal.

5. I hate when people ask me what I “do”. It’s getting a bit too fuzzy. Seriously, how do women answer that question? (I wanted to write “women of my caliber” but realized that would read only one way – PRETENTIOUS. But there, see what I did? I guess we’ve just killed two birds?)

6. I absolutely love MRIs. I spent 2 hours in an MRI machine recently and it was the most blissful 2 hours of my recent history. Apparently, such response is atypical. My sports medicine specialist thinks I’m pretty fly.

7. Work has provided me the “luxury” of an iPhone 5. It’s scary, and I like it.

8. I still eat oatmeal every single day, just in case you were wondering (hey, I said we were going old school here with the blogging…)

9. I still am on an old vine Zinfandel kick with seasonal beers tossed in between.

10. Being wordy is exhausting. I live for it. Sometimes they take it, sometimes they leave it. Seems like it matters most when it’s GONE.

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Until the referee rings the bell

Aug 14

I’ve been on vacation this week. It’s been for the most part, everything contradictory to the word “vacation”. I’m trying hard to focus on the small, good moments to stay up. Like tossing my little babies onto the bed in our Columbus hotel room and jumping up and down while they laugh hysterically. Or eating lunch with a flock of really nosy mallard ducks. Tomorrow, I go back to the barn for my first lesson since I’ve had the twins – and mostly, since I started catapulting myself into fast-moving career-woman mode. A lot of people think it’s crazy. Where will she find the time? Where will she find the money? How can she do one more thing? I answer the critics with questions of my own; “How can you ignore the screams any longer? How can you ignore the absolute truth that I need to foster a bit of passion in my life in order to create and sustain happiness in the lives of others?”

My baby girls are growing fast. While this week seems to continue throwing punches my way, I’m fighting. And usually after the most tiring moments pass, I find myself always grounded and warmed by their milk drunk kisses and cuddles. I want them to have a happy mama. My mom was a crazy amazing woman, who in retrospect, faced enormous battles throughout my childhood. She never let it show, though. I want my girls to remember their younger years with me like I remember mine with my mom. She worked hard, she was always going to school for that next higher degree, she made fantastic costumes for theatrical shows and worked on paintings and drawings late at night. I was thinking about all of the things I know she did, all the running around, all the tasks and all the burdens she managed – and I realized, I can’t remember one single time when I ever felt ignored or unloved or placed below anything. What a beautiful gift. I will be honored if I find myself one day, to have mastered the balance as well as she did and continues to do.

Can’t stop, won’t stop.

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The cure for anything is salt water- sweat, tears or the sea.

Jun 01

This post is all me…all amateur me. You know, just being my usual preposterous mix of coy, busy, insane, bored, and fabulous.









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