I won't lie. It's been a long, dark, cold winter that has left me feeling down. I find that the older I get, the more I need the light and warmth of that bright, fiery star in our sky. Without the sun, I sink into a funk so deep and thick that after a few weeks, I skulk away from the living to mope around, drink a lot of red wine and hibernate until the winter thaw.
At the barn, it's all about layering for people and horses. My standard dress is long underwear, fleece breeches, two cotton shirts, a wool sweater and my Horseware down jacket. Wassachusetts opts for his heavy Rambo blanket and on really cold days, a sheet under the blanket. But even then, sometimes it's not enough. A gray sky and biting wind isn't conducive to enjoying the outdoor experience and there was more than one day when Wassachusetts and I just gave up and didn't bother working too hard in the freezing cold indoor arena.
Beyond the barn, there were other factors contributing to my serious case of the winter doledrums. Generally speaking, I live in a decent, upper middle to upper class area of the world. I have a nice home and a comfortable lifestyle in a suburban residential area where the schools are good and a few conscientious people have had the common sense to preserve huge tracts of rolling landscape for those of us with a propensity for open spaces to enjoy for generations to come.
But while the landscape is breathtaking, I found myself feeling suffocated and trapped by my surroundings. As I've mentioned, my children are very young and the shuttling between schools and activities narrowed my world to a 10 mile radius where I saw the same people and practiced the same routine day after day, month after month.
Then there are the pustulent pockets of queen bees and wannabes who slither around gossiping and criticizing everything from the hem of your jean to the shade of your lipgloss (as if a busy mom has time to slather lipgloss on her face just to go to the grocery store!). Thankfully, I have a small group of intelligent, funny and balanced friends who help me muddle through some of the more trying times but, like me, they have small children and busy lives which leaves us very little time to spend together.
A few weeks ago, the father of one of my husband's childhood friends passed away. My husband and I arranged for childcare and - after picking another of my husband's high school friends up from the local train station - made the seven and a half hour drive to the funeral in West Virginia.
I noticed that the further we got from the Pennsylvania boarder, the clearer my thoughts became and the more I felt like myself again. I surrounded myself in the backseat with a stack of
The New Yorker magazines that I never seem to be able to get to during the week and carried on conversations that ranged from parenting, music and books to career choices and current events.
The next morning, we arrived at the church to mourn with and lend comfort to a tight knit family of special people who had lost their father, a quiet, educated man who was a respected doctor and surgeon. Friends and family spoke with love and gentle revery of this remarkable man who dedicated himself to family and country, to healing people, to feeding an insatiable desire for knowledge and to sharing that knowledge in a egoless way with whomever seemed interested.
It was a day filled with tears, friendship, love and wonderful storytelling, of grandmothers recounting their days of attending formal dances in one breath and revealing wild days of piloting small airplanes over the great plains in the next breath. Old friends clustered together recalling the lost secrets of young adulthood when they smoked pot, went on first dates, drove dangerously and took their first tentative swigs of alcohol. The reception room, filled with artists, war veterans, doctors, lawyers, educators, and travelers, vibrated with life and powerful, positive energy. It was as if someone had opened a window and let a blast of fresh air and light into my existence.
Returning home early the next morning, I felt at peace and was grateful for the little bit of distance and enormous amount of perspective I gained from having 48 hours away from the stagnant clutter of my life. I've vowed to cut the crap and scale back on my intake of negative thoughts and to fill my life with people who care about more than the color of someone's eye make up or who got caught wearing sweatpants in public. I'm once again inspired to be creative and adventure seeking, even if that adventure takes place in my own backyard.
