Getting Back on the Horse

Getting back on the horse. My particular, seemingly (newly) unpredictable horse. I’ve been wondering when — and how easily — I would be able to do it.

Now, now. You know what I mean. I don’t ride horses. However, these days I’m walking like one — that exaggerated model walk with its slight (or not so slight) lifting of the legs as you swing your hips, as you sashay on your way with an insistent clop-clopping sound, as you pick up your feet noticeably high and stomp them back down again.

It’s almost a march, this sassy, in-your-face stride, an oddity exhibited by a puny, pudgy middle-aged woman heading down a city street on its blocks of pavement, her gait nearly worthy of Monty Python Silly Walk status — especially on someone who no more resembles a lithe and leggy fashion-plate than she does a towering titan like comedian Cleeves.

All non-laudatory lampooning of my little limbs aside, I have been getting back on the horse, and by that I mean taking a walk and enjoying it — well, trying to enjoy it despite looking down rather than looking up or side-to-side as is my habit, the very point of getting beyond four walls and out into the world to take it all in, to inhale its seasonal flare and flavors, to observe and even interact with its other appreciative passersby with a nod, a smile, a remark: “what an adorable dog“ or “yes it is a gorgeous day“ or “still nippy but warming a little.“

Certainly, I’m annoyed with my right hand and wrist still bandaged from my fall, annoyed at brushing my teeth with my left hand (thoroughly ridiculous), annoyed at how long it takes me to get dressed (damn zipper on my jeans), annoyed at voice recognition and editing with a fingertip and only a few minutes trying out the laptop keyboard (and accepting that another week of waiting is inevitable), but otherwise, as I master eating with my non-dominant left hand — okay, “master” is going too far (and manage is more accurate) — I’m doing what I can, what people do, what people must do to move forward, to conquer fear, even fear born of the everyday, the routine, the reliability of the body’s mechanical functioning ceasing to be reliable, our learned functioning, our learned experiences of solid and level ground beneath our feet that requires no special attentiveness, no pointed and rigorous raising of the heel and arch and toes, no new manner of proceeding with a different style of step. Getting back on the horse, even if only to take a stroll or a saunter with a strange silly model march, is my small victory.

Perhaps it’s time to admit that I don’t always meet challenges head-on, at least not right away, not in my personal life. Instead, I parade all the possible scenarios through my head, including the reasonable (and unreasonable?) ramifications of my choices on others, and I formulate as many options and back-up plans as possible. Overkill no doubt. Depending on the amount of discomfort involved in a course of action – okay, fear more than discomfort – I may re-run those scenarios and back-up plans repeatedly, honing and refining, before I act.

This is who I am; I confess to a cautious side (especially in personal matters) that coexists with a spontaneous side, a confident and well-practiced and decisive side. Aren’t we all multifaceted? Aren’t we all careful in some ways and cavalier in others? But the older I get, the more that caution reigns, ruling over and overruling spontaneity, and likewise, squelching confidence in my judgment and decisions. This doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t take risk (some of which would make others shudder), and I use recent moves and starting over as examples of that, though these were due primarily to necessity rather than choice. Still, the extent of my relocations was very much a matter of choice and involved risk, but the sort of risk about which I must feel somewhat comfortable — more than I give myself credit for? — or I couldn’t have undertaken the significant amount of change that I did. (How well I am coping with that change is a story for another day.)

As for everyday risk? Picking myself up after life’s unavoidable rejections and stumbles? Risk that isn’t about the well-being of my children, but only about me, myself, and I?

Another matter.

As the years pass, overcoming the repercussions of mistakes or mishaps is more difficult, especially without my sons as my North Star and motherhood a fierce and instinctual force; the consequences of my solo missteps — literally — are more serious and impactful. Couldn’t we agree that as we age, we inevitably hit the ground harder, we stay down longer, our bones are less dense and more brittle and breakage is more likely? Aren’t we, rationally, more tenuous in any movement we make after a fall? Isn’t recovery more daunting — very much a practical matter (as many will understand) — which makes fear if not more substantive, more logical and in some ways, more formidable?

My own challenges in this latest life chapter are very real, but minuscule in comparison to those faced by many others, and I know it. Still, fear, whatever its source, is a matter for each of us to size up, to understand, to confront and to beat back — and not for others to judge.

Getting back on the horse, whatever that horse represents to me or to you, is about overcoming fear. It’s about resilience. Maybe it’s as simple and as complicated as opening your mouth and articulating a concern, an issue, a long-held belief or emotion that is causing harm. Maybe it’s as simple and as complicated as asking for help in a world where help is not always easy to come by. Maybe it’s as simple and as complicated as saying no, definitively, to someone or something that wants in, and yes, just as definitively to someone or something you truly wish to welcome. Maybe it’s as simple and as complicated as staring down old demons with their know-it-all smirking expressions. Whatever that horse represents to me or to you, the key is to get back on as quickly as you can so that you don’t stew, and you don’t let the fear of falling again paralyze you.

A few bruises and cuts in my tiny universe? Hardly a big deal. Ongoing issues with chronic pain have toughened me up in ways that serve me extraordinarily well. But without two working hands, I did find myself in a bit of a… well, let’s wax upbeat and euphemistic and call it “a pickle.” Besides, for 48 hours, weirdly and to my surprise, the full force of hitting the ground crazy hard kept replaying in my head, making me a little woozy, and beyond the fact that dressing myself was stupidly difficult for days, that particular loop left me genuinely hesitant to get outside and just move. I was afraid.

I fell on a Thursday; I was too banged up to go walking on Friday and I couldn’t convince myself to do it on Saturday. But on Sunday I bundled up, slow and tedious though the process was, I slid my feet into my well-worn (always laced up) sneakers, and I walked to a museum where I spent a half hour communing with Matisse and Masson and (oh! glorious!) Raoul Dufy, and then I Ubered back.

Over the week that has followed I have taken my (ridiculous) clop-clopping self onto the same city streets four times, now more aware of the (considerable) number of places where blocks of concrete rise up, menacingly, presenting potential danger to the inattentive. I got back on that horse. I didn’t let fear stop me. At least, not for long.

I will add this. I wasn’t solo on that Sunday jaunt, which wasn’t a given, but offered an emotional and physical safety net for me. Enlisting a cohort in climbing back up on the horse was a good decision, I was immeasurably grateful for the company, and equally for this reminder that even small acts of bravery – and taking a walk was certainly a very small act – come more easily when we aren’t alone, or when we don’t feel alone.

Even if I couldn’t have drummed up a companion on that afternoon outing — my tentative, temperate first steps (no doubt) eliciting amusement as they morphed into my mini-model stomp — I would have taken it. Perhaps a day or two later, but no more than that. The alternative — allowing fear to tighten its grip until it strangles the breath from our bodies — is not an option.

 

You May Also Enjoy

• “You Are Stronger Than You Think”

• Falling

• Meeting Challenges Head-On

• Moving. Again. Sheesh.