Time and Space

Today at work I snuck off to the bathroom to sit on my phone. Even though I sit in my email and sometimes even pop on to social media on my big desk monitors, there's something soothing about being "alone" and tumbling head first into my technology that does a little something to revive me when the day is getting down.

I looked at this picture again - a quick snapchat after playing musical halters on the girls.

It's been shocking, lately, to realize that Bailey is 7. Bailey is turning 8 next year. It seems like she's suddenly so old, even though it's only been three years since she was 4 and as wild and new as a mustang. Part of me feels like we have achieved absolutely nothing. 

Part of me feels like we have overcome so much. A very self doubt filled part of me wonders how much time we have left; if I am letting her go to waste, if I am going to let her get hurt like I let Foxie. 

Today, the part that wins is the part that misses them, both of them. I have had Foxie for 11 years, and Bailey for 3, but, really, how much time have I spent with them? Working the 9-5 to make enough money to even dream of affording their board steals me away from them. And lately, I've been so rushed and so busy trying to have something to show for what I do, to feel like I'm actually progressing and doing my sport... I feel like I'm forgetting why I own horses, on days like those.

Maybe tonight, or tomorrow I'll go see my girls. Maybe I'll spend the time with them that I've been missing - brush them until they gleam, pick out Bailey's magnificent and filthy tail. I get so caught up in the rush of getting rides in that I hardly bother to pick their feet, or stuff their faces full of treats. Because I'm too busy chasing some sort of proof that what I do is meaningful, I'm forgetting to take the time to make it so. Riding isn't meaningful without the relationship. Without being able to sit in their paddock and feel their sweet breath on my face. Without taking the time to grab a handful of peppermints and dole them out to quivering noses and pricked ears. 

Partially, I think, I am so single minded on work work working on getting them home that I'm forgetting to enjoy them as they are. And I should take the time to enjoy their silly faces and soft noses now, while I pay (ridiculous) amounts of money for someone else to care for them, rather than when I should be getting the chores done or the hay thrown. 

But maybe, in a week full of lonely days and this disconnected feeling, spending the time finding myself back would be just what the doctor (The Doctor?) ordered.