Professionals

I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he stepped off the back of the trailer. He was sleek and his black coat gleamed in the sun. At 17 hands, I could not see over his back as he glided by and into his stall. London was my dream-come-true. Fresh from the race track, he appeared to be more like a gangly teenager than a dressage prospect. The veterinarian that had examined him advised me to get him up another 400 -500 lbs. before the next time he visited. Racing weight is the term that is used for this condition. He would soon be eating 12 quarts a day of sweet feed with his hay to get enough calories.

The first time I tacked him up in my flat seat and road him down a trail, he snorted at every tree and leaf. Here I was perched on top of this behemoth that was jittering like a child. He had only known the track. The woods and pond and all the creatures were new to him. He looked and blew but walked on. He stepped over logs and trampled branches. It was another story when we rounded the corner and he could see a long expanse of dirt road that led back to the barn. It was a perfect curve - smooth and flat. I could sense in an instant what was passing through his brain yet it was too late to haul him in. His feet flew across the ground. I grabbed mane and tucked myself low. If I had one rein pullied him, I could have yanked him over and crashed. We floated above the road and the distance vanished in a second. He came to a complete stop at the top of the hill and seemed exhilarated. I could feel his joy at getting to stretch his legs again. I got off with legs of jelly and kissed the ground.

London was a bouncing, baby boy. He was kind and gentle. He was learning all the time. I trucked him to a show barn to take lessons once a week. The professional horse trainer kept criticizing me and telling me that I did not know how to train a young horse. I could tell when London was afraid and wished to work him through it calmly. Like a child, it does not help to scream and beat a horse when they are afraid. Getting ready for a big show one month, the trainer encouraged me to keep London at the show barn to get more schooling. Only a couple days into the month, I made my daily visit to find London covered in whip marks on his flanks. He was still trembling and had dried sweat on his chest. I ran to the trainer to find out what had occurred and he said he had pushed London to jump higher and get his feet up. I walked him out of his stall and noticed a definite stiffness in his gait. A veterinarian call later, I was to learn that London had “hunter’s bump”. He had a subluxation of the sacroiliac joint. This injury was caused by trauma, the over fencing and a possible fall or twist.

My instinct had been right! This would not have happened if I had trusted my gut and not let myself be told I didn’t know what I was doing. I knew my horse. London had not been avoiding work or been lazy. He required a consistent, tender touch not a whip and spurs. Now I was facing the possibility that my new investment would never regain his fluid gate or jump again. This because I assumed a paid professional knew more than me.

When I was at Cornell, I took the most amazing class called Epistemology, how we come to know what we know. It was fascinating. How we gain knowledge changes as we develop. Some people remain at the authoritative stage where they accept whatever someone in authority tells them or they move on and eventually learn to take bits of information from many sources and synthesize it into something unique and personal. I thought everyone went through these stages and I was to learn that is not true.

We are ultimately responsible for our own knowledge. I was trying to lose weight for a wedding. I exercised at the gym on a treadmill every night after work. I ate less and less each day. My doctor kept telling me eat less, exercise more. Eventually, he put me on diet pills since the weight would not budge. With a few weeks, I was in the hospital with a racing heart rate. I was drugged and connected to a myriad of wires and alarms. My family was called and I could see the fear on everyone’s face. My heart was so quick to jump out of rhythm; I was not allowed to even get up for the restroom. How could this happen? Several weeks later, I was to learn on my own, that I had metabolic syndrome that is caused by not eating enough and over exertion. Without food, each time I stepped on that treadmill, I was tearing apart heart tissue. Within four weeks of adding clean carbs to my diet like fruit and vegetables, my heart was back to normal. I read books and hired a food coach. My heart repaired itself and I lost weight through strength training and adding more protein and carbs to my daily regime.

I have gone to counselors during stressful times. I hire tax accountants when needed. I read books, listen to experts, and watch documentaries. These experts add interesting insights and perspectives. I talk over issues with family and friends when I have decisions to make. Ultimately I know the choices are mine. I prefer to gather a variety of opinions and thoughts then digest them for a while. I am not much of a follower and prefer to create my own version of what is right for me. I am learning to listen to my inner knowing more and more. I am respectful of other’s opinions. I know they are offering their best advice from their own experience and point of reference. Even though they have the best of intentions, no one can know what is best for me. It does not matter what kind of paper hangs on their wall or how long they have walked this earth. No one knows what is best for me better than I know myself. When a friend asks my advice, I can share something that I have experienced, or what I have learned for me. I cannot know what is best for my friend. I can only ask the questions that may help them see their answer more clearly. I can support him/her with love and understanding but I do not have the answer.

I caution you to consider the advice of professionals or experts carefully. Some people consider me an expert on certain topics. I tell people, “This has been my experience, or I have seen this.” Then I add that there are many more theories, more trials, and more results out there. Talk to diverse people. Accumulate ideas and sit with them. See what resonates with you. Don’t let anyone intimidate you and tell you that you don’t know what is best for you. Trust in yourself and your process. This will come as you love and respect yourself. Listen to your inner voice. Being paid to do something does not make an individual more qualified to assist you than someone that cares for you. How many marriage counselors are divorced? How many financial advisors have been bankrupt? Does this make them more or less qualified to give advice? I’d say “no”. Just keep your eyes open.

“Know Thyself” inscribed on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi in ancient Greece.

Only you can know what true for you. It is your movie. It is your life. Create and be happy.

Stuff

Stuff

My sister is currently in the process of selling her lake house. Her boys are off to college and the summer house has served its purpose. Letting the cottage go has not been the challenge, it is the parting with the furniture, the wall decor and the items that filled the shelves that is proving to be painful. It is difficult to part with the paintings our mutual sister created to match the bedspreads, the lamp from my grandmother and the nautical things that were collected and hung over the past 15 years. Each item had been hand selected by her with care and attention to detail to make each room feel inviting and guests feel welcome. My sister was emotionally attached to each memento. It broke her heart to see her things on the front lawn to be picked over by strangers.

When I was home for Christmas this past year, my mother asked me to help her sort out the basement. My girls and I had met from different states to celebrate the holidays and this is not exactly how I wanted to spend my time. We are rarely all in one place at the same time and my mom wanted to go through her old ornaments with the family. My daughters were so kind to their grandmother. They helped her down the stairs, set her up in a rocking chair and brought her boxes to dig through. Each ornament held a special memory for her. She told the story of the origin of each one. Many she had collected on trips with her sister and her mother who are both deceased. I thought of all the parties we had in our house when I was a child, how beautiful our family tree was and how my mother spent hours making sure the tinsel hung just right. My mother uncovered a few hammered brass leaves that had come from Germany with my great-grandmother. She gifted them to my youngest. One ornament I had to save. It reminded me of one of our most comical episodes as teenagers. One of my sisters tipped over the whole Christmas tree within inches of my mother sleeping on the sofa waiting up for us after a school dance. We were hysterical laughing as we righted the tree and attempted to hang everything just the way she had done without waking her up. The only collateral damage was my mother’s favorite ornament. Pinocchio. He had lost a leg and broken his nose. We hung him in the back and she did not notice until she was putting everything away after the holidays. It wasn’t until we girls were in our 30’s that the true story of how Pinocchio lost a leg came out. We laughed with our mom until we cried.

My girls heard the story and smiled. It was understandable. You had to be there to place the emotion to the object. To them it was just something to be recycled. My mom had been saving these ornaments hoping the girls would value them the way she did. They were her memories, her stories. The same is for my sister’s belongings. They are her stories, her attachments. A stranger or even your own children will not share your emotions about your stuff.

A friend of mine has been doing everything he can to keep his farm together for his children. He loves the lifestyle. Only time will tell if his kids will want the farm. When they are old enough, they may choose to sell the land and use the cash to pursue their own dreams. They do not share his memories or attachments.

I look around my cabin. My things have been collected over the past 50 years. They are an assortment of memorabilia from my adventures and my childhood; a jewelry box from Hong Kong, baskets and carved animals from Africa, a Belleek teapot from Ireland, cloisonné eggs and a beaded doll from China and ceramic chickens from Spain. In my living room, a century old cherry blanket chest doubles as a coffee table and storage for my jeans. In the past, it has been a tack trunk in a horse barn and then my daughter’s toy box. A blue gas type lamp, that lights my dining room table, was the first home furnishing I bought when I was 19 years old. The stage coach trunk, my father and I found full of antique books when I was a child. It holds even more treasures. In it is a quilt I made when I was about 10 years old. The fabric is from scraps of the clothes my mother sewed for us. There are patches from my sister’s purple skirt, my brother’s baby pillow, the tiger striped dress I made and my father’s blue jeans - complete with paint splatters. When I created this quilt I dreamed of having a house of my own someday and it would be placed on my bed to keep me warm and cozy. My first diary and my first Barbie doll are in that trunk, too. I rocked both of my newborn baby girls to sleep each night in the Boston rocker. My grandmother’s silver tea set is still packed as is the fine china. My china was only unpacked once in the last 34 years. When I was married, china symbolized the Norman Rockwell family life. The pattern selection was one of the most important components of planning our new home. The oriental carpet and the wallpaper were chosen to match the china. My girls are much more practical; I don’t see them using a plate that can’t contact the dishwasher.  

I remember when my oldest and I used to go camping with the horses in the Adirondacks. One day she said, “This is everything anyone would ever need – a horse, a dog, good food, a tent and a toasty sleeping bag.” She was more accurate than she knew. I have everything I require. I have a warm bed, a roof over my head, good food, a horse and a dog. Consumerism runs our economy but how much is enough? People fill their attics, their garages, the basements and then move on to fill offsite storage units. I think each time we make a new purchase we should consider who will and how it will be disposed of when we are gone. If we think, “oh my children will love this thing.” Think again.

There will be a day when my daughters will wonder what the heck to do with my stuff. The value of these things is the emotions I have attached to them. They are my stories, my memories. The dollar value is negligible. When I move again, how many of these things will I sort through and decide to give away? My stuff does not define me.  If my things should disappear tomorrow, I will still have the memories. I am still me. As long as my things serve me, I will be grateful and thank my Creator for having had the pleasure of using them. When it is time for me to let them go, I hope the next owner enjoys them as much as I have. There is no point in holding onto things simply for the sake of maintaining possession. That is a scarcity consciousness that I do not choose to maintain.

I am grateful for what I have. I am grateful for what I will let go of in order to make space for something new. The world is an abundant place and there are always unique items to cherish and appreciate. I am doing my children a favor by carefully considering what I take into my space. I can express my love for them in so many more ways than leaving them stuff. My choice is to spend time with my girls, create memories and allow them to choose the items that will keep the stories alive in their hearts. I demonstrate my love and kindness by simplifying rather than making my life more complex.

Would it be farfetched to offer a service to a loved one for their holiday gift instead of one more item to be saved? How about a dinner, a massage, an evening of dancing or a day of sightseeing? Could you carve out time to make memories instead of adding to the stack of possessions? Turn off the radio, stop the t.v., get past the ads in the newspaper that say, “Buy! Buy! Buy!” After you drop the clothes off at the thrift shop that you haven’t worn for the past 3 years, let’s take a hike and make a day of it.  You’ll feel lighter knowing that your things are going to a good cause. Your kids will thank you.

Hi Ho! Hi Ho!