OffKilter

Tonight I had a riding lesson.  I have been quite the slacker, between all that keeps me busy and not so sane, and haven't been riding much.  But tonight, I wanted a lesson with my lesson buddy and my silly mare and so we rode.

I bought this crooked legged mare YEARS ago, and yet tonight held my breath for 45 minutes.  I know, it sounds impossible, but I really think that I did.  I held my breath and waited to see if she would bolt away from me.  Or spook - at the same hay bales that have been sitting in the same spot in the same indoor arena for the last four winters.  Well, not EXACTLY the same hay bales, but you know what I mean!

She was kinda relaxed, in an ish kinda way, and it was okay.  Okay because of a huge team effort.  Coach plotted a lesson plan to minimize my silly mare's stress, or my silly stress, and we used my buddy's horse as the leader and brakes.  The fact that, left to his own devices to set the speed, he might lose in a race with a tortoise was helpful.  And, we made it by the scary hay.  We did normal stuff.  

After, and once I started to breathe again, I started to think about my riding and my insecurity.  Insecurity = Lack of being secure.  Insecurity = Unsafe.

Sometimes doing what you want can make you pretty darn uncomfortable.  

I'm lucky enough to have very talented horse people all around me.  Including the young coach who plotted her way to today's ride success.  

Another of whom, is to me a kind of a zen master.  Zen masters cannot be insecure. I look at him and see, beyond his obvious talent riding and coaching, a fundamental kindness of heart. He has that talent of pulling the best out of people, and of calmly and rationally plotting a path forward.  Changing direction when need be, analyzing what works and what doesn't and communicating - communicating in an effortless, positive, constructive way.  

When I watch him ride, I see him working with whatever horse he rides.  Holding them firm, giving to them.  Pushing them but not past their tipping point. To me, watching him ride my horse, and listening to him explain what he is doing and feeling is an amazing learning experience.  

Imagine my shock, when I learned that for him being videotaped and watching it back only highlights his faults.  Hold on - read the line a few paragraphs above.  Zen masters cannot be insecure.  

But maybe it's that seed of insecurity, that seed of anxiety that keeps us pushing forward to climb whatever hill it is that we are meant to climb.  

So what if my Mount Freaking Everest is just a tiny little speed bump for someone else.  For me, its Mount Freaking Everest.  Or at least a very intimidating tobogganing hill.  

There are days when I feel like a hypochondriac - I've had a few too many mild whiplashes for my neck to forget, migraines that come and go depending usually on whether I have something that I NEED to do that day and my bad (and yet, completely unconscious) teeth grinding habit has resulted in a somewhat less than functional jaw (although ladies, having a jaw that can sometimes clamp down and lock makes certain alleged wifely duties sadly ill advised - gosh darn it all).  

Seems like there is always something wrong.  But really, I never really think about anything really being wrong.

So, a year ago when I visited the dentist and they noticed a little ulceration on my tongue, I thought - ate something too acidic, or it's probably the coke I drink.  And, didn't think of it again.  Once in a while, I'd notice that the ulceration turned into a white spot.  And, I'd think - I really should go to a naturpath and start eating healthier.  And, didn't think about it again.

Fast forward just about a year, and imagine my surprise when I was in the dentists chair and doing the 'please no more dental work' prayer, when I notice the hygienist fussing about the white spot.  

How long have I had it?  Well, it occurs to me that saying a year makes me sound pretty stupid.  But it's been a bad year, and I've had lots of other people's fragile health on my mind.  And, dude, it's a white spot on my tongue.  Then they measure it, and discuss it.  Notice I used "they".  It's become something of interest to the other dental assistant as well. 

Hmmm, the lizard part of my brain says.  This is disconcerting.  

The dentist comes in and we discuss it some more.  She thinks it might be the night guard, but I can't see how since I've had this night guard for... decades.  But sure, maybe its the night guard?  My interest is piqued by the moving of appointments to get me in to look at the night guard... real fast like.... 

Then we get an appointment booked for the oral surgeon - probably should do a biopsy, so says my dentist.

Well, now you have my attention.  Biopsy.  Biopsy=Cancer.  Duh.  My mom had lung cancer that metastasized to her brain.  Not the preferred death in my books.

The oral surgeon meets me and takes a quick look.  Without a beat, he says "You're a smoker".  Of course, I am a rabid, militant, non-smoker.  The kind of person that smokers just hate.  My indignation and disdain is evident in my "NO... Never".  He says reassuring words about me not being in the risk factor, probably just a thickening of the skin, but he'll remove it and do a biopsy.  And, hopefully, then tell me that it was nothing to worry about.

Problem is that I remember the drill from my Mom.  I know the "there is no point in worrying" strategy.  After all, it's true - worry is the least effective behaviour on the planet.  So I'm not worrying, I'm just researching.  And jumping to conclusions.  And, then having a Scarlett moment "I'll think on that tomorrow".... 

Tomorrow my little tongue visitor and it's new little buddy are getting gone.  Sliced away.  And, hopefully, the oral surgeon will tell me that it was all a bunch of nothing.  And, I can stop thinking about how much it would suck.  And, I mean SUCK, if its not.

So - on a lovely sunny day, with fresh lipstick on I take one of those ubiquitous selfies, that I don't usually take 'cause who needs to be reminded of all that.

But I was liking my Burts Bees lip balm, and snapped the picture.  Then I looked at it and wondered if I'd suffered a stroke I was unaware of?  One eyebrow is soaring about a foot above the other.  Odd, I always knew I was an unbalanced person, but with an unbalanced face?  And, to look that different?  Really?

Then I split the picture apart, and lo and behold, there are two Lisa's.  One looks like a nice, approachable person.  Someone whose company I wouldn't mind.  The other Lisa, well, she looks a bit mean, a bit angry and frankly, I WOULD NOT cut in front of her at the grocery line.

That got me thinking - well, that pretty much sums me up too.  But the way I like to think of myself is a lot more 90-10 - 90% really nice and 10% not so much.  But really, I think that's a lot more like wishful thinking than reality.  I'm not sure where that percentage lies - but me thinks it's a bit higher than 10%.  

I'm glad that the b*&^) that you wouldn't cut in front of is there.  Some days she needs to fight more than she does, and other days - well, it might be nice if she could cool her jets once in a while.  

But I do kinda wish that I wasn't wearing it so blatantly on my face!

Between love and hate. 

Between helping someone and hurting them.

Between waiting it out and being stuck.

Nobody ever tells you how to know what side of the line you are on.  Say you have a friend or relative who is an alcoholic.  And, they end up literally homeless and you take them in, and they start seeking treatment.  That's supportive and kind-hearted.  Right?  That is NOT enabling.  Right?  

Well, what if they aren't really serious about getting that help.  Oops, in a nanosecond you've turned straight from Mother Teresa into a big old enabler.  And, a chorus of people will say "you should have known better".  But how were you supposed to know that?  And, when is it ever that simple?

Inside everyone's head is a mess of dreams and demons.  Ambitions and insecurities.  And, sometimes people need a helping hand to sort it out.  

It's a question I've been thinking a lot about lately - if someone is stuck in a pattern of behaviour that clearly isn't working, then something needs to change.  But maybe time is what's needed.  Maybe it's a matter of waiting it out.  

Maybe after this valley will be a glorious hill filled with sunshine.  And daisies.  And, even lollipops.  Just like the sound of music.  Only better.

Then again, maybe not.

I don't think I'm crazy.

Really, I don't.  But, it seems that crazy and I spend quite a bit of time together.  We're even a bit intertwined.  So when I sit down for lunch with my friends from work, or when I catch up with old friends, and I start telling them about the most recent thing that happened, I often hear "you should write a book".  Or, and I love this one, "that could only happen to you".

So, I've decided to start writing it down.  It's really mostly going to be a bit of journalling, a bit of story-telling, a bit of soul-searching.  Free therapy for me, and for the 2 people that will read it - hopefully a bit of entertainment.  After all, crazy and funny go hand in hand!

And, of course, I love horses and all things horsie - so they'll be lots of horse stories to tell.  This picture is my very pretty, not particularly athletic, and difficult to ride paint mare.  Her name is Lexi and I dreamed of a owing a horse that looked like her ever since I watched Little Joe ride off on his black and white paint on Bonanza!  Well, I bought her - without training and after not having ridden for 20 years or so.  What could go wrong?  

Did I mention the crooked legs?