Walking Away

I give up. 

I yield. 

No longer am I holding the reins on this particular horse. I’ve taken the bridle off and dismounted. And yes, believe it or not, in that order. Taking the bridle off acknowledged my freedom and once-more fiery spirit. Dismounting admitted that while the ride was fun, there are a few more things in life more important than *fun*. 

So, I’m done.

Climbing back on this horse was a major step for me. I was ready to ride again. Taking the bridle off, another huge milestone. Dismounting is yet one more step in the process. I think. 

Regardless, it’s done. No more expectations. No more hope of the perfect pirouette, the flawless canter half-pass, the tempi’s to die for, passage and piaffe. IF.. And that’s a BIG if.. It ever happens, wonderful. But I’m not holding my breath any more. 

Hope somewhat ultimately yields disappointment. If you try for it, it’s never really as good as you’d hoped/expected it would be. 

Answer? Don’t try. 

It’s not coping out. It’s simply realizing when the deck is stacked too hard in your opponents favor… you change the game. 

What am I changing it to? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just sit it out. Rather tired of games, to be honest. 

Sit on the sidelines and watch the other cross-country riders race through the mud and muck, crash over fences, slip in the water, roll over the hurdles and ultimately get crushed.

We’ll see how long I last sitting on the fence instead of the back of that horse. Probably not long. I’ve always got to be astride something… The world gets rather tilted on it’s already precarious axis whenever I’m not working with a partner. 

So I’ll bury myself with my safe schoolmasters and rigidly spunky (lol!) lesson ponies, and hope I can hold out longer than last time. 

I'm walking away.