Beginning of the year of the horse in February, I was imagining myself on this majestic black stallion, riding along the beach, hair dancing in the wind, smile bigger than my face. Wild, free and powerful.
Then March came and I somehow found myself on a completely different animal – untamed, unpredictable, throwing me off every few days, dragging me through bushes that scratch my face and tear my clothes. Nothing glamorous about it. Not the Instagram-worthy perfect picture!
And I keep asking myself; did I get on the wrong horse? Can I swap it please?
This year has kicked my butt in ways I didn’t see coming. Some days I’m not sure if I’m brave, stubborn or just completely delusional.
I feel battered. Exhausted. I just need a bloody nap, not a metaphorical one, an actual, no-alarm, no-guilt, three-day nap.
Then the guilt shows up. You’re a privileged white girl who lives in Australia. What exactly are you whinging about? Really?! The world has bigger problems than yours!
I’ve spent a lot of time beating myself up for feeling sad when the world around us is burning and so many people are in pain. Like my pain needs to pass some kind of threshold before it’s allowed to exist. I’m trying to accept that it doesn’t work that way, that I can feel broken open by my own life and still hold grief for everyone else. That those two things aren’t competing.
Sometimes I walk the dog on the beach and I just want to scream at the sky, please, just give me a bloody break. Then I do a few pretty terrible handstands and run into the waves.
This year has taught me to take the hit without biting back. To turn my phone off. To breathe first, then move – from calm, not panic.
I realise I got exactly the horse that’s meant for me. Sometimes I still find myself holding the reins too tightly rather than letting the horse move under me, trying to force something that needs its own time to evolve.
And the most beautiful part has been riding alongside close friends and family who hand me a rain jacket when it pours, make me chai in the morning, and make me laugh with terrible dad jokes.
What if this is exactly the journey we’re meant to be on? Not the one we planned, not the one we’d have chosen, but the one that’s meant for us to help us grow.
The horse is still wild, teaching me exactly what I need to learn right now, I’m holding on. With gratitude in my heart.