It's been ages since I've written. Anything really, so don't feel too neglected, little blog. I've spent some time doodling around on things and some other time over-editing other things. But I'm in one of those stretches where it feels as if the creative well has dried up, and though time and experience have taught me that this too shall pass, it always gets me feeling worried, because I rely on writing as a personal outlet. Which brings me to my latest question-wrestle: if a writer isn't writing, is she still a writer? Is a mother still a mother if she loses a child? An irritating hip injury has kept me off-horse for three months, which is the longest I've been grounded in this manner since I was 12. Am I still a horsewoman?
When I first met her, my brilliant riding teacher Samantha sized up my little horse and said "he's got a lot of push-back." And he did indeed. And as I work to reconcile my roles in life as they shift, change, and expand, I'm realizing I do too. I'm coming to understand that much of our happiness in this life is dependent on our ability to gracefully adapt to change. I think of people who suffer a paralyzing injury or go through the death of a spouse, and how that alters them forever - I admire them deeply because of how that sort of tragedy dwarfs my own struggle to come to terms with my shifting identity, and how hard it has been for me to acknowledge and accept what in my life simply is. I can work to heal my hip in the best ways I know how, but I must also get to a place inside where I can be happy, even if I can never ride again in the way I would want.
Now that's the ultimate challenge. Isn't it? What do you think?
