![\"trendy_womens_horse_riding_jodhpurs_-_brown_fouganza_8299309_425275\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/lynnricker.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/10\/trendy_womens_horse_riding_jodhpurs_-_brown_fouganza_8299309_425275.jpg?resize=300%2C300&ssl=1\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Use what talents you possess; The woods would be very silent if no birds sang there except those that sang best. \u2013 Henry van Dyke<\/p>\n
Sometimes it\u2019s not that fun to be an adult.\u00a0 You do all kinds of things you don\u2019t want to: waking up early on rainy Mondays, going to work in the snow, paying seemingly endless bills, eating shakes made out of kale.<\/p>\n
The average child laughs 300-500 times a day, while the average adult just 15.\u00a0 Sadly, I can recall any number of days where it was even less than that.\u00a0 When did it all get so serious?\u00a0 When is the turning point in most adults\u2019 lives?\u00a0 While I still feel like the same girl I always was, I lament I may have lost touch with her somewhat.<\/p>\n
But, since I started writing again, it\u2019s as if something lit up inside.\u00a0 That fire seems to burn day and night, with bits of stories and turns of phrases assailing me in the most wonderful way.\u00a0 I stop the car to jot down an idea, or awaken in the middle of the night to record a thought.<\/p>\n
After reading my blog, a number of you recommended I read Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear by Liz Gilbert.\u00a0 I\u2019ve been a fan of hers since Eat Pray Love, along with about 10 million other people.\u00a0 I\u2019ve read her subsequent as well as earlier work, and found her talents to be vast and varied, tackling non to historical fiction with equal verve. I was eager to hear her take on creative living, and am so grateful for your recommendations.<\/p>\n
I picked up the book during a visit to the bookstore. Even in this digital age, I still love going to a bookstore to read. There is a pleasure in feeling the paper, turning the pages. I fondly remember the way the \u2018Betsy\u2019 books smelled in my school library. I am powerless to elucidate the pleasant recollection that now wafts in near visual vapors in my memory, but I can see myself in a far corner of the library looking at the 1950’s illustrations.<\/p>\n
So there, in the middle of the B&N caf\u00e9, as I began to read about Susan and her skating after years of not doing so, and her joy in rediscovering this lost passion, I started to cry.\u00a0 Not one little trickle of a tear, but an ugly cry, a shoulder shaking sob. I forgot I was there and that people might see.\u00a0 Something in this idea struck a profound chord with me.<\/p>\n
A teenaged version of myself perked up, demanded to be heard.\u00a0 She had something to tell me.\u00a0 The hobbies you discounted as childish and not for serious adults made us happy.\u00a0 We want that again.<\/p>\n
My older, sedate self retorted, there\u2019s no time.\u00a0 That is silly. You\u2019re a mom. You work, and you travel, a lot. It would be hard to keep up with one or two hobbies, let alone a whole host.\u00a0 But, she refused to be silenced, and over the next few days and weeks, I allowed myself to think, what if?<\/p>\n
I used to think about writing now and then.\u00a0 It was like a cherished jewel I kept in a velvet box for safe keeping.\u00a0 Sometimes I would take it out and turn it over in my hands, feeling its solidness, gazing longingly, but then, would put it away again.<\/p>\n
I decided I needed to try to find a way to get back to some of the things I once loved.\u00a0But, how was I to do it, between parenting, marriage, and work? I recall an article citing women have approximately 14 hours of free time a week.\u00a0 That sounds pretty good.\u00a0 I could do something with that time.\u00a0 But, where was it?\u00a0 I certainly didn\u2019t feel like I had 14 unaccounted hours.<\/p>\n
I had been taking piano lessons the past two years, for the first time in more than a decade.\u00a0 I really enjoyed picking up the study again, but I didn\u2019t find the time to practice as I should to really master the pieces.\u00a0 Likewise, I did drop-in ballet class, but really wasn\u2019t in a consistent pattern.<\/p>\n
But in the evenings after I put the children to bed, I would feel the rhythm of a horse\u2019s hooves, ba-da, ba-da.\u00a0 I heard my teacher reminding us heels down; my legs still remembered.\u00a0 I had gone so far as to do a google search.\u00a0 There were stables nearby that could do short packages or drop-ins.\u00a0 I missed the feeling of the wind, the weight of the helmet settling after a jump, the feeling of moving as one with the horse.<\/p>\n
I looked at my work day and found wasted time.\u00a0 I arranged my schedule in 15 min increments, surprised to find what I could accomplish in short blocks, rather than just writing off that time as non useful.<\/p>\n
I started to get more regular about ballet.\u00a0 I blocked the time on my calendar, tried not to schedule meetings over it. \u00a0The beauty of centre work, the discipline of barre, I had forgotten.\u00a0 I felt lively and energized.\u00a0 I caught myself smiling for no reason at all.<\/p>\n
I turned off the TV at night\u00a0and went to the piano.\u00a0 I listened to pieces on you tube, marked dominant and tonic chords.\u00a0 Each line seemed to have a secret language only theory could explain. The complex phrases infused my dreams with their resonant tones.\u00a0 The melody\u2019s lightness found its way into my head, and I walked with a spring in my step.<\/p>\n
On a work trip, I found I had a spare morning, and the resort happened to have a trail ride.\u00a0 I booked it, almost without thinking.\u00a0 I couldn\u2019t wait to be in the saddle again. We started walking, the desert scenery all around. \u00a0I heard the horse\u2019s tail swishing.\u00a0 Hawks slowly circled overhead.\u00a0 Little gophers darted here and there. \u00a0The reins felt unfamiliar and familiar in my hands at the same time, as if recalling a distant memory.<\/p>\n
After a while, I could see nothing except desert sage and mesquite, the mountains off in the distance.\u00a0 I breathed in the warm dry air.\u00a0 It seemed I could breathe deeper than I had in months. \u00a0Suddenly, in between the trees was a herd of wild horses.\u00a0 They were beautiful, grazing huddled in their small group, encircling two foals.\u00a0 I felt as if I was spying on a forbidden, intimate moment.<\/p>\n
On the way back, I caught a glimpse of a coyote.\u00a0 As we past, he stopped and turned. We considered one another for a moment.\u00a0 I wondered what he was thinking; what it was like to be him, running free in the desert, life a mere game of survival.<\/p>\n
I realized with discipline I could still get the important things done, but more efficiently, perhaps creating time to pursue my ambitions, and room to breathe. I was never going to be great, or even good at these things.\u00a0 It didn\u2019t matter. \u00a0They\u00a0gave me joy.<\/p>\n
Dear Liz, your book taught me to dream like I had scarce allowed myself. I had denied myself things I loved, and why? For the cloak of busy-ness and adult propriety?<\/p>\n
Going out and creating something no longer seems a foreign notion reserved for people in creative fields. It feels accessible, something I can choose any day. The idea that I can choose to create the time for this is powerful. I like to know I don\u2019t have to accept things are they are, but can craft a life and future of my choosing, balancing duty and passion.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Use what talents you possess; The woods would be very silent if no birds sang there except those that sang best. \u2013 Henry van Dyke Sometimes it\u2019s not that fun to be an adult.\u00a0 You do all kinds of things you don\u2019t want to: waking up early on rainy Mondays, going to work in… Continue reading Room to Breathe<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-205","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-posts"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p78aL7-3j","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lynnricker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/205","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lynnricker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lynnricker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lynnricker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lynnricker.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=205"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/lynnricker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/205\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":208,"href":"https:\/\/lynnricker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/205\/revisions\/208"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lynnricker.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=205"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lynnricker.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=205"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lynnricker.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=205"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}