>As a child I longed for a pony. Shaking my tiny fists at the sky, I cursed cruel fate for planting me in a back yard suited only to a wheezing cocker spaniel and not to the mighty steed that was my heart’s desire.
Now, with my leg clasped firmly in the steel trap that is middle age, I realize I’ve been in the saddle my whole life.
While those around me seem to follow well-laid plans toward tangible goals, I simply ride one pony till she bucks me, then dust off and cut another from the string to gallop off in a different direction.
I once was called “bohemian (a person, as an artist or writer, who lives and acts free of regard for conventional rules and practices), a label I don’t reject. Certainly, I can be random, scattered, even flaky–and chaos ensues when those parts of my personality emerge at inopportune moments. My body is bruised and battered from tumbling off those ponies.
Yet there have been triumphs. A strong marriage to a great man, two gifted and well adjusted kids, travels and adventures, 24 years at a job I loved–these things achieved despite my utter lack of horsemanship.
Maybe all those people I’ve perceived to be following plans and reaching goals are also struggling to draw connections between seemingly random events, a thought that’s both comforting and troubling. But I do know we’re riding off toward the same sunset, and trying arrive there with some dignity.