The Loss of Magic

It was another early morning and the restless nights are starting to feel more natural than I care to admit. ‘Sleep deprivation is the cost of admission’ I’ve been telling myself for the past 3 years. 

As you may or may not know there are a lot pieces to developing a career as an author. Once upon a time you could show up to the literary world with a quality manuscript. If you were lucky and met the right person at the right time you could find yourself guided into the elite fold of published authors. 

The more I read, and study the current economics of writing the more I feel like those days are over and the days of creating our own opportunities are now upon us in full force. I’m not opposed to this progression. People like me don’t meet the right people at the right time. We make our own way in this life. We pour our blood, sweat, and tears into our dreams and show just keep showing up, no matter what. 

It’s been two years, one month and twenty-one days since I decided it was time to see this dream come to light. 

To live a creative, artful life making a living as an author, who spends her days puttering in the garden and riding her horses. 

It’s a simple dream, of a simple life, but it’s mine all the same. It infects my sleep and coaxes me from my early morning slumber. It highjacks my thoughts and runs away my imagination. It leaves me no choice but try. So trying is what I’ve been doing. 

Despite the unpredictable weather and the constant assault of deer and slugs I kept showing up to tend my soil. And the garden grew, it wasn’t always pretty but it grew. We now feast on pickles, sauces, jams, and jellies. We make our medicine and grow our health in our backyard. 

The writing has clicked too. I’m confident in how I want to show up in the world. My novel is coming along, and the process of writing feels more natural every day, regardless of the sleep sacrificed for the time to make it happen. 

I have found space between my two jobs to bring small bits of creative joy to my simple world. Learning and growing with every new risk and adventure. Filling my cup for art. 

I’ve started investing time and spare change into making passive income. There’s a few small streams tricking into the pool that will catch me when the time comes to take the leap into early retirement. 

It’s all coming together. Just like I dreamed.

But something has been missing. There’s a hole in my life where the magic once lived. 

For several months I have wondered where my light went. That special spark of joy that fires up inside at the wonder of life. The light that comes from the pure pleasure absorbed through my fingers when I lay my hands on the flesh of a horse.

This grown up life, with its grown up pains has dimmed that spark of my soul - and in its darkness the child within me withers. 

Horses aren’t easy. None of this life is easy but the pain and fatigue of my mortal condition has been making it increasingly difficult to show up for them. And lately I’ve been wondering if horses are still a viable pleasure for me. 

But today, during one of the most painful tasks in my routine life, I was able to make this aging body comfortable enough to start showing up for the last piece of the dream. The piece that matters most to my soul. The piece that nurtures the light and the child within me. 

Tonight I fell back in love with my horse. Nothing special happened. There was no epic ride or surprising breakthrough. There was no heart warming moments or adorable equine antics.

I just trimmed their feet.

I almost didn’t. I didn’t believe I could, but I showed up anyway. They weren’t the best behaved they have ever been. They weren’t extra special or extra good in any way. They just were because I showed up and pour myself into my dreams, even though I didn’t believe I could. 

With sharpened knives and nippers, a fresh rasp and a converted blue walker, trimming the horses hooves became pleasant again. Where there was normally pain and strife, there was none. 

Then, while I toiled away at their slightly over-grown feet it happened. I felt it seeping through my skin spreading deep into my tissues. It was carried on their scent filling my lungs where it swirled into my blood with penetrating deeper into me with every heart beat. 

The magic was back, traveling through my soul lighting the space of the child within. We sat me, myself, and her, in the quiet. 

Picking away at the task in hand, time slowed. The dream came full circle and I had arrived.