I couldn’t help myself—the rote “The client …” fumbled off my fingers without thought. Those therapeutic progress notes must be subconsciously tapping me on the shoulder, reminding me of the two I still have to complete.
I’m targeting words like quietly or unexpectedly—anything with “ly” at its end. While reading Love in the Time of Cholera, I read an article with a quote from Gabriel García Márquez, where he forwent those endings to create scenes with a blasting firework brilliance. I put the goal on my mental writing task list and am seeing it through.
Infrequent are the –ly endings; however, when they arrive, the mental play to change them feels like putting on a glamorous hat or jacket. It feels better. The extra few seconds it takes is a small price to pay for the payoff.
Another small price for a major payoff: Evelyn’s horse-riding lessons. With a quick Venmo tap for $25, she’s working with a young woman who took in a horse whose previous owner warned, “Kids should never ride her.” To desensitize Betsy, her new trainer placed a tarp under the blanket and saddle so the loud crunching and flailing fabric became something the horse had no choice but to tolerate.
Today’s ride was different. Instead of holding the hanging loop off Betsy’s chin, Aubrey let go and stood next to the fence. She spoke commands with strength—“Pull harder.” “Ease up.” “Don’t let her get away with that.”—while Evelyn responded with maybe an 80% success rate, the remaining 20% needing a follow-up reminder.
Watching someone you love reach a new height delivers a swelling sensation—like an eddy in a river, rich with oxygen and nutrients, where life gathers and multiplies. I felt pride watching her do alone what once she couldn’t. Back and forth she pulled the reins, countering Betsy’s opposing will. Each assertion built trust—until, after two circles, Betsy’s hooves and head went with Evelyn’s lead.
At the end, a photo op: Evelyn’s special guests, Grandma and Papa, watching as she stood atop the saddle, smiling big and straight—a flowering abundance of spirit in full bloom.
I’m feeling like a pack of wolves calm. The fierceness of my peace comes from taking on what I want and leaving what I don’t. I’m responding to texts, emails, or phone calls with what I have to give—sometimes a little, sometimes a bit more. But the self-imposed peer pressure to do more, to present a certain way, is gone. I’m comfortable, I think. And I know myself better.
In previous visits with my parents, I’d overextend—planning meals, scheduling meetups, juggling logistics. This time, I didn’t. I picked one day—Wednesday—and told everyone we’re going to the new Mexican restaurant in town. There’ll be eleven of us, and besides showing up, eating, and visiting, I’m taking on no extra responsibility.
That’s the thing—responsibility. That’s what I do. I take on the responsibility of others having a good time, a good experience, enjoying the food, or feeling some way—moments that are outside my control. But I’m relaxing on all that jazz now, dialing it back. Focusing on what’s mine to hold, and paying attention when I start stepping outside my bubble of responsibility.
Right now, my bubble of responsibility involves watching the new Naked Gun. That’s it. Then I’ll crawl into my delectable thick comforter bed and fall fast asleep. That’s it.
Night! Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 