A New Start

Those of you who have been reading my blog for awhile have probably noticed a pretty steep decline in the amount of posts in the past year or two.  Before we moved to Northern California, I was able to telecommute a couple days a week.  I knew my job inside out -- heck, I was there for 20 years.  So, I had extra brain waves to devote to things like riding and blogging.

Four and a half years ago we moved to the Sierra Nevada mountains with our animals.  We wanted to live (and eventually retire) in a place with fewer people and more trees.  My new job was demanding, with a vertical learning curve, but I enjoyed the challenge.  I worked with friendly, smart people for a nonprofit with religious roots.  It felt like a good fit.

...until two years ago when I got a new boss.  I was hopeful that with time she would get her management feet, and things would improve.  I have awesome co-workers and we formed our own little support group.  Others gave me encouragement and acknowledged the work I accomplished.  I thought I could "tough it out."  Why let one person ruin things, right?

But, it got worse instead of better.  The more I accomplished, the more I was berated.  The positive feedback I received from others was resented.  I was threatened and harassed.  Those of you who have been in abusive relationships know the feeling; the clenching in your stomach when you hear footsteps; not knowing whether it was going to be roses or fists.  I was in an abusive marriage when I was just out of college -- I recognized the symptoms.

People, within and without the organization, advised me to file a complaint.  Or get an attorney.  But, really, all I wanted was to work without repercussion.  So, when head hunters called, I listened.

I didn't want to jump from the frying pan into the fire so I was careful.  I took my time.  I wanted to work for a nonprofit.  I wanted a company with a strong commitment to its community.  I wanted their work to fulfill a mission that resonated with me.  And, as luck would have it, just such a company called.

Monday, I start the new job.  I will have a long commute but I won't be working evenings, weekends and holidays on a regular basis anymore.  I am anticipating having my life back.  I am hopeful.  I am excited about making a difference -- about mentoring staff and building a team.  I am excited about working for a company with the goal of giving back to its community of working poor and the under-served. And, hopefully, I will have energy to do more than sit on the couch at night staring blankly into space.

Let it Be, Let it Go

Today was another cold bright day. Low of 23F and the high just creeping past 40. The ice we've broken on the water troughs and tossed aside each of the past mornings doesn't melt; the pile of broken shards just grows taller. Much of the ice on the grass and in frozen puddles isn't melting either. The arena sand is as hard as cement.  And the sun isn't warm enough to dry anything that does melt.  The ground is a soggy, frozen mess.

I suppose I could have ridden Lucy today. But I didn't want to ride her on the frozen sand and, to be honest, it was just too darn cold to be appealing. My competitive drive has gone into hibernation; perhaps permanently. And the weird thing is, I'm okay with that. Maybe it's our climate, maybe it's my job, maybe it's my age. Most likely, it is a combination of all three.

When we were living in Southern California, I worked from home two or three days a week. The nights were often cold in the winter, but the days were almost always comfortable. It was unusual for ice not to melt. I rode 4-5 times per week, year 'round. The arena might be frozen in the morning, but it would be soft by mid-day and I could ride on my lunch. In the summer, I rode before work -- shifting my hours so that I arrived in the office (on the days I went in) at 10am. From the standpoint of having time to train my horse, my job was perfect. But I wasn't happy at work. I was bored and I didn't like the direction the organization was headed. I needed to make a change.

Now, I am at my desk (almost an hour away) by 8am. In the summer, when I get home there is enough light left to help Brett with chores. In the winter, it is dark when I pull in the driveway at 6pm. The job is very interesting, very challenging, and I am far from bored. I am often tired and occasionally stressed -- but, overall, I am happy with the change. However, it is impossible to ride during the week. The weekends are available -- weather permitting. The weather did not cooperate in December; we had rain every weekend. I didn't ride once.

The funny thing is, I'm okay with that. The part of my psyche that pushed me into the barn every day, come hell or high water, has melted into something softer. I still need to spend time with Lucy and Jackson but I don't need to be riding -- and if I'm riding, I don't need to be constantly pushing for the next level.

Don't get me wrong. Riding correctly is still incredibly important to me. I still would rather be in the arena, riding Lucy in a balanced, fluid and soft canter than anything else. Lucy and I communicate beautifully. We make each other happy. I want her to last for many more years. Lucy has a history of joint issues from her years as a jumper. My plan is to let her be a muddy princess in the pasture this winter, with no shoes and no demands other than an easy ride on occasion. She can rest her joints so she is strong in the spring.

In 2015, I anticipate riding regularly in the spring and fall. I'm not going to stress about it in the winter or summer. I'm going to let it be.

A Therapeutic Ride

Yesterday, I was busy.  Busy with work, busy stacking wood and busy stressing about the reduction in force occurring this week.  Tuesday, I learned that a senior executive (who was also a 25 year employee and a colleague I respected) was eliminated.  Despite being assured that I have nothing to worry about, it came as a shock and put me off balance for the rest of the day. 

Our Chief Operating Officer, who has also been my mentor for the past 15 years, hosted her annual Christmas breakfast that morning.  She is battling round two of cancer.  Breast cancer showed up five years ago and we spent many of our meetings during that time talking about coping with chemo.  She was cancer free for five years, then it came back but in a different place and in a more difficult place to treat.  The chemo this time is really taking a toll.  She talked at breakfast about how much we all mean to her, the importance of doing the things on your bucket list, and that she loved us all.  Now this woman is not a gushy kind of person.  She is strong, she is smart and she does not show emotion at work.  She said the "L" word and eyes all around the room immediately got wet.  Mine included. 

Back at my office, we celebrated the retirement of my employee who is taking the voluntary separation package.  She opened her gifts, cried, hugged us, thanked us and then we all went to lunch.  Before she left at the end of the day, she came into my office and thanked me for being her "best" boss and for the atmosphere of calm that permeates our department.  Her words meant the world to me. 

Wednesday morning, I started playing telephone tag with the vice president of human resources and my boss, the Chief Financial Officer.  The involuntary reduction will occur on Friday.  I have an employee that I am required to eliminate.  Brett and I will be on an airplane, then in a rental car, and finally a ferry on Friday in another State.  The trip is my Christmas present from Brett and he booked everything months ago.  Nonrefundable airfare, etc.  I wanted to meet with the employee on Monday when I am back.  I feel that I should be the one to have conversation.  But, I won't be -- there are some other circumstances that far outweigh my personal preference on how this is handled -- and with which I agree.
 
Phone calls finished; I went to the barn and saddled up Jackson.  My plan was to go around the block and then do some trot work in the arena. 

Instead, we went most of the way around the block and then Jackson turned left instead of right at the top of the long, uphill grade.  Turning left means going up a very steep road.  Turning right means downhill and home.  I asked Jackson if he was sure he'd rather go up that steep hill than go downhill and home.  He was sure.  We trucked all the way to the top, with him looking at all the houses and driveways with interest.  Me too.  I haven't been up that road in forever. 

We eventually made it back home, did about five minutes of trot work and then called it a day.  He was tired from the hill work and I was feeling relaxed -- finally.

I used to have a training schedule that I adhered to come hell or high water.  Jackson (or maybe my age) has changed all of that.  If it is below 40F with a stiff wind, I don't ride.  If it is 29F before I leave for work, I skip riding that morning too.  Sometimes we work hard in the arena but sometimes we just go for a chill ride around the community.  I don't clip him in the winter anymore so he doesn't have to deal with a blanket.  I just make sure I don't ride so hard that he sweats a lot.  I want him sound.  I want him correct.  I want him to move in harmony with me.  But I don't care if we never get past 1st level.  I don't care if we don't show.  Maybe someday he'll be able to handle the stress of a show.  If so, that's great.  If not, I'm okay with that too. 

I want training rides and I want therapeutic rides.  I want this journey with this horse, my Jackson.

Timing and feeling thankful

I've been thinking about the last few days and two events that dovetailed into perfect timing.

At the beginning of January, we took my son back to San Luis Obispo where he is going to school.  Both Brett and I went to the same university (but not at the same time, I was just a babe when he was there) and we love the area.  We talked about relocating and getting out of the LA rat race.  We love our community but we don't love LA.  I talked about the central coast of California and that dream when we got back.

Soon after that, I was contacted by a headhunter.  The position wasn't on the central coast, heck - it wasn't even in California!  But, it wasn't in LA.  It was in a rural area back east and the position sounded challenging and was with a very prestigious organization.  We talked about it.  We were feeling the itch to get out.  I sent in my resume.  Nothing happened beyond a "thank you. We'll be in touch."  Which was okay.  I was ambivalent.  Some days I wanted the new challenge and a historic barn.  Some days I didn't.  And, most days, I didn't think about it at all.  I had the job description printed out and sitting by the computer at home with a few questions.  But, the paper got buried under other papers and I didn't bother fishing it out.

Then, Sunday I had a very nice day enjoying our home, our animals, the garden and our climate.  I looked at all the fencing around the pasture and the arena and remembered Brett digging those post holes, one by one, and making sure everything was perfectly level.  I looked at the fruit trees that I planted, creating an orchard that is now providing fruit.  I looked with anticipation at the new fruit trees that haven't started bearing yet.  I thought about our house and it's kitchen that is my dream kitchen - because we built it that way.  I thought about the barn and all the work Brett did in there.  He put in the stalls, the brick walkway, the tack room, the feed room, the bathroom, the automatic waterers... He built a beautiful barn.  I found the job description and threw it in the trash.

Then Monday morning while I was down at the barn doing chores, the recruiter called and left a message on my cell.  When I left for work, I had my bluetooth in my ear so I could call him back and a twisted knotted feeling in my stomach.  It wasn't excitement.  It was more like dread.  I knew I wasn't ready to leave our little ranch.

I did call him back and, as it turns out, the job wasn't a good fit anyway.  Phew!  But, isn't life interesting?   As I think about it, I am very thankful for the quiet weekend I had, enjoying the tranquility of home.  I am thankful that I had that weekend right before the recruiter called. 

I am very thankful.

Passage is thankful too.

Breathe

This year instead of making New Year's resolutions or goals, I am picking a word to live by.  Last night during yoga class it came to me: Breathe.

Yes, yoga class.  I haven't been to class in two years and I'm really not sure why I stopped.  I was pretty hard core, devoted, three-times-a-week-addicted for about four years.  I needed it to ride my Friesian; his huge gaits required way more flexibility, balance and core strength than I had from just doing barn chores.    So, I want to start regular yoga practice again, I want to breathe into all my tight joints.  I want to breathe into tree pose - which I NEVER mastered.  You would think standing on one foot could be easily accomplished but I seem to have completely lost my sense of balance.  Now that I've passed the 50 year old mark, the gimpy factor is kicking in more and more.  I'm hoping yoga will help counteract that a little.

I want to breathe effectively when I ride.  In addition to breathing calm and confidence at shows, I want to breathe into my half halts, deep into my seat, and into my legs softly draping against Jackson.  I don't think I'm breathing in this picture:

I want to breathe deeply and fill my senses with horse aroma.  Jackson smells wonderful (when he's clean).  I am going to bury my nose in his neck and inhale. 


Work is stressful (as always).  There will be lots of changes this year.  My boss (a great lady and a great boss) is retiring.  I'm kinda nervous about who our CEO will recruit for her position.  Okay, I'm a lot nervous about it.  Breathe.

I am going to breathe in home and hearth.  I will fill my lungs with clean mountain air, the aroma of herbs crushed between my fingers, roses and carnations.  In the kitchen, I will pay attention to the yeasty smell of bread in the oven, the play of spices in the saute pan, and ribs on the BBQ.

When I feel tense, distracted or annoyed I will breathe deep and find a place of acceptance and tolerance.  I will breathe in the holy and exhale the ...unholy.  Substitute whatever word comes to mind.  They all fit. 

And, lastly, I will breathe in the love of my family.  I will sigh and snuggle deeper into my husband's arms.  I will laugh with my daughter, gasping for breath and snorting like a pig.  I will breathe and release, breathe and release, my son as he continues his journey into adulthood, independence and life away from home.

And, hopefully with all that breathing, I won't hyperventilate.