For the past few years I’ve made a bit of a deal about who first footed us. First footing being a Scottish tradition that I had been introduced to by a Scottish boyfriend many many MANY years ago. I liked the idea of it and have made a pointed effort to be aware of who first footed us every new year.
This year was the first in many years that J had actually been home so part of my brain was already thinking about how he would finally get to properly walk across the threshold and usher in a year of good fortune. Then midnight struck and we scampered outside with sparklers and… I don’t remember who walked back in first. It may have been Beckett who forgot his shoes or it may have been Sophie who was spinning like a top, high on the festivities and (illegal for her) chocolates. I don’t know.
And then today, the first day of the New Year when traditionally you are supposed to do the thing you want to do all year and eat collards and peas. For many years now I’ve made a point to ride on January 1st. But not this time. This time I played with the colts, laughed at Pip, and then came back in to hang out with my family. Tonight we are having carry-out Mexican, no home cooked meal here.
It’s been an odd day, full of departures from my normal routine but you know I’m ok with it. Sometimes I think we need to stop doing the things we’ve always done if we’re always getting the same results, especially when those results aren’t always great. I spent over half of 2014 not riding even though my horses were sound and my body fit enough to ride. I made decisions based on how I always HAD done things instead of how things needed to be NOW. I’m not that exuberant 18 year old girl willing to jump on any horse. I’m not that confident 20 something proudly waving my trainer-credentials at anyone needing help with a horse. I’m a wary, yet determined 40 year old that wants to take up the reins for myself instead of helping everyone else.
So… I am.