Horseless and Happy

As far back as I can remember, perhaps even from diapers, my attention was captive to anything with four legs, hooves, and a nicker.  Even the dopey Disney Clydesdales with collars and buck-teeth.

At age four, I was drawing and painting two legged horses (because I did not yet understand dimension.). But by the second grade, I had made a paper carousel horse collection (horses with dimension and four legs.) that wowed my teachers.  

By the fourth grade I had knocked out all the books related to horses in my school library- even checking out the "How To Draw Horses" book several times.  I had already read Smokey the Cow horse- which was on a 10th grade reading level- and the librarian,  my mother, and my teachers were forcing me to broaden my literary horizons with "non-horse" books.

I don't know when my mother figured it out.  Maybe it was when I took a Toostie-roll bank and set it up in my room for my sisters to donate their allowance money toward my future horse.  Or maybe when I sat at the top of my driveway with painted driveway rocks for sale- all earnings to go straight to that horse.

After I had cut out at least a dozen Classified's ads on local horse sales and tacked them to my wall, my parents must have thought they should make it clear to my young mind that our situation would not be good for us or the horse.  I was bitter.

By the sixth grade I had contemplated a couple of options: running away to a local stable or feigning lack of appetite and sickness that only horse-ownership could cure.  That sort of drama came from the books I read, not the films I watched.

I was given two options that year: horse-lessons or a flute with music lessons.  It took me less than one hour to make my decision.  I chose the music.  And I've never regretted it.  Here is the sum of my wisdom.  I knew that horse lessons had a cap on it.  Money runs out, no horse, no ability to ride.  On the other hand, I could make music without parent funding, and the flute and the ability was one thing I could carry with me the rest of my life.  To this day, I am proud of my decision.

What I ended up doing in 2010 was a spark of entrepreneurial inspiration.  However, it has not really taken me anywhere yet.  I found an old wood-burning iron and decided, "Hey, this is fun.  I can sell the wood I burn and save the money from that for a future horse!"   So Phoenix Pyrocreations began.  Problem is that the older you get, the more you need money for.  And then when you think of getting married you realize that you need every bloomin' ounce of that cash for a down-payment on a house, car, and furnishings.  And then when you think of getting married, you also realize that very likely before you're ready, you'll have a family to support, and you wont be able to keep a horse anyway.  Still, selling pyrographic art-pieces was more noble plan than running away or starving oneself.

So, arriving at the ripe old age of twenty-one, I have concluded that I am horseless but happy.  Sometimes the best way to ease the pain of an unfulfilled dream is to fill your life with many smaller dreams.  I may not be destined for a wilderness establishment in Colorado or Montana; but if I am where God wants me, even if I am horseless, I will be happy.







Signed,
Sylvanbliss

Def.:- Sylvanbliss:  1. a state in which one realizes that it is better to be horseless and happy than to have many horses and no joy.
2. the realization that without joy the dream one wanted would become an all night struggle. i.e. nightmare; but with joy he can be happy awake as well.
3. the contentment of going where the Lord says go.
4. sometimes also perceived as a last ditch measure for horse-crazy people in which the victim attempts to bury the symptoms and "forget".  This usually only results in a resurgence later in life which is worse than the previous and should be dealt with tenderly.  Some have found it useful to allow the victim to keep chickens, goats, or some other small livestock as a wound-salve.