I almost hate to tell you how wonderful my mornings are.
My cat Ella wakes me up around 4:30 a.m. Hold on … that part is most decidedly not wonderful. It gets better.
I go back to sleep till about 6. Then I get up, make a cup of tea, and crawl back into bed to read for a whole hour. At 7, I set aside my kindle, sit cross-legged at the head of my bed, open the Calm app on my phone, and click on a short guided meditation.
Afterwards, I head to the barn, where the minis greet me with the most appreciative whinnies. They know breakfast is coming. Once they’re fed, I grab the broom, pitchfork, shovel, and wheelbarrow and get to work.
As I sweep the stalls, clean up manure, scrub water buckets, and shovel sand back into the holes dug by barn dogs Zeus and Athena, I try to practice what I learned in my morning meditation.
I pause and lean on the spade handle to watch the gray dawn dissipate in the rising sun. I notice and feel gratitude for a sapphire sky with one puffy cloud, a pasture full of white ibis aerating the grass, a bright watercolor grasshopper resting on a fence post, an expansive V of honking geese soaring overhead, or the smell of pine when I crunch through the trees. Instead of letting my mind wander and speculate about the future, I try to focus on the moment, finding delight in the world around me. Of course, the challenge is to hold on to that feeling for the rest of the day.
Every morning, something makes me laugh. Zeus, a lumbering behemoth of an Anatolian shepherd, begs for a belly scratch. Aprille, one of the mini mares, sticks her face in front of the leaf blower, tossing her long mane like a fashion model. Mischa, the female Great Dane, transforms into a spindly kangaroo, bouncing with excitement at the prospect of going outside.
As for exercise, the barn is my gym. I have lost 20 pounds and developed abs and never-before-seen biceps. I don’t exactly feel like me, but I like it.
I never eat out because … well … money and the lack thereof. Instead, I cook nutritious, vegetarian soups and other freezable meals, eat farm fresh eggs from a lady in the neighborhood, and load up on veggies from a nearby produce stand. (That said, I recently discovered that you can buy single pieces of cake at the supermarket!)
The latest glorious addition to my self-care routine is yoga. Just across the dirt road behind the farm, I discovered an oasis: Wind Horse Yoga. Three days a week, I wander through my gate to join a lovely little yoga community, where owner Knan and her four dogs create a climate of fellowship and zen. Instead of a bell or chime at the end of practice, we are roused from savasana by wet noses and wagging tails.
Working full time, I dabbled inconsistently with self care. I took a mindfulness course and embraced meditation wholeheartedly, but life’s commitments soon pushed that practice to the back burner. I downloaded workout apps, joined gyms, attended fitness classes, and tried to maintain a regular schedule of exercise off and on over the years. I became a vegetarian and tried to eat healthfully; it’s just that cooking is so time-consuming and falafel wraps with garlic sauce delivered to my door are so delicious and convenient. My point is that I basically failed at self care for most of my adult life.
These days, I’m blissfully unemployed, and my college classes are challenging but not overtaxing. This midlife crisis or “gap year” or whatever it is has handed me the most wonderful and unexpected gift: time to take care of myself, mentally and physically.
It didn’t start out that way.
For the first six weeks, I cried a lot. If I wasn’t crying, I was on the brink of tears. I barely made it through my classes before falling apart in my car on the way home. Everything triggered tears, and I didn’t even fully understand what I was sniffling about. The tiniest frustration or inconvenience overwhelmed me. While working around the barn, my mind zipped and zoomed in all kinds of crazy directions, looping back and getting lost. Looking back, I realize I was processing a great deal of change: giving up my career, sending my husband halfway around the world, not having an income, living in a small apartment, and caring for so many living beings who wanted my attention all the dang time.
Those changes continue to trigger moments of panic, confusion, and anxiety. I realize this gift of time has an expiration date, and to be honest, sometimes visualizing where this is all going sends me on a downward spiral. No, it’s not nirvana, but every day I try to appreciate this opportunity to slow down, learn, and grow.
Who would have thought I would find mindfulness in manure?
Peace in a pitchfork?
Focus in farm work?
Gratitude in the grind?
Comfort in cat litter?
No, I went too far with that.
Ommm…
