This morning in a fit of last-moments-of-vacation procrastination, I watched a documentary I'd longed to see, Buck, the story of Buck Brannaman (forgive the autoplay trailer) and his cowboy Zen approach to all things horsey and non-horsey.
This film prompted uncounted thoughts and feelings, chief among them that I miss my horse and horses in general. There have been longish periods in my life when I believed work with horses held the key to anything important I would ever do, and this film poked at whatever armor I've built to protect against a sense of failing to fully act on those beliefs.
If you've seen the film and know much about horses, Brannaman's conversations about good horsemanship being a dance might resonate with you. For me they sound more like a pealing cathedral tower. Dance and riding are married in my viscera. I used to say I only got a bachelor's degree in dance because I couldn't get one in horseback riding. For me, they're both about metaphysics, movement and love.
This is not to say I plan to leave the best teaching job in the world to chase a dream conjured in my horse-crazed, 10 year-old girl self, rather to say this film all but shouted at me that I ignore dance and horses at my peril.
Watch David Letterman wax all respectful and humble around Brannaman. It's a sight to behold.
22 hours ago