Rainy Day Soul Searching

She used to be fearless. Now she is afraid of failure, afraid of success, afraid of living

It was a cold, grey day with drizzle every now and then. The few leaves left on the trees were dancing crazily in the wind. She stared out the window of their bedroom. Sadly, she thought about the coming winter and wondered what it would bring. Howling blizzards, deadly ice storms or bone chilling cold? She shivered at the thought.

With the exception of a couple blizzards and ice storms, the winters had been mild for some time. However, every year she expected the trend to end. Always relieved to find she had been wrong again. As the cold rain began pelting the windows, her dread was renewed.

She used to enjoy winter and the deep snow that came with it. The mornings spent glued to the radio waiting for the announcer to tell her there would be no school today. The hours spent outside in the snow building snow forts. Running up and down the pure white drifts with her dog Wags. Laughing as she rolled down the sparkling mounds of snow. And coming in at the end of the day cold, tired and happy.

A flash of lightning brings her back to the present with a jolt. Lightning...in October? The rumble of thunder answers her question. The rain was really coming down now. Very good for the land; very bad for her state-of-mind.

When did winter become something to dread, she wonders. Every since she could remember she had been out in all kinds of weather helping her parents care for livestock. She remembers going out on horseback with her dad to search for cows drifting in a blizzard. When the snow swirled around and she lost sight of him was scary. But she remembered him telling her about how Blondie, the horse she was riding, had taken him home when he was lost years before. Dropping her hands to Blondie’s neck, she let the mare go where she wanted. Within minutes, they had caught up. They rode back to the place and put the horses away. After the blizzard died down they went back out and found the cows, not where they were supposed to be, but doing okay.

That was more than thirty-five years ago. She was just a kid then. Maybe she didn’t know she was supposed to be afraid. She remembers being taught a healthy respect for nature’s awesome power and unpredictability. She felt excitement, maybe, but fear or dread, not really.

Maybe it is the shortness of breath while tromping through a foot of snow during calving season, sliding back several inches with every step. The fear of falling and injuring her back was always on her mind. Lack of strength in her back kept her from lifting newborn calves and carrying them to the pickup or barn. She hates being to helpless when a calf needs her.

She looks down at her hands. They used to be so strong and tan. Now they are pale and covered with age spots. The strength is nearly gone from her wrists. The arms that used to carry two five-gallon buckets of water or feed can’t carry one now. At least not for very long. She hates being weak.

Is that what is causing her dread? The fact that physically she can’t do what she could before. And winter reminds her on a daily basis of what she has lost? Could it be that simple?

She had read all the magic books that were going to bring back the body she had hidden under years of neglect. Exercises that would erase the years of tiptoeing around a bad back. The years of showing horses were fond memories The years she couldn’t ride because of her back were bitter ones. The overwhelming regret she feels every time she sees her dusty saddle setting in the barn brings tears to her eyes.

Still she feels there is more to it. More than the flabby stomach muscles were keeping her from being happy.  The contentment she used to feel during the winter months was but a fading memory.

She searches for the answers in the dark corners of her mind. She knows that she is still young and that there are women much older than her still working hard every day. Her own mother can still work circles around her at seventy-three. The Energizer Bunny she calls her.

No, it isn’t tied to a number. Fifty-one is just a number and not even that big of a number at that. But, what had she done in those fifty-one years? If she died tomorrow, would she leave anything behind to prove she had been here?

Could it be the lack of accomplishments during those fifty-one years? Maybe it isn’t the winter or even the snow, ice and such. Maybe it is just another wasted year coming to an inevitable and predictable end. Another three hundred and sixty five days of wasted opportunities. Wasted moments in time gone for all eternity. Maybe she has discovered the root of her discontent.

She used to be fearless. Now she is afraid of failure, afraid of success, afraid of living.

The regret floods over her as she thinks of the time wasted dreaming big dreams. The opportunities lost because she “didn’t pull the trigger”; she never even tried. She had just dreamed and waited for them to come true, magically. Waited for the world to figure out what it was she wanted and present it to her all wrapped up in a bow.

She has studied “how-to” books from cover to cover. The techniques she knew, but rarely practiced. She knew what she wanted it to look, sound or be like, but it was always less than what she expected. She expected perfection and was discouraged when it wasn’t reached.

But now she sees, through tear-filled eyes, that she dreamed the dream, but didn’t do the work necessary to make the dream a reality. She would not or could not leave her comfort zone to live her dreams. There was always tomorrow, but tomorrow has come and gone and she is still sitting at the rainy window racked with regrets.

Where do I go from here, she wonders. Is it too late to make my dreams come true? Do I have what it takes to make them reality or are they out of my reach? Is this winter a new beginning? Is it a rebirth of sorts? A taking back of my health, hopes and dreams?

Today I pull the trigger.