It was one of those beautiful winter days, uncharacteristically warm but with enough bite in the air to make the horses dance along the trails. It was our first ride after the end of hunting season and we were feeling free to roam the woods at will.

Everyone but Sharon’s Mingo was acting up. I was riding Peg’s Hailey and she was uncharacteristically antsy. Hailey kept telling me I’d picked the wrong day to try and call the shots. I continued to push my luck, reining her back when she’d break into a trot or canter, asking her to make circles when she threatened to buck. Peg and Simon were having similar conversations as were Barbara and Joker.

Two hours into our ride, Barbara rode up alongside us and without any warning, Hailey kicked at Joker. I felt the kick, we all heard the crack of hoof on bone and I instantly smacked her. With my fist. It all happened so fast that it wasn’t clear whether it was poor judgment or poor aim that caused my fist to connect with the bone of her head.

As it turned out, Hailey had missed Joker and hit Barbara’s shin but luckily didn’t break her leg. At this point, we decided to turn back and ride the last hour to Peg’s place. Peg fetched two bags of ice from her freezer and Sharon used a roll of vet wrap to secure one against Barbara’s leg and the other around my hand. We hugged goodbyes and drove off.

A couple of days later I wrote Peg an apology for hitting Hailey in the head. I felt bad, not because my hand still hurt like hell or because I was afraid I’d hurt her horse, but because hitting a horse in the head is really bad form.

I was hoping that I really meant to punch her in the neck and she turned her head but that seemed unlikely. I wanted to think I was simply disciplining her without any anger but that probably wasn’t the case, either.

No one thought I’d broken my hand. Sure it was swollen and bruised but I could still wiggle my fingers. After two weeks of ice and ibuprofen I decided to get an x-ray taken.

Up to now, the fear of having to spend a lot of money as an uninsured patient had kept me from going to a doctor. But after two weeks, my hand was still multi-colored and painfully swollen. I’ve broken enough bones over the years to know what it feels like and this felt more like the ache of bone than bruising. I needed to know whether I should be using the hand or babying it.

My brother Michael tipped me off  that chiropractors have x-ray machines so I made an appointment with Dr. Jacqulyn Nygren, an angel of a woman who hummed while she worked and put me at ease immediately. She examined my hand and said she didn’t think it was broken, took two x-rays and went to develop them.

When she returned, she had a smile on her face. “Well, you broke it.” she said. Dr. Nygren told me that this particular break is often referred to as a bar room fracture or brawler’s fracture because it is the sign of an inexperienced boxer to land a pinky-first punch.

After only two weeks, the bone was already heavily calcified, thanks to the high calcium content in our well water. The same reason Peg and many other Chatham County residents suffer from kidney stones, I might add. From what I’ve read, the bone should be totally healed in 6 to 12 weeks –  sometime between Valentine’s Day and April Fools day.

It was too late for a cast and we don’t have the kind of money it would take to have the hand re-broken and reset anyhow. The good doctor worked the bones as best she could, pulling the fingers straight and smoothing everything out. I won’t say it didn’t hurt but that evening after icing, my hand felt the best it had in weeks. It appears the bone suffered only minor angulation. Not enough to impede functionality but I may live with a permanent bump on my hand to remind me not to punch horses in the head.

There is good news here. This break represents an opportunity for change. With my right hand in the air most of the time, I’ve had to slow my day down to three quarter time. While I’ve vowed in the past to slow down, this time I don’t have much of a choice. Meanwhile, I’m getting loads of practice in asking for help and standing back while younger backs do the heavy lifting.

I’ve noticed that as I slow down,  I’m more tolerant of others. As I ask less of myself, I find I’ve lowered the bar for those around me. I’m beginning to see that everything will get done, especially if I take on less. My new mantra is “they will work it out themselves” when I see problems I would otherwise rush in to fix. Running the world is not my responsibility. Keeping my own world intact is.

As frightened as I am that my hand will never look or behave the same as it once did, I consider this a lucky break. The message is clear. I can hear it now – that insistent voice urging me to lighten up and slow down.

To support my transformation I’ve started riding again. I’ve got my new friend Peg to thank for this. We had never met but her husband gave me her number and we set up a date over the phone. Before I knew it, Peg was helping me tack up her beautiful Mustang mare, Hailey and we began riding on a regular basis.

Riding is one of those things you don’t realize you need until you do it again. Akin to how good it feels when you stop banging your head against the wall. Sure, my life seemed healthy and balanced, but it was lacking some of the luster. It was only after I joined up with Peg that I knew I had been suffering low level disgruntlement for some time.

It isn’t just the riding. It’s the horses, the camaraderie, being out in the woods noticing new plants and animals, telling stories and jokes and sharing tick attacks. It’s about taking time for myself. That smell of dried horse poo on my shoes is proof positive that sometimes I come first.

A couple of rides ago, Peg and I came across a tiny albino white tailed deer. It was magic and special and I would have missed it had I not gone riding that day. Deer have long been my personal talisman, so I took it as a sign. I declared Albino Bambi the symbol of my new role as sub-optimizer.

On that particular day I had abandoned my To Do list. I was going with the flow in a brave departure from the norm. Bob was hosting an all-day board retreat at our house so I packed the car with anything I thought I might need and began looking for something fun to do. I wandered next door to see if Haruka fancied a walk in the woods. I didn’t find Haruka so I called Janice and found that she was of the same mind so I met her at the college walking path.

Janice and I walked twice around the loop, talking about everything under the sun and enjoying every minute of what was turning into a spectacular day. When I got back to my phone, I had a message from Peg, asking if I was up for a ride. I congratulated myself for packing my riding gear and called to say, “I’m on my way!”

As we rode, I told Peg how I had left my To Do list at home because I was becoming a sub-optimizer and that’s about the time I saw a small blob of white fur on the trail. At first I thought it was a dead white cat but when I got closer I saw the telltale pattern of spots. And as we rode past, the tiny critter stood up and wobbled off into the undergrowth.

The day continued along that way with me taking advantage of every situation. I called Amy and found she was thinking about driving to the craft store so I jumped in. We enjoyed the drive and bought all kinds of fun things, including a couple of cool plastic zebras which I couldn’t resist. When Bob called to say the retreat was over, he said there was enough leftover food for dinner. “All this, and I don’t even have to cook!” I thought, “Wow!”

The image of Albino Bambi will be forever associated with the many precious moments from a special day and a reminder to take time out to play. From now on, when I’m swept up in my To Do list, I’ll picture a white fawn and throttle down. Call it good enough and take time out for myself!

I was on foot, clearing brush while holding onto Haley and we’d been inching along like this for some time when she started going apeshit. Scrambling backwards, eyes wild, Haley was doing everything she could to turn around and run back out of the spot we were in.

It was all I could do to hang onto her and about that time I realized I was getting stung all over, too! Yipes! We beat it on out of there and made it to the open trail where I could see what was going on. We both still had angry yellow jackets attached and stinging away. I kept killing them and moving until we were sure we weren’t being followed.

It took Peg and Simon a few minutes for them to get around to where we were. Peg wasn’t sure what she’d find after hearing all the ruckus. Happily, we were all in one piece, albeit still trembling a little. Haley was beginning to nibble on the Elaeagnus (Autumn Olive) again which was a good sign.

I crushed one last wasp that I found between the saddle and pad showed Peg. Yepper, it was a yellow jacket. It’s amazing that such a tiny critter could cause all that pain! My half a dozen stings are still throbbing two hours later. Although I must say they didn’t hurt as much when I was mounted which is how I’ve always been. Aches and pains disappear when I’m on horseback and despite today’s adventure, I’d still rather go bushwhacking with Peg than just about anything else I can think of!