A while ago we lost one of our horses. Not in the careless 'where did she go' loss but in the sense that she went to the big paddock in the sky type of loss.

I felt big, sad, heavy pangs of regret when I found out (because it's all about me of course!) for many reasons not least of which was because my Mum, in all her wisdom, had asked me for months to record her well-being on camera for her US-based owners. But of course the photos weren't forthcoming for varying reasons not least of which was because I didn't make the time. A plethora of excuses fell forward in an endless conversation about forgetting, being too busy and the light not being right.

The fact was that I didn't make the time because I thought she'd be here longer and there would be more time and at the weekend the light would be better and and and. But the weekend didn't come and the light certainly wasn't better. She was there and then she wasn't and I deeply regret not making the time.

This evening, over supper and soft light my soul friend, ultimate mirror and true guide caught up. We’ve been missing things - each other mostly - and it was time. Time to find our way back.

But in truth I never wanted to go back, I wanted to find another path and that was probably where we missed each other. I had to find that - or am finding that - all on my own. It’s been the strangest thing and truthfully I never thought, of all the people in my life, the one person who really sees me, would be the one casualty of this experience.

I don’t know what made me lose my way. No that’s not the truth I know exactly what happened, bit by bit everything about me was chipped away until the last pebble dropped the brick wall I had built and nothing, nothing, was left. I took it for granted. The wall I mean. I thought it was a wishing well of sorts, a place I went to pull another defensive brick from in order to throw it at the blows life kept dealing me - you know that ‘attack is the best form of defence' mentality. Keep throwing those bricks and surely the attacks will be defected?

My mother told me that when I meet someone I like, I had to ask them three questions:
 

1. What are you afraid of?
2. Do you like dogs?
3. What do you do when it rains?

...of those three, she says the first one is the most important. “They've got to be scared of something, everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.”

I met you on a Sunday, right after the concert, one look and my heart fell into my stomach like a trap door.

On our second date, I asked you what you were afraid of. “Spiders, mostly. Being alone. Little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. Oh and space. holy shit, space.”

I asked you if you liked dogs. "I have three.” I asked you what you do when it rains. “Sleep, mostly. Sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain drops race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my back garden for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.”

He smiled like he knew. Like his mum told him the same thing. “How about you?”

Me?

I’m scared of so many things. Of forgetting. Of people not knowing the true me. Of the hole in the o-zone layer, of the lady next door who never smiles at her dog, of not knowing enough, or knowing too much and especially of all the secrets the government must be breaking it’s back trying to keep from us.

I love dogs so much, you have no idea. I sleep when it rains. I want to tell everyone I love them. I want to find every stray animal and bring them home. I want to wake up in your hair and make you shitty coffee and kiss your neck and draw silly stick figures of us. I never want to ask anyone else these questions ever again.

Not much else to add to this fabulous talk by Brene Brown when she talks of showing up. Here's to my fellow arena go-ers because "Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyhow" ....