“Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.” –chirpy self-help books
What a bunch of bullshit.
“It was a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. Mom says some days are like that. Even in Australia.” –Alexander, from “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day”
This, on the other hand, is true.
Today was an Alexander day. I got to the barn for morning feeding, and checked on a horse that was colicky last night. He’d polished off his hay, but hadn’t touched his water—because he’d pooped in it.
I cleaned it out and gave him a fresh bucket.
Two stalls later: another brilliant gelding had pooped in his water, only this one was an automatic waterer, which meant ten minutes of bailing and scrubbing to get it clean.
Someone else needed SMZ for a cut he’d gotten in the pasture. I had to dissolve it in water in a syringe, since no horse in their right mind will eat that stuff voluntarily. It didn’t dissolve all the way, and I stupidly gave the syringe plunger a hard push. SMZ everywhere—on the ceiling, my clothes, the horse’s blanket, my hair.
I won’t bore you with the details of the rest of the day, but it continued in pretty much the same way until I got home. At least the dogs were thrilled to see me, nobody had thrown up on the rug, the shower was hot, and I had wine. However, it’s currently snowing two inches an hour outside, which means digging out tomorrow—getting hay up to the sheds, plowing the paths to turnouts, never mind the driveway. My business partner, Chris, does the majority of the plowing (I’m allowed to drive the tractor on the driveway!), and I get everyone fed and turned out and back in again on days like this. Lessons get rescheduled, and forget about riding my own horses.
Now, before you think I’m just whining, here’s my point: that stupid quote I opened with? I used to believe it was true. And because I thought it was true, I thought I was doing something wrong, or that I was ungrateful for my life with horses, because I did NOT wake up every single morning excited to be a farm owner and a trainer. I woke up—and still wake up—on many days dreading the hell out of the day, especially during February in Vermont. I often go to bed exhausted, and not the good kind of exhausted—just drained. I used to think that maybe I just wasn’t cut out to be an equestrian professional, that I wasn’t tough enough or dedicated enough or passionate enough or grateful enough.
But here’s the thing I realized: there’s nothing wrong with me. It’s the whole idea in that quote that’s messed up. You don’t have to love this job every day to be cut out for it. You don’t have to love it every day to be happy. You don’t have to love it every day, period. Because sometimes it sucks. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong, it means that you’re a human being, and things are hard sometimes. Those stupid “follow your passion and you’ll be blissful forever” platitudes were written by people who have never stacked 3000 bales of hay in a barn in 90 degree weather, never fed two dozen horses while it’s snowing sideways and it’s 2 degrees, never walked a colicky horse at 3 am, never had to put one down because it had a freak pasture accident. Those platitudes weren’t written for people like us. We don’t have to love it all the time.
We just have to show up. Show up, and keep showing up, and do what needs to be done. For the love of all that’s holy, let’s all stop pressuring ourselves to love the awful parts, and just show up and get through them. You don’t have to be grateful when you’re bailing poop out of an auto waterer in 2 degree weather. You just have to bail it out. Show up now. Feel grateful later.
Some days are like that. Even in Australia.
