Friday, December 11, 2009
it's been years
It hurts, constricted around my ankles, they can barely breathe. I point my toes towards the ground and up towards my knees. Ground. Knees. Even though they are tight, they are not as heavy as the chains that I freed myself from. Shackles swaying and clanging, I walked, Oprah-walked, to a talabarteria about 20 blocks away from my house. It's a store packed with riding apparel, pungent leathers, thick cotton breeches.
I had to stop off at the bank to change some money, heart racing, I pondered if I was doing the right thing. It occurred to me that it wasn't a question of right or wrong, true or false, want or need. It became a question of whether I would regret this purchase or not. Today, I wanted riding boots so that I can train horses for combat. Adiestramiento. In a month or two, when I can't pay rent, I might regret choosing the leather, but how could I ever regret getting back on a horse? It's what I do (or did, and plan to do), it's what I love. Not to quote MasterCard, but it's priceless. One day, I will have the opportunity to look back and say: I got these boots to ride horses when I sojourned in Argentina. Truthfully, I think I would regret not being able to say that to myself. I was so excited I forgot how to get on a bus, dazed, kind of high from the experience. I walked the 20 blocks back, box-in-bag-in-arms.
So, here I am, my monetary-chains left at a talabarteria, in shiny, new boots, ankles constricted, but free.