The word “tomorrow” can hold such a positive connotation. Tomorrow is the start of a new day, a new adventure, a new life…it can be the bringer of happiness and riches aplenty. Everything and anything can happen, and while that does mean that tragedy can strike, most of us try to focus on the fact that tomorrow will be better.
Today, I sit and realize that tomorrow really does start a whole new chapter for me. Tonight, between bursts of writing, I am doing laundry so I can stay closer to the town that I’m moving Image to, packing up my car with everything I’ll need to move to the barn immediately, and doing boatloads of laundry because I just returned from Texas. I am doing this late evening scrambling about because I will be spending the next two days settling my horse into his new home. MY horse. Not someone else’s — MINE. I don’t have to share him (which is an incredibly infantile thing to say, but it’s the truth). No one else will be riding him for now, and when the time comes for someone else to ride him, I’ll have full say over who gets that privilege. I get to build a bond with him and know that I am the only one working on building that bond. Tomorrow, I will get to become something I have always dreamed of: a horse owner.
Of course, tomorrow also brings the terrifying side of being a horse owner. I get to decide what he eats, and how much. It’s up to me to make sure he’s getting the proper nutrition. I get to decide his health care, his hoof care, what supplements he’s on, all of the training decisions (with a buttload of input from more experienced friends)…and the eventual decision to say “enough is enough” if something tragic happens. This part of my new life makes my hear skip a beat, and not in a good way. Admittedly, I am terrified. This creature is about to depend on me for nearly everything. I’ve been an independent person, without anyone that truly “needs” me, up until this point. My every action and decision was for me, myself, and I. Now, I must factor in this other being. Sometimes, I have moments (or a day or two) of paralyzing doubt. Can I really do this? Am I honestly ready to be the person this horse needs? Panic fills my stomach and I wonder if I’m making a giant mistake.
Then….then, I catch sight of his picture, either on my phone or next to my desk at work. The panic melts away. I go back to daydreaming about burying my face into his neck and picking tangles out of his tail while he naps in the cross ties. I think about the first time I get to ride him down to the river on a hot summer day. I smile at the thought of his off-kilter, tear drop shaped marking on his nose. It’s not going to be perfect — I’d actually be a little worried if things went perfectly — but it’s going to be incredible.
So, instead of zeroing in on the negatives, I am dancing around the living room, folding laundry and rejoicing on Facebook. Tomorrow is the day this little black horse becomes mine.
I am singing: “Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow. You’re always a day away…!”