Older now, you find holiness in anything that continues.

Naomi Shihab Nye

In the pasture horses come and go. Oh sure, there are the regulars who’ve been here for years. Amigo, Red, Chickadee, Bud and Pepper are fixtures. Everyone knows them. Recently a new face showed up in our herd of oldsters and he fits right in.

He’s old, and more than a little worn. Rick dubbed him Griz, after Grizabella in the Broadway musical Cats.

We fell for him instantly because of his spots. He looks to be part appaloosa and part draft. He’s a big boy with feet to match.

When I first saw Griz he’d just been put into the pasture. He had a big cut at the top of his tail. I worried because it was gaping open and looked nasty.

It’s rough breaking into a herd.

He soon found the oldsters and then life became nicer for him.

They don’t need to prove themselves anymore.

As far as the oldsters are concerned, fighting and chasing and posturing are just a waste of energy.

I can so relate.

I recently volunteered to do some work for a professional organization in which I used to be quite active. Then the meetings and telephone conferences began. I found myself spending more time talking about doing things than actually doing them. And the conversations about being careful not to step on anyone’s toes were absolutely exhausting.

I felt like Griz, thrown back into the herd, chased hither and yon, becoming worn down and worn out. My breath coming in ragged gasps. My creative energy frozen.

I think there comes a time in life when the games no longer appeal. A time when we realize that we’ve paid our dues. We call enough to the posturing and politics.

I think I’m there.

I still want to contribute and have a reservoir of experience and imagination to draw upon and give.

But honestly, I want to do it my way.

Sometimes I feel guilty about that. Like I’m being some kind of prima donna.

I’m not.


But my patience for B.S. is worn thin. In fact it’s gone.

I watch Bud and Pepper avoid conflicts in the pasture. They stay clear of the young upstarts out to prove themselves. Bud, Pepper and their herd have become pacifists. They do their thing.

No conflict.

No politics.

It’s where I’m headed. I want to find the holiness and grace that come with simply continuing. In my way. In my style.

How about you?