I viciously regret the course my life has taken on days like this.
Then I beat myself up for thinking that way, because really now. No one has it better than me.
Still, I feel like there is a huge chunk of my life that I divorced myself from, and it pains me a bit still to be divided from. I miss being around horses badly. The smells, the sounds, the lovely velvet muzzles, the giant brown liquidy eyes peering out from under a bit of forelock. The routines of feeding and mucking and tack cleaning and grooming. It's very comforting and cerebral for me.
But I choose the life I have. Devoted urbanites can only dream. I did, however, give it a try, and when I first moved to NYC I taught riding lessons in Central Park for the first year and a half before putting on a pair of pantyhose and having to go work smelling clean. It just wasn't sustainable to not have a high-paying job in a city like New York.
So, um, anyway. Aside from my personal grievances, any time in saddle is awesome-time for me. I relish every moment.
And thundering around the countryside with a group of nine great war horses was an attraction in itself.