Indecision is like an angry trail horse

When I was 14, I went on a trail ride with the church group my mother had just signed me up for. I didn’t know the other teens but it was my first experience with horseback riding, and I was super stoked.

Teenaged girl + horse = happiness. Right?

Well, maybe not. Certainly not for the horse (let’s call him Pete), who had apparently had enough of teenagers, tourists, and riders in general.

The first clue that this was not going to go well was when a ranch hand put a saddle on my horse. I saw Pete’s sides blow up like a balloon as the man tightened the cinch not tight at all. I’ve heard since that it’s a trick some horses pick up — for comfort, I suppose.

I said nothing, because who am I to say that something isn’t right?

Clue #2 was when I tried to get on the horse, and the saddle slid partway down Pete’s side because he wasn’t bloated any more. Instead of saying something then, I managed to hike it back up to the top, and follow my church group on a slow walk down the trail.

What could go wrong?

Clue #3: we reached a huge meadow. Everyone urged their horses into a gallop. Pete wanted to run too, so off we went. But I didn’t know how to ride. Apparently, you’re supposed to stand up in the stirrups to save your butt (in my case, tailbone) the pain of bouncing over and over again in the saddle.

So I bounced. While also continually hiking the saddle back up as it tried to slide down Pete’s side.

My butt hurt, so I pulled the reins to slow to a walk again. But Pete wanted to go, so I gave in and let him run again. The bouncing was killing my tailbone, so I pulled the reins again — while also hiking the saddle up.

Start, stop, hike. Start, stop, hike. Start, stop, hike.

Pete must have been getting frustrated with me, because the next time I let him run, he headed straight for a barbed wire fence. We’re talking full gallop here. All I could think was that he was either going to jump over it or run right into it. Either way, I did not want to be on Pete’s back any more.

That’s when the sliding saddle turned out to be a godsend.

Casually, as if it wasn’t at all unusual, I allowed the saddle to slide all the way down Pete’s side, covered my face with my arms, and dove head-first for the ground — just as Pete the Angry Trail Horse came to a sudden halt. Right in front of the fence.

If I read his intentions correctly, I’d say Pete was planning to throw me over his head into that barbed wire. And he had probably done it before. Nice horse. (Although, now that I’m older I have more sympathy for him. Not so much for the ranch hand, though.)

I got lucky. Instead of winding up mangled and bleeding, I came out of it with nothing more than a bruised arm. And when someone suggested I get back on the horse because that’s what you do? I declined.

What’s the lesson here?

There is the obvious, like speak the fuck up when you see something isn’t right.

Unfortunately, that’s not the lesson I learned. Looking back now, I’m proud of my intelligent (and actually brave) choice to slide off Pete’s back, but the lesson I drew at the time was that I am a starter and a stopper. I never see things through. I am a quitter. And for good measure, a coward.

It’s how I’ve thought of myself ever since.

You, dear reader, often complain that I’m too hard on myself. Well, this was the moment it all began: on that horse’s back, racing across that meadow, trying to decide whether to endure the tailbone torture or end it, and not being able to stick with either decision.

Now you know.

I flash back to that moment every time I am faced with a tough choice. Lately, it’s always the same dilemma:

• Should I get a job (and risk being a quitter in public again)?
• Should I focus on writing books in hopes that they will make money eventually (and risk never finishing and/or publishing)?
• Or should I stop trying to make money and do whatever the hell I want, slowly saving a little bit every month (and risk frittering it all away)?

An email from a reader, in response to my last post, says I should do the latter.

Hi LaVonne,

Interesting that this should drop into my inbox today. In the wee hours of today, I was somehow thinking of you. I thought of myself at your age, and wondered what I’ll be doing.

You see, I stopped making plans and goals about 9 months ago. I un-subbed from nearly every list I was on, especially any internet marketing people, which is pretty much everybody. Honestly, they made me feel like shit with every email. I got sick of people telling me I wasn’t good enough, didn’t sell enough, didn’t write enough, website not optimized enough, not designed well. You know. You get all of those emails too.

I kept you. You’re real. And I want to see how your story goes (not your latest chapter in your book, but you) and how you get on with van dwelling and stuff like that. I’m happy to follow along on Facebook. I don’t need the “book” book.

I now live (or try to live) in the moment as much as possible. I’ve chosen joy.

This morning when I was thinking about you, I thought, why doesn’t LaVonne stop trying to plan shit, and stop apologizing for being late with this or that, stop apologizing for being flaky. Fuck all that.

Just be.

Just be in the moment, and enjoy and embrace life. My gosh you’re in your sixties. Don’t listen to all that marketing shit anymore. Enjoy your life to the fullest. Let go of the rock that’s holding you down. Unlock the chains. Stop apologizing. Stop beating yourself up. Stop spending money on your business. Spend it on your life. Eating good food. Gas for the next adventure. The occasional hotel for a bath. You know…. the things you need and love.

I know. None of my business.

But if you’re looking for permission to stop all the shit you really don’t want to be doing…. well then you’ve got permission from me!

I did. I’m so much happier doing just the stuff I want to do…

Maybe you should just blob along in your retirement. Bounce from one thing to the next. Go where the wind blows you. Be your best flaky self. Embrace your life. Don’t try to fit it into a marketing plan.

I know. None of my business.

Just saying. I want you to be happy and flaky, not stressed. Not blue.

Love ya!

“Just be.” Sounds good, doesn’t it?

And yet.

How do you reconcile the desire for happiness, creativity, and fulfillment with the need for money?

That is the conundrum we all wrestle with, isn’t it? It is the central dilemma of every not-rich artist who wants to spend their life creating — and also eating.

I call this impasse Pete the Angry Trail Horse

I have stories to tell. If I write my stories, will anyone want to read them? Will they make money?

Will Pete throw me into the barbed wire fence, or jump over it?

The thought of calling myself an artist, of daring to compare myself to those who have dared before, brings tears to my eyes. It’s what I want more than anything, and yet I have so much fear about it. What if I am a terrible writer? What if I never live up to my dream? What then?

I guess then I will wind up the same way I will if I don’t write: dead.

But as long as I write, I know I will die happy

Writing keeps self-hate and depression at bay for me. So yes, I will keep writing.

The real question I’m wrestling with is this: should I do things I don’t really want to do (like WORK) in order to pay for the things I need, like dental work and an emergency fund to keep the van running, or should I gamble that writing will pay for itself eventually, if I just put in the time that I would otherwise be (ack!) WORKING?

I can’t tell you how many times I have wrestled with this question, and I have always chosen writing (except for that time I chose to have a baby instead of write a book, lol. He’s 28 now, btw, and I never did write that particular book.)

Is it really either/or, though?

Don’t most artists work jobs to pay the bills while they do their art?

Well, it’s obvious what I’m trying to wangle here: a deal with Pete. I don’t want a job. I worked from the time I was eleven years old, first in my mother’s and other restaurants, then in radio, then online. I’ve earned my Social Security check.

But my friend Linda and I have decided to camp host together this summer anyway — and this time I will not quit. I will save up several thousand dollars that will make my life much easier and more comfortable.

Sometimes, even artists need to be practical

Will working really interfere with writing? Maybe. Or as Philip Roth put it,

“Nothing bad can happen to a writer. Everything is material.”

And then I keep thinking of that quote often (but wrongly) attributed to Einstein:

“The definition of insanity is doing something over and over again and expecting a different result.”

Whoever said it, it’s common sense (though I would change the word “insanity” to “stupidity.”)

I have been doing the same thing over and over. It’s time to change the pattern and see what happens.

Time to dive in again. Head first.