I met a horse named Nash Saturday night. I am not sure if we connected or not. He had a weird mask on his face because his fat ass eats too much. Apparently. Maybe I need a face mask.
I was at a party out in the sticks with a bunch of movie people. Not Tom Cruise movie people but the people who build the movies. Grips, camera folks, costume designers, and the like. A cool group of interesting people eating food and chatting about the strike. Lots of tattoos, BBQ, and music.
It was a birthday party for the gal who feeds the horse.
“How many animals do you think are here,” I asked her. It was a house on five acres off in the woods. There was a pool, a barn, and a gaggle of banana trees with no bananas. Such is the case here in Georgia when you have banana trees. They die in the winter before they can produce God’s golden food, the banana. Like a castrated horse or a Tiger King’s TV career.
“24? Well, 24 plus some mice,” she replied.
Nine dogs, two horses, a handful of cats, a few chickens, and a goat with dreadlocks wearing a bell around his neck. I never asked her why he had a bell around his neck but I kept thinking I would go insane if every time I moved a bell around my neck clanked loudly.
Speaking of, do you know the difference between a ranch and a farm? Me either.
Anyway, Nash is a brown horse with puffy hair. I’d say he is about as tall as a barstool. A dumpy fella with a hippopotamus-sized stomach.
His friend, a white-ish horse caught between being a pony and a horse, liked me. Or so I assume. I scratched his neck and his big cheekbones from the safety of a fence between us. I am not saying it happens, but I am sure horses have killed humans before. Or at a minimum, bitten the fingers off kids feeding them apples incorrectly.
“How much does it cost to feed a horse,” I asked the birthday gal.
“A lot,” she quickly answered. “The vet bills can be insane.”
I wanted to be a vet. I was pre-vet at Auburn University but Auburn University Veterinary School mailed me two letters saying I was not accepted to the Auburn University Veterinary School. So, I became a professional mascot instead. College is a racket.
I should buy a horse. Well, three of them actually because my buddy Casey told me they are herd animals and need friends. I assume two is not a herd. Three is.
I think horses might be better than therapists which brings me to my next thought…
I met with my therapist for the second time on Saturday before the party. She is a pleasant woman who probably works too much. I know this because I asked her if she works too much and she said yes. I asked why and she said because she is one of two therapists in Atlanta that takes insurance for EMDR therapy.
Score.
She sits across from me and types into her computer which sits on her lap. I bet she has cats.
“What is the earliest memory you remember when you were a child,” she asked as we started on our hour-long therapy journey.
“I don’t remember anything from my childhood,” I replied after some thought which I assume is not something a therapist wants to hear.
Next, she gave me two buzzer things to hold in each hand. She then instructed me to think about the things that trigger me. Well, guess what? Therapy triggers me. I didn’t say it, but I thought it.
Ah, whatever. I sat there thinking about my triggers. Then I started thinking…
I have no idea if this shit works.
Am I wasting my money meeting with some strange lady once a week who makes me hold buzzers and think about my triggers while I imagine dumping my negative thoughts into an imaginary trash can she helped me create in my mind?
I have no idea.
What I do know is I am trying. I know that. I know what I want, I know what I struggle with, and I know that I am trying. Nuff said. #selfcare #horsetherapy
I have a theory, a formula, or a framework for which I try to live my life. An idea that I believe will help me become the person I want to become, enjoy the life I have, and deal with all the madness in between my ears.
THREE WISE MEN
Note to reader: It doesn’t mean they are all men. It’s just easier to remember the slogan THREE WISE MEN. We all know women are more intelligent than men.
So, my rule is always, if possible, have THREE WISE MEN in my life.
A coach
A therapist
A mentor
A coach helps you look forward, a therapist helps you look backward, and a mentor teaches you how to do the things you don’t know how to do.
Luckily, right now I have THREE WISE MEN in my life.
A therapist with buzzers, a life coach with better hair than me, and a group of mentors who are whip-smart and teaching me some amazing strategies.
If you are feeling out of whack or simply want an advantage in life, make sure you have THREE WISE MEN in your life at all times.
Trey
P.S. I also want two pet raccoons.
P.P.S. This post was not sponsored by the Auburn University Veterinary School.