You're Too Old Not To Give Yourself Some Joy
You're Too Old to Spend the Rest of Your Life on the Couch: Let's Adventure!
As America does its thing, I’m finding joy while I can
In five weeks I get yet another foot surgery, one of the last two. I’ve learned the hard way that if that’s coming, go play NOW, because you’ll be down for a bit.
Play for me looked like heading way south, to spend just over two weeks in Ecuador. My primary focus was horses. Always, always horses. I needed to ride. Since I got my dog Mika I’d stopped taking lessons to concentrate on her. It’s been almost a full year.
Look. I can stay home and work, I can push out articles and clear the ice off my driveway. I can feel trapped by the screaming headlines.
As long as I’ve got the options, and the free miles to get a flight, why not head somewhere that those headlines are really hard to find? Besides, the dollar is strong in Ecuador, so you can do more for less.
So I loaded up and headed to Latin America.
It’s been a minute since I had my traveling shoes on. I made all kinds of rookie mistakes like bringing too much clothing and clothing for things I most assuredly would not be doing, the kind of dumbshit stuff I used to do when I started. Those are minor. You laugh, you keep going.
The joy of being out of the country and absolutely out of your comfort zone is such a gift.
The first thing I did was to set riding dates with Horse Trekking Ecuador, run by the inimitable Kim Curls. I planned for a sore butt.
Those who have never lived at altitude can find this part of the world challenging. Cuenca sits at about 8000 feet, considerably higher than Denver. I spent 50 years in Colorado, training for high mountain climbs. Honestly I still thought I’d choke on the altitude, but didn’t. I love thin air.
Even better, I thrive in it.
The first of our rides was a short one to wander through the nearby hills.
This is, was, a road. The rains had downed some five or six trees. Kim dismounted and slogged up nearly to her knees in this mud to see if there was a way through. Wasn’t. We went around, through a fence break, and up the other side to visit a nearby horse farm.
My horse for the day, Marlboro, is on the far right:
The weather was breathtaking, and waited to rain until I headed home. Off in the distance on the verdant hills, though, darker clouds gathered, a constant reminder that you don’t ride without rain gear.
The below is from the second of my rides with Kimberly. We rode up to about 11,000 feet, through high, sweet forests. Pissed off a llama mama and her baby.
There are signs beseeching people not to clear the forests, as they are the lungs of the planet. Kim explained that here, people are about fifty years behind the US in terms of their attitudes about the environment, littering, and much else.
So far, I only made one critical mistake. I’m riding at the equator at 11k feet. I slathered SPF on face, hands, arms. Forgot my neck. I don’t need to tell you what happened.
Kimberly and I share some surprising connections. Here, thousands of miles from home, we discovered that we’re both Polk County, Florida girls. She’s from Bartow, I’m from Winter Haven. Our high school football teams battled, albeit she’s seven years behind me.
Still, who knew, right?
Kim’s been here ten years. Audrey, a close friend, is a Québécois, here for fifteen. Tiny, lively, opinionated and direct, Audrey is a breath of fresh air like Kim. Between the two of them you get a realistic understanding of life for a gringo here in Ecuador, stripped of the bubble that many expats live within when they only circulate with their own in downtown Cuenca.
Nothing wrong with that, but it’s not a true understanding of life here. Out in the rustic areas, you see how people live in the campo, which to my eye is very like poor countryside in nearly every single country I’ve traveled.
People deeply appreciate your effort to learn the language and offer respect. Out in the country you need each other, which is just as true in America as anywhere else.
One reason I moved to Oregon was for the weather. I dearly, dearly love the wispy fog that gathers at the tops of the firs each day. Here, at this altitude, the fog slips in late in the day and crawls over the campo houses and new gringo developments. It’s rainy season right now, although this area has been experiencing severe droughts which cause blackouts.
Yesterday on my third ride, we followed quite a large group of riders re-enacting a military victory. We rode over heavy landslides that the rain had caused, taking out parts of a well- traveled road. Locals from the campos worked to tamp down the mud so that all of us could safely pass.
Huge rocks teetered on the cliff’s edge. By the time we rode back, those rocks had fallen, scattering down the side of the mountain in sharp shards.
Some of the young soldiers on their horses had their girlfriends along (wearing fashion boots with high heels in the stirrups, I’ll refrain from commenting) and we ended up riding through the sleepy town of Girón.
There a band played, we rode alongside young men in fancy bright blue military uniforms from the 1800s and trotted along the cobblestone streets.
You can hear Kimberly’s Florida accent in the background as we clopped through town.
On the way back, the fog and rain socked in and we rode home in the dense clouds.
Here are some impressions of Cuenca, which is a World Heritage site:
This is my joy. I just signed on for three more rides with Kim. As I read my fellow Stackers’ comments and their fears, I have to ask:
What are you doing to give yourself joy today? What gifts of what you love are you giving yourself?
This is how I do it in my life. Horses, travel.
Soon surgery will waylay me once again for a while. But before that happens….plenty of joy.
Let’s play!
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But above all, take time to play. Please.
WHAT?!!!! You are from Winter Haven! So am I, born an raised. Moved to Ocala at 18. Love your stories.
The kismet. I have literally been stuck on the couch for 2 weeks (so far) after foot surgery. Thank you for reminding me to be grateful this is temporary!