I mean
epic. My top two favorite things to do
have been sleeping, and thinking about when I can get my next nap in. This is obviously problematic with three kids and a husband
busy working weird shifts. So, instead of napping I found myself irritable and
grumpy scrolling through my phone for a welcome diversion as I go about the necessary tasks of my life.
As a lifelong hypochondriac, of course I self-diagnosed myself
with depression. Seasonal, obviously, as
up until mid-January, I felt ok.
Since then, there has not been enough yoga, coffee or wine
to make me feel a little like my old self.
(And I’ve tried.. oh I’ve tried.
One thing I don’t recommend is lunch with friends, a few beers, followed
by a hot yoga class. This ended in me finding
little to no energy to do anything but Savasana.
Thankfully my social anxiety kicked in and I at least kept up with the
class so as not to embarrass myself.)
It wasn’t until yesterday, when dear friends stopped by,
that I realized I may simply have fallen prey to a sweeping epidemic.
A beautiful, and normally chipper teenager ,was a grump who
thought basically everything and anything was stupid. To which her mother, a constant
ray of sunshine in my life, replied back that she too, thought most things were
stupid and annoying these days as well.
The commiserating hit an all-time high when suddenly a term
came to mind and I blurted it out, which I have the propensity to do in most
situations. (Appropriately or not.)
Cabin Fever.
We all kind of know what that means, right?
I think a lot of us that live in these frozen
parts use it a lot. But, as I like to
do, I decided to actually research what the hell that meant, if it was a real thing, and what the signs and symptoms of such an illness could be. Since, to be perfectly honest, the thought of
sitting in a remote cabin would be pretty awesome right now.
Google, the answer to all my earthly questions, defined it
as :
“an idiomatic term, first recorded in 1838,[1] for a
claustrophobic reaction that takes place when a person or group is isolated
and/or shut in a small space, with nothing to do for an extended period. Cabin
fever describes the extreme irritability and restlessness a person may feel in
these situations.[2]”
Guys, shit just got real, because then it went on to describe ME!!:
“A person may experience cabin fever in a situation such as
being in a simple country vacation cottage. When experiencing cabin fever, a
person may tend to sleep, have distrust of anyone they are with, and an urge to
go outside even in the rain, snow, dark or hail. The phrase is also used
humorously to indicate simple boredom from being home alone.[3]”
My name is Brittany, and I have Cabin Feveritis and I will no
longer stay silent. I am taking a stand
for my fellow Feveritis Sufferers. My particular strain is of the Equine
variety, but I know that Angling, Hunting, and Boating strains also exist. (Those are some obviously made up terms. But it sounded more professional).
Cabin Fever is a thing, and it’s terrible.
There is only one known cure for myself, and those like me.
Horses.
And not furry, winterized horses. I need the smooth bodied, soft muzzled ones
that won’t leave tufts of hair in the girth.
I need an orangey horse nickering to me as I walk down the aisle to get
her, and I need to hear those sacred, sacred words to any rider, as I buzz down
the rail and my ponytail swings like a toddler let loose in the backyard with a
bat,
"Yes.. keep her right there. Perfect.
Great! WOOOOO look at that show horse go"
Because most of all, I need to be riding towards a goal. Not just for giggles and fun only. Nope, I’m ready for the fun that comes from
working harder than I have at anything else to attain my next goal.
And I need all the things on the periphery that come with
this.
I need Starbucks, and an early morning drive to the barn on
a warm spring day.
I need red wine in a red solo cup sitting on a mounting
block in the middle of the arena watching horses work, and riders sweat, on a
beautiful spring evening when my phone has conveniently lost service, and I
swore I was going to be home an hour ago already.
I need to feel the nerves of getting on, or staying on, when
things have suddenly gone sideways… literally.
I need the bruises back on the inside of my knees, my legs to feel like
jello (almost giving out when I jump off, stumbling super gracefully away as my
trainer laughs and laughs at me), my hair to smell like horses, my hands to be
dirty, and to laugh as shavings fall out of my bra when I go to change when I
get home. (But really.. how do shavings
get everywhere??)
I need the camaraderie of the barn and the people and the
animals that populate it. I need the “You
gotta see this horse work” and the “Wanna try him out?”s that ensure I will
never, ever, ever be on time getting home from the barn.
It’s in my blood, and anytime something permeates the very
essence of you, it starts to become more than just a pastime. Passion is thrown around often whenever
someone talks about horses. But to me, passion is something that can fade. Yes, passion it is, but more so it’s a need that comes from a place you can’t
even name.
It’s what got me out of bed at 7am in high school and
University, when I would do the Sunday chores at the barn to work off
board.
It’s using my one ‘kid and husband free’ week a year, to go
to a show where I work longer hours and feel more drained than when I left, in
the most beautifully, contentedly, exhausted way.
It’s what fuels the drive to keep trying and keeping
saddling up when you’re feeling defeated, or scared, or maybe a little of both.
It’s what I saw in my Grandpa, who could barely bend over
without losing his breath or passing out, as he still hauled himself atop his
horse right up until the end of his life.
So yes, I’m feeling Cabin Fever, no doubt. But upon further contemplation, a strange
realization came upon me.
To feel this void, this utter lack of motivation reminds me
of what I have the privilege of possessing in my self and in my life.
Because you can't miss the adrenaline, the sanctity, the joy, and the sheer insanity of something you've never had the privilege of knowing.
So instead of the grey days of February beating me further
into an abysmal state, I’ll grab a coffee, head out to the barn, and hug my
horse, and eagerly await those moments of bliss that are sure to await me this spring.
Well, bliss and sore legs.
And shavings. Always
shavings.
 |
| This is a winterized Indira. |
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| Because what would horse shows be without golf carts and great friends? |
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| Preclass chat. |
