This is me – or in the interest of full disclosure, this is me just over three years ago. I was 35 at the time and fresh out of trade school. After bumping around in the world for a while and trying to figure out what to do with my life I chose to become a florist. That is nowhere near as therapeutic as it sounds.

For those of you who like a backstory, here’s the Reader’s Digest version:

Once upon a time, I had a very glamourous and well-paid job that was allegedly highly creative and decidedly all about people. It was fantastic and it nearly killed me. At the last possible second, I summoned all my remaining strength and jumped off the train. I rolled for a very long time and woke up in a heap in another city. Once I dusted myself off, I collapsed again and didn’t do much of anything. I couldn’t seem to connect with myself or anyone else, which was actually fine on some levels. I was especially worn out by people.

Creative people are entirely adrift when they don’t create. In my ‘lost years’ I did a lot of cooking, I raised a puppy, I gardened and I vegetated. When I finally mustered the courage to go be creative again everything got really crazy. I went off to do a dream project that I somehow managed to turn into a nightmare. It turned out okay in the end... Cryptic, yes, but all you need to know for the moment.

Anyway, whenever I have deep trouble in my life, horses come in to move me to safety. As hippy-dippy New Age as that sounds, it’s entirely true in my experience. Or it’s the Disney-fied version of a truth. I suppose I can’t prove anything because I don’t have a lot of pictures to show you.

Anyway, horse people like a good horse story – here’s one of a few that may or may not connect down the line…