I can’t swim. Can’t even float. You know the “dead man’s float” – well that’s me except I really would be dead and I would be sinking, not floating. So, I decided I would learn. For a lot of reasons, this was a good idea – not the least of which stems from midnight rides in a sandolo (small gondola) on the pitch black waters of Venetian canals without a life jacket while a rookie rower tried out the oars.
But this meant carving out an evening out of my week and less time for my horse. I love my horse and because he’s so strong and silent (almost never whinneys or nickers) I feel incredibly guilty when I skip a day with him. In all likelihood, I won’t skip my time with him, I’ll probably end up with option A – chicken with no head or option B – zombie. Meaning I’ll be running around like crazy trying to get stuff done or do it all late at night until my eyes shrivel up like little raisins and buckets of caffeine will be necessary.
In this case I do believe the ends justify the means. I can’t wait until I’m comfortable enough to venture out on the water without having to tell everyone in the boat that I can’t swim – who knows, maybe I’ll even venture INto the water.