Pony Confidential

by Christina Lynch

I’m older, pushing thirty now, and more clever in figuring out ways to do less and eat more. You know, quiet quitting. That’s pretty much what my life has become—where once there was passion and joy and energy and connection, then a burning desire to leave a trail of terror and debris in my wake, now there is only a selfish urge to do as little as possible, fill my belly, and take a nap.

“It’s a hard-knock life,” says the rat. “You can’t insulate yourself from stress. You gotta learn how to cope with it. Instead of wishing for a perfect life, live the life you have. Be happy now.”

“I used to think my purpose was to win races,” says the big horse kindly. “And so it drove me crazy when I lost. Like the other day at Fonner Park when that big gray nosed past me at the finish line. But then I realized something. My purpose is to run as fast as I can. It’s out of my hands whether the other horses run faster than me or not. All I can control is my own effort.”

“Hang on. I have to chase my tail for a sec.” The dog spins around, chasing her tail. “Okay. Better. Are you judging me?” “Not in the least. Everyone is wired differently. We’re all just figuring out how to get through the day.”

friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one’s heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away.’