An October day a few years ago: On this crisp bluest-sky morning, I am doing something I love, horseback riding with friends, but I’m not really focusing on what I am doing. Instead I am worrying about an appointment I have this afternoon, fretting about the need for this MRI I will undergo and mentally listing the things I need to do to make it on time: get back to the barn, unsaddle and release T.J., hike to my house a few hundred yards away, take a quick shower, drive twenty minutes into town, eat lunch with some friends while keeping an eye on my watch, and head to the ambulatory care center of our medical complex.
Three days earlier I have seen an orthopedic surgeon. His findings of some cervical disc degeneration and his insistence that I have this MRI worry me. My neck is painful and stiff, I have pain and numbness in my arm indicating a pinched nerve, and I am fearful I’ll have to give up the vigorous activities that are so important to me: horseback riding, mountain biking, windsurfing.
Alhough I have recently read a wonderful book, How to Want What You Have by Timothy Miller, and though I am consciously trying to practice his tenets of compassion, attention, and gratitude, I still often find myself doing exactly what I am doing: worrying about something over which I have no control instead of enjoying the moment on this trail ride with friends on a lovely October day.
Then, as three other women and I near the end of our ride, skirting the creek a couple of hundred yards away from the barn, my friend Cindy, riding her horse directly behind me, says simply, “Look up.”
And in the reaches of the live oak and pecan tree canopies above us, thousands of monarch butterflies startle, flying from their resting spots, alarmed by the sounds of our horses’ hooves.
We stop; the quiet rustle of wings plays a music I hear with my entire body; I am alert to this moment and to being here and to witnessing the gentle pull of nature, calling me to be aware, to be here now.
For these moments the fretting noise in my head stops, creating a perfect instant of quietness and wonder in the midst of chaos and a little craziness.
And I almost missed it.
WRITING PRACTICE:
What chaos do you need to calm?
What calls you to awareness? What things have drawn you to be here now?
Practicing Wonder 
So happy to read this and to find the reference to Timothy millet! Keep writing , we’re reading
Vicki, your gift of that book is still so appreciated. Thanks for the support!
Chris … We are on our east coast road trip and have just logged on for the 1st time in quite a while. How wonderful to have your blog to look forward to. I can close my eyes and see your back patio and the walk down to the creek. Relish the times I have been fortunate to walk those same steps alone and with Paco …. once with Chispa even!. I look forward to more. Kate
Thank you, dear friend Kate. Please give Paco a pat and Mac a hug. Or vice-versa. 😉 If you come through this way, please give us a call.
Dearest Chris, I’m enjoying following your blog so much…thanks for holding this space for all of us to enter & practice wonder!
Thank you, Anne. I’m so glad we are on this writing journey together. You enrich my life.
Chris, I was finally able to access your blog and read about the ride.
It was great and so well written. I never knew we shared so much of
a connection to nature. That’s what kept me sane most of my life.
Look forward to riding with you again. Take care and enjoy your
winter in the sun. Ginger
Thank you, Ginger. I find nature to be so calming, so nurturing. Even when things seem overwhelming, just going outside and noticing our surroundings soothes me. And sharing that with wonderful friends like you while riding makes it even better.