This is not your day
A story by Kat Fernandes-Kinsella
I was drowning in trouble but I looked fabulous. I even wore a hat.
“Come on! Come on!”
I clung on to the railing, holding myself upright against a screaming and jumping crowd. I was doing my fair share of screaming and jumping.
“Come on! Come on!”
Hooves and colours thundered past us in a million-dollar flat-race. My eyes were fixing on a bay racehorse, the favourite to win, then losing her in the blur of motion.
“Come on! Come on!”
The jockey was a beloved acquaintance and a national treasure. Strange that you can love an acquaintance who you simply haven’t had time to become friends with.
“Come on! Come on!”
The excitement of the race was my short respite from going under, but…
“Come on! Come …come….ooooohhh…awwwww………”
Sixth place. How? The horse was at her peak, the jockey skilled and trusted. While other spectators celebrated their win, I walked round to the stables, dispirited but ready to comfort the jockey.
There he stood, still wearing his helmet, saddle in hand: a lot poorer in both money and prestige than he could have been, if ONLY he’d been in first place.
He smiled. Not a trace of sadness or humiliation (my predicted emotions for him), and said:
“Today wasn’t our day. You can’t push the river. We’ll have another day. ”
You can’t push the river. There I was, open-mouthed, taking that in. My life was boiling over with difficulty. And yet here was a just-beaten sage in jodhpurs, handing down wisdom from pretty much every culture who had faced tribulations, failed, learned, survived and thrived.
My troubled-mind eased: today is not my day. I couldn’t fix or control anything: I can’t push the river. But I could breathe and let go. And wait it out: I’ll have another day.
And there.
Just like that.
Things did not get better.
But I did.
And slowly, in the time it takes for a river to flow its course, life turned out…alright (…perhaps better than alright)
Was this kismet? Fate? Chance? Free will? I have no bloody idea: go find your own philosophical jockey and get his opinion. But I do know that the bad times come and go. And so do the good times. It passes. It all passes. How I respond to the comings and goings, and whether I seek calm in the thrills, and hope in the spills, is up to me.
