Saturday, 3 June 2017

On being Stormur...

Do you recall that Icelandic horse that I rode last November?
The one that started something...
How to explain that last sentence?

It was cancer that taught me a lesson I really should have learned eleven years ago when I first went to France but that I obviously did not learn because I came back.

Why did I return and walk willingly, enthusiastically into the Corporate Cage?

Fear, of the future
Forgetfulness, of the past
Failure, to put my own well-being first

Having cancer showed me how far I had drifted from the feisty seven year-old pony-mad tomboy that I once was, and how much of myself I had allowed to be smothered and suffocated by the insane struggle to survive in a society that I neither understand, nor support, nor care to continue to contribute to.

Having cancer stripped me bare of the layers that I had built around myself thinking they would protect me, layers that were as brittle as the thinnest shell and as protective as gossamer.

I went to Iceland to rediscover that feisty little kid, and while I certainly did not return a Viking Warrior, at least I started on the path to becoming one.

For the last few months I have been engaged in negotiations with The Corporation as we seek to find a moderately satisfactory way to end our relationship. This has actually been going on since December 2015 when I realised that It Would Not Do and I resigned, which act stirred up a hornet's nest of trouble and resulted in some serious stuff. I am not permitted, contractually, to discuss that, nor the settlement that may finally be signed this coming week.

Happily it will soon be done and dusted.

When I went to Iceland I rode a horse called Stormur, Icelandic for Storm.
Now, six months later I am learning Icelandic, on the brink of buying an Icelandic horse whose name means Fire, and preparing to go back to Brittany.

Everything happens for a reason
N'est-ce pas?

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