Getting back on the horse
I’ll never forget him. He was splendid, golden in the sunlight, and his form was a beautiful flash of lightning through the fields. He was a horse. He was this writer’s horse of choice to ride. I’d never ridden before, so I took lessons. And at first, they went well. I absorbed everything like a hungry sponge. I adored horses and riding—well, when riding one, you could sail forth as if on wings of joy, seeing everything whiz by you with the bright effervescent of the innocent.
Alas, my wings, like Icarus, melted. You see, there was a problem. The horse was sick. I did not know it, of course. Had I known it, and the dangers ahead, I’d have never gotten on. I’d have left that horse alone. And so it was that one day, the horse decided to run—to gallop angrily away—with this writer on him.
I clung to the horse with terror. My trainer’s and others’ voices were around me, but I could barely hear them, so great was my terror on that final gallop. He threw me. I went falling through the air, tumbling down, shattering my arm. At least it wasn’t my head. What, then, did I do? I got back on. Immediately. Had I not done that, I’d have been bathed in terror — not at my fall but at horses, these lovely beings who, like humans, sometimes get sick and change. This horse was examined. He was found to be ill. But the tale I tell has political meaning.
Like the golden horse I rode with pride, we, with pride and yes, ECSTASY, prepared to welcome a new President—America’s first female President. It didn’t go as we hoped. You see, the country itself had a bit of sickness. It was sick with uninformed voters, ill with apathy, unaware of the dangers lurking around the corner.
How long will it take you to get back on? There is no time limit on grief. Some mourn for days, some weeks, some years. There is no judgment here.
But sooner or later, you will have to get back on that horse. There will be other battles to fight, to win. There will be midterms and special elections, issues that come up, and things worth fighting for—or fighting against.
So please remember the golden horse as you mourn. Please do not turn away. If you do —if you don’t get back on—all that will happen is fear. You will begin to fear getting back on more and more, and that mustn’t ever happen.
