There’s an old man in the barn. He’s seen a lot in his time.
Much that I’ve never seen, and much that I have.
He’s the reason I’m still standing today. He’s also the reason I’ve laughed, smiled, bled, dripped in sweat, and crumbled in tears.
They say it’s not the years that matter, but the mileage. In some cases, that’s true. But in many cases…it’s both.
The mileage we have covered together is a blessing all its own. But those years, my friend…those years.
They are priceless. Their value is beyond anything that will ever be in my bank account.
That old man hasn’t always been old. He hasn’t always chosen his steps carefully. Nor have I, but I don’t age as quickly.
So when I see that old man in the barn, yes, I do see the mileage. But I see the years first.
Over the years, he’s taught me how to understand his requests for change. When he was ready to take it to the next level, we did. When he was ready to try something new, we did. But this old man had already seen some things in his time before me, and he entered my life and my heart with pages and pages of dog-eared stories that I had to read before I could understand him. Before I ever reached a personal goal with him, he told me he didn’t think he wanted to.
So we didn’t. And we continued in a different way. We made memories that we both could dog-ear, and since then, we’ve made many.
He wasn’t old, then. But the life he’d already lived had already given him a hell of a book, and it was time for some chapters that gave him room to breathe.
So we wrote those together. Every now and then, those ears would flicker just so, and let me know I was in for a break in the breather-pages. I was in for some mileage.
Yes, sweet boy. I’m in. I’m always in. I’m ready.
And off we’d go. Memories in the mileage.
Today, he’s happy. He’s content. His ears still flicker just so, but he chooses his steps more carefully. His prances are shorter. The walks are longer. And the thoughts of his next few chapters quietly dwell in my mind.
Sometimes, I miss riding towards a goal. Sometimes, I miss – and crave – what ‘could have been’ or what could be.
But that twinkle in his eye is still there, and his ears still flicker just so. And I’m reminded –
If I’d known what resided in these chapters many years earlier and had been given the choice, where would I choose to be?
Right here. A million times over, right here. Neck deep within the pages of a simple story of a simple horse and a simple girl who loves him.
A Thoroughbred with mileage, and a girl who wanted wings.
A gelding with a past, and a girl who saw her future.
There’s an old man in the barn. He’s seen a lot in his time. Much that I’ve never seen, and much that I have. The mileage is great, but for me, it’s the years that are dog-eared.
Years I wouldn’t trade. A horse I wouldn’t trade.
A life, a love, a partnership I would never trade.
The mileage is a gift. The years are a privilege.
And it is a privilege to grow older with that old man in the barn.
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