Horses don't fit into boxes either

My mustang Winnie, inspecting a cowboy hat.

Almost two months ago I left my corporate healthcare job to pursue opportunities of self-employment and self-discovery. As I cleared my desk and said my goodbyes to my coworkers, I kept repeating the honest truth about what was next for me: "I have the next two months or so figured out, and then I don't know what comes next."

Well. Those two months are almost up. And that assessment was accurate.

Having had a "side business" for six years, I had been pitched with the opportunity for multiple large, short projects all at once. I knew it was going to be a deep cold plunge into the depths of something I didn't quite know was even brewing. It was scary then . And  it's really terrifying now.

As I stare down my future, I'm feeling an ironic crossroads forming. It's almost so surreal I can practically see the imaginary split dirt roads leading off in opposite directions.

The challenging thing is, I'm not someone who's singularly focused on a specific dream or goal. 

I have many interests. I want to do many different things. I can't imagine doing any one thing for the rest of my life at all. 

So when it comes time to give myself space and figure out "what I even want to be doing," it's hard to pick…

Unfortunately, it feels like the world doesn't love this answer. 

Careers are supposed to fit into boxes. Tidy little categories with clean labels and obvious trajectories. 

You're a healthcare worker. You're an entrepreneur. You're a writer. Pick one. Stay there. 

But being alive is messier than that…so I found myself trying to make sense of this the best way I know how: by thinking through horses.

I look at my mustang, Winnie.

She's not a hair taller than a Welsh pony, but man can that horse ride. 

She turned 7 this year, and in those 7 years she's gone on mountain trails that tumble 300 feet down into rivers, crossed those rivers, camped, packed, done jumping, worked cattle, and ridden through snow, wind, rain, and heat. 

She's seen more adventure than most horses twice her size will see in a lifetime, so, you’d think this horse wouldn't be afraid of anything.

But Winnie has one major fear in life. 

Birds. 

Not the predictable giant turkey toms or sandhill cranes we often encounter either. Specifically, Winnie hates tiny songbirds. 

California quail rustling in the brush. Little sparrows picking out berries and twigs. Those birds.

She's so afraid of them that one time, my friend and I were riding down a quirt dirt road when a semi turned toward us and it was hauling an empty, rattling flatbed that would have sent any seasoned war horse into a full panic. 

We rushed to get out of the road. Winnie refused. Not because she wasn't scared. But because she wasn't scared of that. 

She was afraid of the house finches chattering in the trees off to the side.

The truck was irrelevant. The birds were the whole problem.

And this ridiculous quirk of my wonder mustang makes me think of myself because you'd think you could guess someone's character, or their fears, or what box they belong in, based on what you know about their accomplishments. 

A mountain horse. A side-business owner. A healthcare professional….But people, like horses, don't actually work that way. 

The things that stop us, scare us, light us up, they don't always match the résumé. 

We contain contradictions. 

We have layers that don't quite add up on paper.

The world wants us to choose a lane and stay in it. But Winnie isn't a trail horse or a cattle horse or a pack horse. She's all of it. And also, inexplicably, terrified of finches.

Maybe that's enough of a map for now.