On guilt and horses

In a world where one’s household comprises two adults with (more than) full-time jobs both of which involve a good portion of commuting and travel; two small children whose self-sufficient years are some way off; a newly purchased house in need of far more renovation than initially anticipated; and a needy miniature schnauzer, free time is at a premium.

So taking nine days to go, solo, on a horseback safari in Southern Africa is - let’s be honest - extreme decadence if not downright selfishness.

And yet I’m on my way to the airport to do just that.

A horseback safari has been one of those dream experiences, a bucket list item, for almost as long as I can remember. Horses, expansive landscapes, charismatic megafauna (what a horrid phrase for such amazing creatures) - all things that speak to my soul.

An imminent Big Birthday has given me the excuse required to spend both the time and money solely on myself - something that’s incredibly hard to do as a parent. There’s always a reason not to prioritise yourself, although with the help and support of my husband I’ve been much better over the last few years at taking time to do that. I finally realise that not only does doing things I enjoy make me a better partner and parent, I’m setting a horrid example to the children of I constantly ignore my own needs at the expense of other people’s.

But even when you do manage to put yourself first by seeing friends in the pub, or spending Sunday morning at the yard, there are a hundred and one reasons for that prioritisation not to be prolonged, or resource-intensive.

Alongside the faint wobbliness that I’m travelling halfway round the world entirely solo and the terror that I might fall off a horse and get eaten by a lion, is an underlying sense of guilt. I’m taking over a week away from my family, making huge additional asks of an already extremely busy (and, let’s be honest, wildly generous) husband. I’m spending a not-insignificant amount of money on something that will benefit only me and, short of a few thousand photos, will leave me nothing permanent to show for it (even more indulgent when there are two bathrooms at home that need totally gutting). I’m leaving teams at work with an exceptional amount to do at a hugely busy time.

And yet… if I don’t do it now, I may never do it. A big birthday gives me an arbitrary reason to spend the time and the money - and because of the physical nature of the trip, if I don’t do it now, the less likely it becomes the older I get.

So I’m on my way to the airport, with a very small bag packed to the gunwales with riding tights, chafe cream and insect repellent, a riding hat tucked under my arm. And I plan on loving every second.