Thinking that Flea knew I was a horse person, I assumed he’d do exactly as I wanted, so I was surprised that he didn’t. He sensed that I was edgy, and he trotted away.
“In their presence you must be still,” Koelle said. “They respond negatively to people who are too hyper. Relax your belly. Walk in the spirit that is Sarah.”
I shrugged my shoulders and smiled vaguely. I allowed myself a few deep breaths to calm down. It was only when I relaxed and concentrated on the moment that Flea obeyed me. The minute I doubted myself or had some other emotions come up, he hesitated. He knew I was caught up in my ego, and reflected his experience of me.
Then, gently, I went up to him, and in my mind I sent out the message that if he wanted to connect with me, that was okay. Flea sauntered up closer to me, nudged his velvety nostrils at me, and laid his nose on my heart. We made a connection. He picked up on my good energy. Horses teach us how to be sensitive to each other and ourselves simultaneously; it is an incredible gift.
In the deepest sense, you must earn your horse’s confidence, his trust, and his love. If you are firm but also gentle, if you are his boss yet his friend, then he will do anything for you within reason, and sometimes beyond.
“The authority you have with horses can’t be from anything forced,” said Koelle. “It has to be authentic or the horse won’t respond. Now, are you ready to take this to the next level?”
“Yes.”
Flea had a serious fear of plastic bags, terrified that the bags were going to attack or harm him in some way. I was to help him get over his phobia.
Koelle instructed me to touch Flea with the plastic bags.
“He may jump … he may spook. But don’t get tangled up in his fear, okay?”
I began to rub him with a plastic bag. He jumped back and ran away. He did this over and over again. It took forever (at least it seemed that way) before Flea got comfortable with the bags.
The key to this work was to remain true and strong to my core—not try to be the savior and take Flea’s fears away. It wouldn’t work. I was to keep to my center, to show the horse I was not frightened and I trusted him. The horse would sense this and his own fears would dissipate.
Working with Flea helped me tap into my many fears. Fear is a core emotion, a primordial feeling that all animals experience. It’s simply a feeling of impending doom, of dread or apprehension about something—fear of failure, of being fat, of being alone, of being broke, fear of losing face, fear of disappointment, rejection, or physical injury.
Usually we run from our fears, like Flea did, repressing or denying them. But this is a very short-term strategy. That’s because, emotionally speaking, what we resist persists. Or, to use Henry Miller’s more eloquent language, “Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end.”
The best way to overcome fear is what Flea did: Face your fear, again and again. Then simply look at your fear objectively. Usually it’s overblown. I ask myself: “Can I deal with the worst-case scenario?” Usually I can; therefore I can call the shots. The second thing that works for me is that when fearful and in doubt, just hang in there. Do what you know is the right thing to do (which automatically means it’s going to be the hard way), no matter what.
Flea helped me understand myself better. When you’re working with an animal that is bigger than you, you experience yourself in relationship to the animal. You learn to face your fears, set boundaries, and eventually lead the horse. This directly correlates to how you lead your life.
I miss him. Flea was a life-support system cleverly disguised as a horse.
NUGGETS:
• Tap into the healing power of animals in your life. Volunteer at a humane society or rescue organization. Walk the dogs, or cuddle the cats.
• Take an animal vacation where you can have supervised close encounters with horses, dolphins, or other animals. Or be an appreciative spectator. Go to a horse show, for example. The sheer beauty of these incredible creatures that are so full of energy and strength and passion can take us out of our own egos.
• Set clear boundaries in your life.
• Be open. When you are welcoming, others will be drawn to you and will feel at ease in your presence. They will want to approach you, get to know you, and/or spend time with you.
• Face your fears (which, by the way, is the only way to conquer them!). The universal law of nonresistance says that when you face your fears head-on, they’ll fall away of their own weight. So take a deep breath and strap on your scuba gear, board that plane, apologize to your ex-friend, or do whatever it is that you’re afraid of, before this year is over.
DIARY ENTRIES
October 4, 2010
Life is getting better. I have to continue to change the past, the negative rut that is endlessly taking me from the good rut.
I have to get my good rut.
“I love myself more than I ever imagined possible and others love me too.” This is a mantra I write twenty-five times a day … or more, and certainly say it.
I look at Andrew, who is growing from strength to strength. I am always with him, but feel like he is ready to fly now.
In writing this, I have tears again, just mourning and grieving the past. Why did I get it so wrong?
I look at the green tree through the window and see the weather turn to autumn. The change of seasons means that life does not stop for anyone, and time continues, with or without you. So if I just trust and allow, then, maybe, like the seasons, I, too, will be directed and change. God is the conductor.
October 8, 2010
I recently declined a dinner invitation with a couple. They got cross, annoyed, and are not talking to me. Why? I did not want to go; I wanted to be quiet. Should I not follow what I wish to do in order to please others? I have done this all my life.
Somehow I need to toughen up. Or do it?
From: Martha Beck
To: Sarah
There are three kinds of business in this world: your business, my business, and God’s business. Doing what you feel is right, making space for yourself, and setting boundaries that allow you to thrive—all those actions are your business. How people choose to interpret your boundaries, whether or not they try to make you feel bad, whether or not they continue to speak to you—that’s their business. YOU CANNOT CONTROL OTHER HUMAN BEINGS. That means you CAN’T make them feel anything they choose not to. You can’t make someone happy, you can’t make someone angry, you can’t make someone afraid. They do that by deciding how they’ll interpret your actions and everything else. You can make things more likely but never certain.
No one can make you miserable either. You decide what pain or happiness you create in yourself, by choosing how to interpret other people’s actions, and the world in general. When you decide to believe that people are punishing you, you’re mentally punishing yourself and them. This creates a cycle of negativity wherein you catalyze as much punishment as possible for yourself and others.
You really can be the master creator of all your own circumstances.
xoxox,
M
DIARY ENTRIES
October 15, 2010
Dear Diary,
I am back writing again. As I sit down to recap on an extraordinary week, I ask myself, “Where shall I start this entry?” At this very moment, my trusted and special little Lee and I are on a train, from Stoke-on-Trent to London. We’re actually going in the right direction. That’s a miracle for me, since my lovely Lee and I normally head off thinking the other knows where we are going!
Lee has been with me for 26 years. She is from the East End of London, and her father drives a black cab. Lee travels with me, looks after me, and is also my hairdresser. For the last 13 years, we’ve been all over the world together.
As the train passes through the British countryside, the sun is shining down on the leftovers from last night’s frost, and the ground is twinkling. The s
cene reminds me of one big John Constable painting. Constable was a famous English romantic painter in the 1800s whose landscape paintings of ordinary English life are now among the most popular and valuable in British art.
As I look out, there are cows in the field, there are barge owners chatting as the steam rises from their coffee cups. I sit back in wonder. This is England at its best. I am proud to be British.
I have always loved traveling by train. The Railway Children was probably the catalyst for this love.
Looking at life through the windows of a train is like watching a cinema. Scenes and snapshots of real life go by quickly, frame by frame, seen through my window. I study every view, every tree, and imagine the stories behind them. I love my trains and my window cinema—and their ever-changing pictures.
Last night, I attended the birthday party of my dear friend John Caudwell in Stoke-on-Trent. This is the land of Lord Wedgwood, home to the famed pottery factories of good old-fashioned Britain. I knew very few people and walked in on my own. I was completely happy and felt good. A kind couple, Beverley and Peter from Essex, came up for a chat, worried that I would be feeling lonely or self-conscious. It was extremely kind of two strangers; however, I was having a good time with Sarah!
Then the photographs started, and many people wanted a snapshot of me and them. I was touched and heartened they wanted them, and when someone said, “Does this annoy you?” I heard myself say, “It is indeed a very kind and nice gesture of them to want a photograph with me. Their kindness in wanting one restored my faith in myself.”
My best friend Clare’s stepfather’s memorial service was at 12 noon. I walked into the church, and Clare seated me with her family. I felt the arms of love and care. Clare’s mum, Annie, had adopted me as her own daughter when I was 8 years old. Here was this fine, beautiful lady, racked with sadness and grief yet again. She had endured so many losses: her first husband, Anthony, to cancer; her grandson (Clare’s son) to suicide at only 21; and now another beloved husband, Peter, to cancer. The service was so moving, and I was pushed to tears by the bravery and courage of Clare and her whole family.
Afterward, I spotted many of my father and mother’s best friends: Patrick, my special and devoted godfather, and Sarah, my mum’s bestest friend. She reached out her arms with love and shouted “Hello, Fergie!” with so much joy in her voice. She must be about 75 years old and she looked like the friend I remember Mum loving so much all those years ago. And yes, you guessed it, here came the tears—nostalgic tears that touched my heart.
I was sitting in the same house where all those years ago my mother dropped me off to play with Clare. And today, there were so many people genuinely happy to see Fergie. Their embrace showed me so much. The universe is shining light daily for me now, on the past, present, and future. It is embracing me, and I am trusting the light to guide me. Clare summed it up best by saying, “Thank heavens, I have my old friend Fergie back.”
I left quickly, because I felt my tears were now becoming uncontrollable. Too difficult to handle. As I returned to Royal Lodge, I realized that I was, at long last, being completely authentic and real to my feelings, and just maybe, I was mourning the death of my mother, my father, and looking at the happiness of my life as a child, and mourning all that too. It triggered a massive eruption of emotion, and I am glad for it. In hindsight, it has to be said: Thanks to the News of The World, I have woken up and looked properly at my life. I am now living it, not running through it, rushing to the next station like a train!
It is October 15. My birthday. I am 51 years old. I woke up sporting a brand-new pair of tartan pajamas. Luckily no man in sight!
Beatrice and Eugenie organized a birthday party for me, and 26 people came to dinner. Again—what a show of generosity and immense kindness. My daughters’ love, devotion, and complete unconditional selflessness to want their mother celebrated are beyond any words that I could say.
October 20, 2010
I look at my Ex, and how great he is becoming, more and more centered within himself. He is blossoming into the man I knew he was when I married him. I keep thinking, why did we get divorced? In hindsight, I would say to anyone who takes impulsive, spontaneous giant steps, fighting for a change within a marriage, never be impulsive, because it might be irrevocable. I live in the grasps of the tentacles of regret.
From: Clare
To: Sarah
My friend,
Regrets are a waste of energy. They eat you up and get in the way of enjoying the present. We all have regrets, but there is nothing we can do about missed opportunities or mistakes in the past. The best we can do is recognize our mistakes and not repeat them.
Look in the mirror and see the Fergie of today—not the one you are angry with, but the one who has a bigger understanding of life than most. Smile at her and tell her you love her. You are VERY SPECIAL and very loved.
xxxxxx
Clare
21 Bent but Not Broken
The good times and the bad times have made me the woman I am today, and I have nothing to regret about that.
THOUGH NOW GRATEFULLY debt free, I had been embroiled in a financial crisis that was, of course, of my own making. You see, I tumbled headlong into serious debt following the collapse of a company I formed several years ago. I was advised time and again to file for bankruptcy, but stubbornly, if not foolishly, I did not want to do so, because I was trying so hard to protect all the people working for me. I had promised them their jobs were secure.
My problem, of course, was that I no longer had any assets to back up such a promise. I worked hard to earn what money I needed, but being in a deep hole, I had a steep climb ahead. With threats and lawsuits swirling around me on a daily basis, I searched for the kind of situation that would fill the coffers more quickly—but ultimately led to my undoing.
By 2010, my money was running out, and I wasn’t sure how to pay for daily living, never mind dig myself out of my landslide of debt. The reality of having no money really hit me. I felt desperate.
I never, ever, had to be grown-up about money. As a newlywed, I came into Buckingham Palace with a bank overdraft of $800—a serious sum when you are making $18,000 a year and your sole asset is a ten-year-old car.
You might think that by marrying into the Royal Family my money worries would be over, that I would live solvently ever after in the bosom of one of the richest families in the world.
The reality was something different. For I had married the second son and that made all the difference. Although Andrew received a moderate sum from the Civil List, it went for the cost of civil engagements and for staff and office expenses. In all our years together, his annual income never exceeded fifty thousand dollars.
In all fairness to myself, I was not entirely insouciant about my growing pool of red ink back then. I tried to save money where I could. I found that some designers would allow me a deep discount in return for the publicity value of my wearing their fashions. Unfortunately, this was completely misinterpreted by the tabloids. I was labeled “Freebie Fergie” although I was merely trying to be frugal! I should have been called “Frugal Fergie.”
What everyone failed to understand was that I urgently wanted to work, to earn, to be productive. I always loved working, and I missed a real job’s stimulation and rested uneasy in depending upon the Royal Family. I had been on my own since the age of eighteen, and I liked how it felt to pay my own freight. I needed some productive, stimulating work.
It came in the form of an idea for my first children’s book—born at five thousand feet. I had been taking lessons to learn how to fly a helicopter. By 1987 I had grown bored with my lessons, so I turned them into a childish adventure playground. I started calling my helicopter “Budgie” after the bird I thought it resembled. Before long I had infused Budgie with a full-fledged personality and I was scribbling out plot lines. In October 1989 my first two children’s books—Budgie the Little Helicopter and Budgie at Bendick’s Point—came out.
&n
bsp; Budgie led to a wonderfully satisfying career as a children’s book author in which I created a host of colorful, lovable characters. One of my favorites is Little Red—a red-haired little girl that I first sketched on a paper napkin as a logo for my American charity, Chances for Children. It was turned into a doll as a fund-raising project for P. J., the young boy who was burned over 62 percent of his body during the Oklahoma City bombing. There was no one to pay his medical bills, so Chances for Children pitched in.
Then, on Sept. 11, 2001, a firefighter pulled a Little Red doll from the rubble of the World Trade Center, where Chances for Children had its offices. That little sign of hope amid such inconceivable tragedy and devastation prompted me to expand Little Red’s reach all the way to raising funds for a day school in Kabul, Afghanistan, which 1,500 students now attend. To me, Little Red represents the strong, confident, and kind little girl I wished I had been as a child. In the spring of 2011, I visited Ground Zero and donated the original Little Red to the museum, scheduled to open on September 11, 2011.
All of my children’s books led me to feel blessed that I was able to put them to work for charities that are close to my heart.
Now back to my money problems: When Andrew and I decided to make our divorce final, I opted for friendship, not money, from the Royal Family. Her Majesty asked me, “What do you require, Sarah?” and I said, “Your friendship,” which I think amazed her, because everyone said I would demand a big settlement. But I wanted to be able to say, “Her Majesty is my friend,” not fight her or have lawyers saying, “Look, she is greedy.” I left my marriage knowing I’d have to work. And I did.
But as a single mother with few assets and less income than most presumed, I found myself in deep financial trouble and struggling with life in the real world. My bank balance remained somewhat precarious until need and opportunity converged during a single serendipitous event.
Finding Sarah Page 15