This should be a simple enough concept to grasp, especially for the
accused-equine in question.
Should be.
Isn’t.
Apparently for me to work effectively, the blinders must remain tightly
secured at all times.
I refer to, of course, those flaps/blinkers racehorses or workhorses often
wear to keep them focused on the road ahead and nothing more. There’s no looking back at what’s coming up
from the rear. There’s no looking sideways to see distractions or the
competition. Straight ahead. End of story.
Well, yesterday, in a mistaken effort to start toeing my way into the
big historical romance writers groups on Facebook, I made the error in actually
glancing at some of these esteemed author’s postings…
*pauses to scratch the hives of
abject terror now encircling my throat…*
Let’s just say it was a COLOSSAL mistake.
There were huge discussions on late 18th century footwear.
Group conversations on daily Colonial diets.
Raging debates on tri-corner hats!... (Ok, this one is an exaggeration,
but I’m sure it’s there somewhere. At that point, I was cowering behind my dog
hyperventilating and had lost all tactile ability.)
The point is, I was intimidated clear out of my early 21st
century shoes.
So, blinders back on.
I cannot look to the side. I’ve got to run my own race, using what
scraggly legs and big clumsy heart God has given me.
Period.
No, I may not be a horse. But, for pity’s sake, send me nowhere without
my blinkers.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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