Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.
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Climbing back in the saddle
They say when you fall off a horse you have to get right back up… I wonder if whoever coined that phrase had ever ridden a horse.
Because horses are temperamental. And unpredictable. And they're tall. When you fall off them, it's a long way to the ground. And once you've fallen you spook the horse and it could trample you. Horses are dangerous business.
My own metaphorical horse is beautiful, wild and untameable. I'll never know her mood or which direction she'll run, and often when I'm saddled on, I know better than to try to direct her; I just hold on tight and look forward to the exhilarating ride. Two years ago, I took my horse on the longest, most demanding journey so far with remarkable (and unknowable) terrain. It was surreal, beautiful, exhilarating and exhausting. I felt like I would trot her around the globe and we'd never tire of each other. But six months ago she'd had enough. She balked so hard, so fast, that I was catapulted from my saddle and fell so hard I wasn't sure what it would take to get back up.
What I lost first was my pride, then my confidence. I knew I had the humility to learn from my mistakes, but somewhere I misplaced the resilience I needed to jump back into the saddle immediately and tame that horse back into submission. I couldn't tell you where my fear came from. It came in fast and hard and stuck to me like damp clothes, clammy and suffocating. I retreated back to my haven of peace, and once in Dublin I retreated deeper, into myself, and began to rebuild.
Now someone has held out the reins for me to grab once more. It's earlier than I anticipated; my horse and I are still wary of each other, each still feels betrayed and abandoned. But I've stood back up on my own two wobbly legs and I seem to be able to hold my own weight. Maybe - just maybe - I can climb gently back onto this beautiful mare, and we could go for a quiet canter.
Once I saw the script, I knew I had to get back in the saddle. The story is a capture of one of the most remarkable women in Canadian history, the formidable Lucy Maud Montgomery. Her strength, tenacity, imagination and ambition are nothing short of a call to order. Maud wrote with such ferocity, such necessity. She needed stories as much as she did oxygen and water. It was her sustenance.
I remember needing theatre that badly. I remember shaking with withdrawal symptoms if I went too long without trotting on stage floors. I remember feeling complete and whole and fulfilled with spotlights illuminating my face. I know Maud could never walk away from her allegorical horse, and I know I can't either. We are somehow bound, my mare and I. So I hold the script in one hand and the reins in the other. We haven't started moving yet, but I'm getting comfortable.
The nerves and hesitancy remain. But I think that's a good thing; ignorance would be a death sentence on this journey. Hopefully by embracing everything I've learned from my recent fall, I can hold on if my stunning horse begins to recoil or tries to jerk me out of my seat. I can calmly comfort her, and she can begin to trust me again.
I'm returning home to untie my horse from where I left her standing. I have a director I trust, a script I can believe in, and a hunger to show my mare that we can move and breath as one. And as I sit timidly in the saddle, I have flashbacks of how exhilarating it feels to gallop at a breakneck pace, to feel that touch of immortality with the wind blowing in my face and the sun holding golden in the sky before me.
I dig my heels into her flank, breath deep, and wait to see how she reacts…
Jennifer will be performing the title role in Maud of Leaskdale, receiving its premiere during the L.M. Montgomery centennial celebrations in Uxbridge in October.
