At What Cost?

I was scrolling through Facebook the other night when I came across a post from an old neighbor. At the time we lived next door to him, he was a teenager, rumbling up and down the road in his back, dusty diesel truck. Now he’s married with two young children. He had posted a picture of he and his wife on vacation, holding their girls in their arms, standing on a beach and captioned it, “The best things in life are free.”

My first thought was, “But…are they?” Then I scolded myself for being jaded and cynical, when this sweet young guy was expressing such an innocent sentiment. And I’ve been debating with myself ever since.

I know what he meant – he meant that expensive material possessions aren’t what bring us happiness – and that’s true. But this statement, “the best things in life are free,” has become one of those universally accepted platitudes that you see on bumper stickers and T-shirts, and all of a sudden, when I actually stopped to think about it, I realized that this is a terrible idea to promote.

The best things in my life are the things that cost me the most. And they’re things that continually cost me, every day. My children rip my heart out on practically a daily basis, as I am plagued by worry that they may be getting sick, or they hate me, or I’ve failed as a mother. But they bring me unquantifiable joy from a smile or a hug, or even from just washing a dish. For me, anyway, being a parent means second-guessing everything I do and say, and feeling the most intense relief and gratitude when one of my children does anything remotely kind, intelligent, or selfless. Being a parent is tears, spending sleepless nights in prayer, saying “yes” to their needs and “no” to your own, and being certain that you have no more to give and still giving. Being a parent is the most urgent thing I do, the most meaningful, and the thing that melts my heart. My children hold my heart so tightly that sometimes when I pull them close, I’m frightened of the intensity of my emotions. In those moments, nothing matters except caring for them and keeping them safe.

And my marriage is another “best thing” that is far from free. In fact, it’s probably the thing I’ve worked hardest on. When life gets overwhelming, I tend to put Steven on the back burner because he’s such a strong person. I don’t feel I have to worry about him, and the result is often benign neglect. We’re just two extremely busy people helping each other do even more stuff and be even more productive. Instead of sharing each other’s burdens, we pick up more. It took me a long time to see that this was happening, and even longer to attempt to stop it. Sometimes it’s as simple as making eye contact and giving him my full attention when he talks to me, or touching his shoulder when I walk by him in the kitchen. Sometimes it’s staying up until 3 in the morning to hash something out because that’s the only time we’re alone. It’s being willing to look hard at my own shortcomings, to keep my mouth shut, and to reach out for him when it would be easier to turn away.

It’s saying sorry, being scared, and getting up to get him his drink that he forgot to bring to the dinner table when I’m so tired I don’t think I can move. But doing that with a smile on my face is why we’re still married, and why it’s better now, 17 years in.

And when I think about my career as a horse trainer…I cannot begin to quantify the literal blood, sweat, and tears that it cost me to gain my skillset. Not only the hours and effort I put into learning, but the infinite missed opportunities – parties, time with friends, vacations, or really anything that required being away from the farm for more than a few hours. Because of my choice to pursue this lifestyle, I sacrificed any chance at having a “normal” life. A large part of my identity and most of my daily schedule revolves around the horses – how they’re doing, what they need, when they eat, how long they can go without being checked on, if they’re progressing in their training. And while it’s true that this cost me the ability to do many other things, it still feels like a gift to care for and work with creatures that are so big and powerful, but still so delicate. There is no real reason they should want to have a connection with us, but they do. It’s magic.

The best things in life cost time. They cost energy. They need lots of attention and continual work. They take your whole heart, whether you intend to give it or not. So be prepared, because you will lose yourself in them.

But then, these are the things that make you who you are. They give you back to yourself, but you’re new and different, wiser and stronger, and so much better because of them. Their incredible cost is what gives them their infinite value. I try to remember this when I feel empty and used up: you ALWAYS get more than you give.