Of horses, birthdays and no regrets.
There was something about the West, about the horses, about the land that spoke to me. On the plane ride home, I imagined myself on my 50th birthday, with streaks of gray in my hair, standing by a horse in the fading light of a Colorado afternoon, wearing a cowboy hat not because I was being ironic but because it was a necessity. It was a new birthday fantasy.
But things don't always turn out like we expect, right?