We discovered the long dirt road just north of Santa Fe, driving through the dun colored New Mexico hills on our way to El Santuario de Chimayo. A fitting place to begin a journey of transformation. Even one you didn’t know was going to happen.
The Sanctuary is a place of great consequence. No bigger than a small house, adobe walls radiate with the miracle that happened there two hundred years ago.
You can feel it in the tiny churchyard. In the hushed darkness within the Sanctuary itself. The dark wooden pews. A hidden corner of the world where every moment is a window on eternity.
We began to talk about the long dirt road that afternoon over Margaritas outside Coyote Cafe. We talked about finding a rancho for us and for our horses, a place we would create from the threads of fulfilling days and fireplace nights. A place where we would take back the control of our lives we had sold to purchase success.
The long dirt road had its own ideas. It went from being just a shared secret between two lovers to being the way, our way. After a few false starts and stumbles we woke up one day to the fact that in order to reach that goal, that magic place at the end of the long dirt road, we had to become impeccable. Impeccable is a really high bar. Only brujos usually get there. But we figured we had to start somewhere and so our goal became making each day fulfilling, authentic. We learned the road was a demanding master. Walk it with courage, honesty, and you could stay on. But if you faltered and took your eyes from the path you’d find yourself somewhere off in the weeds.
We had to relearn some things. For one, success was not measured by bank balances but by how we felt when we looked in the bathroom mirror just before we shut the light and went to bed. Could we look ourselves in the eye and say: “well done?” If you could change something about the day, what would it be? Was the person we were each becoming worth the price we were paying? How did being a physician, a healer, play into all of this?
We make time every morning for coffee together. Quiet time. Looking across the San Pasqual Valley to Palomar.
Sam the Dawg has been walked. Horses have been fed. A few precious moments before the day descends. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we just drink coffee and watch the critters. When we talk it’s usually about our lives together, why we took the road we did. Or didn’t. What do we do with this fork coming up? Will we know if it is the road less traveled?
That’s where the idea for a book began. It sprouted one morning between the coffee beans and peanut butter when we began to talk about the lessons we had learned. And were still learning. The wisdom we ultimately draw on is not new. It’s there for anyone to use. If you know where to look. It goes back to the sages, to Native American shamans, to Kabbalah, to the Buddha. You can find it anywhere…Carlos Castaneda, Alan Watts, Ferris Bueller, Heraclitus. The matrix that binds it all together is our herd of horses and the primal wisdom of their horse ancestors, wisdom they freely share with us every day.
Their effect on our lives has been almost impossible to measure.
What is new is how we applied this knowledge to our lives. We’ve had a lot of adventures, made our share of mistakes, for sure, but we’re still pushin’ hard on the boundaries of our comfort zone. Because we never learned any other way. We’re convinced that our book will be a great chance to share this knowledge. Readers are certain to find a sort of Guide Michelin for their own journey on their own long dirt road. Guideposts to living a life with no regrets.
We needed a title. BW (JoAnn) said that. I said we needed to write the book first. First author-author argument. And then l found some ideas JoAnn and written in the green college ruled composition book she takes everywhere. She had written: “OUT OF GAS AT THE END OF A LONG DIRT ROAD.” It was perfect. Burn every ounce of gas getting there. Don’t leave anything in the training room. We could feel the hot breath of Calliope on our necks. We knew she was smiling. We high-fived each other, made it OUTTAGAS AT THE END OF A LONG DIRT ROAD, pinky-swore we would never change it, and added Leaving Life With No Regrets for a subtitle.
We were dancin’.