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“I don’t care about P Diddy,” I told myself. “I don’t care about Epstein. I liked Vinnie Barbarino better.” 

At the moment these particular thoughts skipped over my brain, I was contemplating what was really important, and what might genuinely affect my immediate health and safety: Standing slightly crouched beside my horse’s haunches and gingerly applying a bag of frozen peas to his, er, gentleman parts. The swelling prompted palpating for a possible tick bite, par-taay! And upon finding none, I assumed it was the result of a horsefly.

Since horseflies really, really, REALLY hurt when they chomp, it obliges one to be extremely careful when approaching a 1,400-pound animal, actively still in distress, in the same spot. Low, comforting tones meant nothing, and his twitching stifle told me to be prepared for a lightning-fast cow kick. I let him examine the crackling, frozen bag, but when I inched it towards the swollen area, he cocked an ear and gave me some serious side-eye. I would have, too.

“I’ve gotta take a break from current events and politics,” I’d recently muttered to a friend, rubbing my tired eyes with both hands.

“I hear ya,” she agreed. “It’s overwhelming. I’ve had to make a strict rule for myself that I check my phone three times a day and that’s it.”

“Good idea,” I replied. “I’ve got to try that. Every single day, there is a brand new, outrageous headline. Every day. And it gets to the point where I’m so freaked out by what’s going on that I’m rarely living in the moment.”

“Like emotional ‘whack-a-mole,’ she said sympathetically.

I was good to my word—at least for a while. ‘FOMO’—Fear of Missing Out— is a real thing, and yet it leads us away from what actually is real. Standing in the shade of the barn aisle, both my horse and I facing south, we—or at least I—watched the late afternoon light cast longer shadows over the front field than just two weeks prior, and heard a murder of crows raise the alarm over an approaching hawk. The other horses were slowly ambling towards the gate in anticipation of dinner, snatching mouthfuls of grass on their way.

I was in the moment. Diddy, Epstein…there was nothing on my radar. The frozen peas finally made contact, and my horse actually exhaled. So did I. It’s a good thing, I thought, to revisit one’s life from time to time.

Even if it includes an inflamed sheath.