The Sutton Life

We have a donkey. He is the same kind of crazy as me. 

Our donkey is kind of a running joke for all of us. He drives us insane and makes us laugh. He is skittish and loving, crazy and mindful, weird and perfectly donkey-esque. He is a walking, braying contradiction. Oh my goodness, am I like my donkey? 

Here is a typical interaction with Donkey (and yes, we call him Donkey. His name is Uno, but it never stuck). He stands about 10 feet away from you staring at you with suspicion. He then walks up and stands right in front of you, obviously wanting some sort of attention. If you move too fast, he runs. If you move too slow, he head butts you. If you get it right, he is the sweetest animal ever…at least for a minute. He buries he head into you and lets you pet him. Then, he turns around and tries to kick you for absolutely no reason. 

Umm…Donkey? Weren’t we just friends 2 seconds ago? 

The good news is that Donkey has no idea how to kick. He just kind of hops but he cannot figure out how to actually get his back legs off the ground. I have seen him out in the field practicing. Bless his little donkey heart. 

Donkey has taken a liking to me. It has occurred to me that Donkey and I are the same kind of crazy. I keep my distance, then ask people to love me, then try to kick them when they do. Then, if they stay there, I return, nuzzle into them with the kind of relaxation only trust can bring. I understand donkey. I don’t want anyone to know I understood Donkey, of course. So, I laugh and say things like “Oh, crazy Donkey”. 

Then, this happened. 

After one of my “crazy Donkey” comments, my son looked at me and said. 

“You and Donkey are alike.” 

Umm, what? No one is supposed to think that (well, except me). The words themselves coupled with the matter-of-fact way he said them was a little unnerving. Did he really just compare me to a crazy farm animal….out loud? 

My reaction (panic-stricken) : 

“What? No, we are not. Why do you think that? How are we the same?”

His response (casually, shrugging his shoulders) 

“Don’t know. You just are.” 

Great. 

My husband does not like Donkey. Donkey is mean to our horse, Red. This is true. The donkey follows the horse around incessantly, braying at her, jumping on her, then trying to lean against her. He is intimidated by her and wants her to love him. (Why in the world do I have to understand this donkey so well?). 

Our horse is about as laid back as they come. Give her food, water, shelter, and room to roam – she is happy. She never spooks. She handles the boys running around making all kinds of noise without flinching. She is outwardly kind and loving. She is like my husband. Uncomplicated. Easily happy. Settled. 

I want to be horse. I do not want to be donkey. 

I literally kept these thoughts in my head for about a week trying to adjust my personality to be more horse and less donkey (which I think makes me even more like donkey…ugh!). 

Then, one day I watched Donkey and Red in the field. Red was calm, patient, the epitome of grace. She had her head down, eating grass. She looked completely at peace. Donkey was beside her rolling around in the dirt in some sort of frenzy. He would jump up, run around her, and try to kick, then drop back down and roll around some more. 

I laughed. I liked Donkey. And if I liked Donkey….maybe there was hope I could like the crazy in me too. 

As I walked up, Donkey stopped rolling around and walked up to me – less cautiously than usual. He buried his head into my stomach and let me pet him. There in the field, I felt lucky. This animal that is so protective, so cautious of who he lets love him – loves me. That is kind of a big deal. 

I think the horse feels the same way I do. When they are separated, she goes to check on him. She moves to the back of her stall and lets him see her, maybe to help him feel loved. He, of course, makes all kinds of racket because he is not great at accepting love. She is good with him, for him. Maybe, in some ways, he is good for her too. 

I do not think I will ever be horse. I am too scattered, overly complicated, not trusting enough. I am the donkey. But here is the difference (besides the obvious ones): 

Donkey lives with his crazy right there for the world to see. He screams (well, brays) right out loud, “accept me as I am or not at all”. I assume this is how he ended up at the livestock sale in the first place, but that is beside the point. 

I think maybe my crazy needs to be a little more like Donkey’s. What if I just embraced it? Rolled around in it for everyone to see? What if I stopped acting like horse because, even if I wanted to be, horse didn’t match who I was? Heck, if my kids thinks I am like donkey anyway, am I really doing that good of a job tucking in the madness? 

I think I am over molding myself into something that does not fit me. I think I am over thinking because something fit before, it has to again. I know I am my own worst enemy but continuing to fight myself has proven ineffective.  Plus, I am also a terrible kicker. 

I think it is time to embrace my inner donkey. Maybe it is time for all of us. What if we just lived out loud? What if we recognized the amazing insanity of each other and embraced it? What if we learned how to move at the right speed for others and helped others understand the right speed for us? What if we loved ourselves enough to allow others to love us just as we are? What if we stopped comparing ourselves to others and held the standard at our best self? Or our more-content-than-yesterday self? Or our I-made-it-through-today-and that-is enough self? I think it is time to embrace our honest, authentic, messiness. We would be less stressed, less anxious, less Oscar-worthy. We would know those surrounding us love us. Those who leave, may not. And both of those reactions would be okay. Prior me thought this existence was impossible. Current me is beginning to think it just might be everything I have ever been looking for. 

So, if you need me, I will be rolling around in the grass, making all kinds of noise, and peeling off the layers to discover me. Wish me luck, I think she may be a bit terrifying….and brave….and unpredictable….and perfectly imperfect.