Iceland Part I: Horses

Photo courtesy of Kyle Wurtz

Recently, I read an article that said exploring Iceland is like hiking through a geology textbook. There are so many different landscapes and terrains, it's an apt comparison. Glaciers, volcanoes, fjords, beaches and dozens of cascading waterfalls. You could see all of those in just a couple of days. But despite the diverse scenery, there isn't much in terms of flora and fauna.

One of the curiouser aspects of Iceland is the lack of wildlife variety. There are many birds and plenty of fish in the sea, but the only mammals we saw during our time there were Icelandic horses (although according to this site, "polar bears occasionally visit the island, traveling on icebergs from Greenland." We didn't see any polar bears, unfortunately/fortunately).

Oh heyyyyyy, girl.

Icelandic horses are smaller than American horses (damn obesity epidemic), but they're not quite as small as ponies. In any case, they're definitely larger than a Delma, which for some reason became the standard unit of measurement when playing "21 Questions" during our long drives.

Icelandic horses are not only larger than a Delma, they're shaggier than a Delma too. Being winter, their coats were thick and furry, giving some of the horses emo-styled hair-dos. Combined with their penchant for standing in straight lines, it looked like the Icelandic horses were waiting to get backstage at a Dashboard Confessional concert. When the wind blows just right, their hair whips around in a frenzy and you could say they almost look like majestic, noble steeds (and since Icelandic horses apparently have their own congress, they should look like majestic, noble steeds). Almost.

When they start running though, you quickly realize their "whatever, man, be cool" image is a facade and that Icelandic horses are just big dorky posers. They don't run so much as forcibly trot, their upper bodies remaining perfectly still as their legs awkwardly flick back and forth.

They run like looooosers.

Regardless of their being posers, Delma and I really wanted to get close to one and pet it because we like to pet things (it's why we don't have many friends). Icelandic horses are everywhere in Iceland, but the timing was never right to get some QT with one. Either we were on our way to a geyser or there were 60MPH gusts of wind or the Icelandic horses were too far away for petting purposes.

On our fifth day in Iceland, the stars aligned (just like the Icelandic horses).

Driving back from checking out the wreckage of a WW2 US Navy plane, we spotted a group of Icelandic horses (a herd of Icelandic horses? band of Icelandic horses? smörgåsbord of Icelandic horses?) chilling by the side of the road. We weren't in a particular hurry to get anywhere and it was only lightly drizzling, so Kyle stopped the car and Delma and I hopped out.

The Icelandic horses weren't particularly interested in us at first, but like their American brethren, they're most definitely interested in sugar. We were banking on this and stole a bunch of sugar cubes from the hostel that morning. As soon as I lobbed that first sugar cube, three Icelandic horses trotted (forcibly, awkwardly, stupidly) over.

Here's Delma making one feel warm and fuzzy inside. She bribed him with a sugar cube.

Honestly, Icelandic horses are pretty chill animals. They came over, said sup, had some more sugar cubes. We stroked their Icelandic horse muzzles and they looked happy. A good time was had by all.

So why am I hating? I'm not ragging on them cus they're not chill. I’m hating on Icelandic horses because they felt out of place in Iceland. They looked like they would have felt more at home in Wisconsin. Short and stout with a gait that looks like that of an out-of-shape middle-aged white dude trying to play full-court. You'd expect a country with such breathtaking sights to have equally impressive animals. Icelandic tigers or Icelandic boa constrictors. I dunno. Icelandic horses just don't mesh with that “epic” Icelandic image. It’s hard to imagine a viking riding around on an Icelandic horse.

To be fair, I didn’t know what that Icelandic persona was going to be before embarking on this trip. I knew three things about Iceland before leaving: volcanoes, Björk and Hákarl. I did zero research and had zero expectations and figured if I didn’t know what to expect, I wouldn’t be disappointed.

This was a great strategy that I am going to utilize for all of my future trips because it resulted in me saying “Holy shit!” about ten times a day.

“Holy shit! That waterfall!”
“Holy shit! This wind!”
“Holy shit! That ice rock!”
“Holy shit! This hot dog!”

(It was the best hot dog of my life.)

Maybe I’m being too harsh on Icelandic horses. Like I said, they were super chill. I guess Iceland spoiled me. After being constantly surprised and astonished by its natural beauty (and hot dogs), the Icelandic horses were a bit of a let down.

I suppose that’s how you know a trip was awesome. When, after all you did and saw, the low point wasn't "it was boring." It wasn't "the food sucked" or "I got diarrhea," but rather it was "the horses were only ok."

"The Icelandic horses were only ok. I mean, they were chill. They just weren’t as majestic, as breathtaking, or as awe-inducing, soul-shaking, life-shattering as LITERALLY everything else we saw.”

LIT-ERR-AHH-LEE.

This concludes part I of what will probably (maybe) be many Iceland posts.

So Chill

Chill. That's my new aspiration in life. My new goal. No more aiming to be a well-received comedic author or a creative director at a fancy agency or a GQ cover model. From this point onward, the only thing I'm going to strive for is to be chill. Like these chips.

Not just chill. Like, really chill. Chill as fuck. Instead of killin' it, I'ma be chillin' it. Chill City, USA.

I mean, I still want those other things. But they're taking a backseat to my new goal of being chill. Chill is now riding shotgun in the Cabriolet that is my life.

So chill. We say that a lot work. It's said with a modicum of irony, a wink-wink and a tilt of the head.

"Dude. SO chill."

But if you really think about it, chill is the ultimate compliment. The people we like the most are those that seem unfazed by anything. No matter how hectic things are, no matter how rough the storm gets, they're there, doing what needs to be done, chill as fuck.

I'm not chill. Far from it. I'm anxious, skittish and impatient. As fuck. IBS might have to do with some of it, but even before I self-diagnosed, I've been really insecure and flimsy. 

If I'm not prepared for a conversation, I mumble and stutter and give incoherent answers.

"Did you finish that radio script?"

"Ah... I... It... The script. Finished? I finish yes."

I joke around that English is my second language, but if you've heard any conversation I've had while flustered, you'd believe it.

A big part of the reason I want to be chill is my health. Anxiety and self-induced stress have been taking their toll on me. I've been trying to read for one hour and write for two. Every morning before work. I also try to work out 3-4 times a week and meditate for at least 20 minutes everyday. The morning's the best time because I never have any idea how late I'm going to stay at work. Unpredictable hours, you know?

I usually wake up around 5:30 to make time (also because of the aforementioned self-diagnosed IBS). Which is fine. If I go to bed by 10, that's about 7 hours of sleep. More than enough. But because I'm putting in all this time into writing and reading, I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself to succeed. Succed at what? I dunno. But I keep stressing about finding success and I feel like a failure because I'm close to 30 and (in my mind) haven't accomplished anything. 

And I do have goals. I just always feel like I'm never doing enough to make those goals happen. Too focused on the end product, not the process. 

And, even then, no one really cares if I achieve those goals. Not in the sense that they wouldn't be proud of me. More that no one would care if I fail. The only person it would matter to would be me.

I've already failed at shit. Many times. The world didn't end. No one cared. I didn't stop breathing.

My momma will still love me if I quit my job and become a beach bum, sleeping on the sand and living off of Xochitl chips. 

This is something that I've known forever. Everyone knows this. Slow progress does not mean failure. Failure does not mean death. But I still stress myself out every day that I'm not working towards a goal. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it.

I attended a talk a couple nights ago about women in advertising and one thing that really stuck out to me (which wasn't really about women in advertising) was a panelist's opinion that the biggest problems with millenials (I hate that term) is that we're impatient. We want things immediately.

To quote Kel, "I do I do I dooo-ooo."

I want success. And I want it now. Waiting is hard, man. Real hard.

It's not just the waiting and wanting. I'm worried that I'm wasting precious time, squandering any precious opportunities that I'll have to be successful. Life is short, man. Life is real short. Also, life is a cereal. And a game. 

But I know life is going to happen. It's happening right now. And if I'm too worried on the end product, I can't focus on the now. I keep writing about being in the present, but only because it's so hard for me. 

Maybe I just don't want to grapple with the fact that life goes on. Shit happens. People die. The world doesn't stop. It's a tough pill to swallow. I want to believe in my own immortality. That's why I'm impatient. I need to create something of substance, something that's worth it, something that people will appreciate. My self-worth is based on other people's validation. But that's a different problem altogether.

Only thing I can do now is just focus on being chill. I'm gonna go from a millenial to a chillenial. That's all I want to do. That's what I want to be. Chill. 

I just wanna be chill.

Tonight, instead of stressing about writing the next great New American novel, I'm going to play some mother lovin' Mario Kart.



Luigi. So chill, y'all. So chill.