I've always felt fairly insecure when it comes to my expertise with horses, despite the fact that I have been riding for twenty-plus years. I often consider this a type of humility, but perhaps at some point it crosses over into irrational self-doubt. My trainer, who incidentally is also my best friend, constantly reminds me, "You know how to ride."
(Maybe she's right. Maybe I am. I like to believe that she wouldn't push me quite so hard if I wasn't capable of it but why can't I see what she sees?)
Perhaps it has something to do with my background.
After 16 years spent riding my reliable, quiet, and inherently kind Appendix gelding, Mystic, I went through a peculiar quarter-life crisis. During this time, I quit my rotten job (on a whim) and purchased an OTTB with my savings (without first finding another job).
Mystic was nearing retirement and I had pleeeeenty of time to work with this 4 year old bay mare because, well, I had just quit my job. On the drive back to the barn, we named her Rue. It was a perfect choice, and I knew that everything would be great.
It wasn't.
I got a new job (since I'm not independently wealthy or dating an 80 year old bazillionaire) and I spent a lot of time dealing with health issues. I very rarely got to the barn, and when I did, every ride was stressful. Rue could barely walk quietly and I couldn't stop hanging on her mouth. We fed off of each other's anxiety, and couldn't find any soft moments.
I cried all the time. When I rode. As I lunged. On the drive up to the barn. On the way home.
I didn't know how to work with a green, anxious, hot horse and I had no patience for it. Sarah, my best-friend-turned-trainer, took that little mare away from me on more than one occasion when a ride turned into a frustrated battle of will (battles I will admit now that I could never win.)
One day, Sarah looked at me and said, "This horse is cool. I will buy her from you if you want and we can get you something you can enjoy." In my sourness, I replied, "Maybe I should get something I can ride." In her typical blunt fashion, Sarah replied, "I can't make you do anything, but you can ride this horse. Rue isn't Mystic and she isn't going to be him. You just need to commit to it and make it work."
-sound of record stopping-
Oh.
I had spent months comparing this little mare to my perfect Mystic and had barely recognized doing so. In that moment, Sarah's wisdom startled and humbled me, and I decided to put my heart into making it work with Rue.
Fast forward three years later and here we stand - having completed our first recognized novice event last season. This was not magic, nor was it a feat of strength. Rather, it was years of learning - with Sarah's guidance - how to be a patient, soft, and compassionate rider. (I'm still working on all of these.) It has been figuring out how to set myself and Rue up for success - finding that fine line between overfacing and pushing us as a team.
As appreciative as I am for having had Mystic as a teacher for almost two decades, I also recognize how much I have grown in the last few years because of Rue. She has forced me to become a more effective and empathetic rider. She has taught me tools to improve my patience. She has shown me what hard work can lead to.
I am forever in debt to this little mare who dragged me, kicking and screaming, from the hunter/jumper world and gave me a path into the world of eventing. I never understood real excitement until I came off our XC run at our first event, double clear and adrenaline high. From that point, I knew I wasn't turning back, and it's been onward and upward ever since.
I can't wait to see where life takes us, in 2017 and beyond.
<3 A
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