Every New Year for as long as I can remember, I've made the same resolution: to become a better rider in the coming year than I was in the last.
Until this year. Of course I still strive to get better, but what does being a better rider really mean? After all, riding horses is a never-ending educational journey, not a destination. A year ago, I was definitely a better rider than I am now. I was teaching lessons and training at an excellent riding school and competitive show barn, where I had the privilege of taking staff lessons and clinics, learning from exceptional trainers, riding a variety of talented horses, and learning from my students every day. My riding was probably the best it's ever been. It was probably the best it will ever be. And I'm OK with that. Am I giving up on becoming a better rider? No. But my definition of what it means to be a better rider has changed. It used to be about jumping bigger fences, riding more advanced dressage movements, and winning more blue ribbons, always striving for but never quite reaching the top. Instead, I want to continue developing a deeper understanding of horses and our connection with them, and I want to experience a wider range of experiences on horseback, rather than focusing on just one discipline or another. In order to journey inward, I have to venture out - out of the arena.
When I was little, I wanted to ride in the Olympics, like so many young horse-crazy girls do. My family was supportive of my riding, but could never afford the kind of horses, training, and commitment it takes to reach even the outer fringes of that kind of riding. I was pretty sure my mom wouldn't let me miss that much school anyway, so I let go of that one a long time ago. Although I would of course love to compete in the Olympics, even if I had the opportunity, I don't think I would take it. Winning is no longer my measure of success as an equestrian. I used to show horses for clients all over Colorado during the summers, and I did pretty well, but at this point I don't really have an interest in jumping any higher, traveling any farther to compete, or selling any more of my soul than I already have to the horse show world. I’ve become disenchanted with upper-level riding and training by the toll it takes on our horses, with winning as the justification.
In college, I had a roommate who rode dressage and competed at Prix St. Georges level, owning not one but several six-figure horses. She trained with the best of the best and at the time I would have said she was the best rider I knew. Looking back though, she and her horse excelled at one thing and one thing only; she could hardly ride him outside without him spooking at invisible monsters, let alone go on a trail ride. Spookiness aside, she worried that he might hurt himself on imperfect footing, or that the stress of a different environment might strain his sensitivities. My friend had everything I had ever wanted - the exceptionally talented horse, the highest-caliber trainer, and time, money, and support from her family to allow her ambitions to be literally limitless - and yet, I felt sorry for her a little bit. I took her trail riding once, putting her on a lesson horse, just around the neighborhood, and it was the most exciting thing she had done in a long time, just because it was so different from her routine with her own horses. She is still training and competing and doing incredibly well, and she might even have a shot at the Olympics some day, and I'm happy and excited for her, but I know now that that's not for me and never was.
What made this year different? I spent several months on a beautiful farm in South Africa, learning about building a better relationship with horses by literally living alongside them. The horses lived right outside the bedroom window, grazing on the greenery surrounding the farmhouse, perched on a bluff overlooking a wide, shallow lake, and we spent almost every waking minute with them. Letting the herd run together instead of stabling in stalls allowed their characters to flourish. We got to know the individual personalities of each horse on a personal level, the way we got to know the neighbors, watching and studying their herd dynamics like the drama of a favorite soap opera. We knew who favored who, who didn't like what, and how to communicate differently with each of them, just as we do with colleagues or friends. We rode, swam in the lake, galloped on the beach, and took the horses camping, where they roamed freely through the campsite as we slept. We ate meals with the horses grazing just outside the dining room window, and heard the soft murmurings of their gentle movements outside at night.
My horse at home was boarded at the full-care facility I taught and trained at, and the extent of my time spent with him was mostly in the saddle. Our relationship was like that of a boss-to-employee. We worked together, we made a good team, but we weren't friends. When I came back from South Africa, I strove to change my relationship with my horse, and we moved to a small, private barn. I was there every day feeding, cleaning, sometimes just observing my horse in the field with the other horses. It was like getting to know him all over again and I learned so much about his personality, but first I had had to realize that he had one, and I had underestimated the importance of acknowledging that. Of course every horse has a personality, but how do we tailor our encounters with them to suit their individual quirks? Keeping horses separate "for their safety" at a boarding stable had hindered my horse's individualism, not to mention his happiness. That isn't to say that living in a stall is a terrible existence; it suits some horses just fine. But I had to get to know my horse better to realize it was not for him, and he's been a different horse ever since. Everything he continues to teach me, I am able to pass on to my wonderful students.
For me the measure of a great rider is their ability to share their knowledge, passion, and experience with others. My other greatest passion in life is travel, so creating Equescapes to combine travel and horses and share my passion with others has been the greatest leap forward my riding has taken in a long time, even if it means I'm less polished in the arena than I once was. So many riders focus unilaterally on one discipline, one goal, and so much of it takes place in the arena; I want to encourage others this year to resolve to broaden their horizons by seeking experiences that are out of the ordinary, sometimes extraordinary, and even if it doesn't make you a better rider in the traditional sense, it will feed your soul and lift your heart.