Spooked and Calmed....

I learn about a horse and what spooks him today. It happened too fast, the wind kicked up, threw a dust cloud against my horse’s side, he bolted and someone screamed. It took me a moment to realize it was me who screamed. I yanked back on the reins, listed precariously forward, then back, and, and….

He stopped.

It was seconds really, the wind, the bolt, the full gallop, and then, intense fear. Everything got quiet in the ring.

“What the hell just happened?” I asked Pam.

“He spooked,” she said. Her eyes are wide, but she is unflappably calm. “It’s the wind Jane,” she says. “It spooked him and he bolted a bit. You did okay, don’t worry.”

“I don’t think screaming like a girl is good,” I say feeling unnerved and embarrassed. I don’t even know what I did to stop him. All I know is that he did stop, and I am not on the ground. For this, I am profoundly grateful.

“It’s okay, Jane” Pam says. “He’s a great horse; the blustery wind inside the ring is something the horses just don’t expect, and it kind of freaks them out. Walk him out a few turns on the ring.”

I walk Flash around the ring. There are a few younger kids in the ring on smaller horses, and I have no desire to break into a trot anytime in the next, let’s say, few decades.

He scared me that much in that tiny amount of time. I feel a little betrayed and a lot stupid. My new boyfriend, Flash, who nuzzles my neck when I groom him, has now shown himself to be somewhat unpredictable in his temperament. It gives me pause. Significant pause. I remember the guy I dated back in college who grabbed my arm during an argument and slammed me into a wall. The back of my head made contact and I saw stars. There was no question then that that relationship was over.

Flash was frightened, not angry. I understand fear much more than anger. And I remember; I am not perfect in my temperament either. Hardly. No one is more skittish and nervous than me. I have just learned to hide it better over the years. The horse was frightened and wanted to bolt. He needed someone to tell him it was okay. Screaming like an idiot wouldn’t work for me, so why the hell should it work for him?

This is part of the process, and I’m willing to accept that. I think; anyway, I’m going to try. The rest of the lesson is pretty tame. I am learning to post up; move with the horse in trot, and remarkably, so much of it is letting go and following him. I still fight it, and I still become afraid at times, but when I sink into his rhythm; it’s oddly effortless, albeit the posting back up. It’s simple physical discourse. But I want control of an animal where the negotiation of control can always fly into uncertainty. I wonder again why I’m doing this, and why I don’t just go back to the gym.

But I just can’t.

I cannot go back to that God forsaken gym anymore. I never feel more like a drone than when I walk or run in unison with a fleet of people on machines that go nowhere.

But I do worry about getting hurt on the horse. If I fall off the treadmill all I’m going to hurt is my pride. If I fall off the horse I could break something….important.

And there again, I hear it: the voice of doubt. This voice has plagued me throughout my life.

Don’t do it. You’ll fail. Don’t ever take a chance. See, the horse spooked. You don’t know what you’re doing.

I’ve listened to the doubting voice all my life. Truth be told, it hasn’t always been wrong, but it hasn’t always been right either. In fact, more often than not, like most people, I’m more sorry for the chances I didn’t take in my life. I’m sorry for the many times I let other people or my own self doubt, cause me to stop in my tracks, second guess my own heart and mind, and accept whatever is given to me. Good or bad.

Marching on a treadmill, going nowhere, is somehow symbolic of all the shots, roads and chances I refused to take in my life. There’s no risk of failure, you stay in one place, with only an illusion of moving forward.

I’m afraid of failure, but, oddly, I’m not all that keen on success either. It makes me uneasy, and I have no idea why. When things are good, I wait and listen for the first as well as the second shoe to drop.

But the truth is I am improving on Flash, and I’m holding on to that thought, voice and notion with both hands.

I can post a trot, albeit not for long. But I can do it.

I’m beginning to understand and achieve balance when I ride.

I’m learning a lot about what not to do on a horse.

I can thoroughly groom a horse that I was afraid to even touch as early as a month ago.

I had my first “spook” on a horse and I stopped him, and continued to ride him.

Even though I worry a lot about falling off him, I still get on the horse every chance I get.

I no longer see the idea of learning to ride, or myself, as a joke anymore.

I like the last part best of all.