By nature, horses are unpredictable. Even so-called "bomb proof" horses have those moments where something spooks them, and you find yourself clinging to a galloping neck down a beach, hoping your horse doesn't jump the metal barrier onto a highway (see my 10th birthday for an example).
When I was a beginner, I wanted stability. I barely had any riding muscles, and I hadn't been riding long enough to know all the things that can happen when you enter into a riding relationship with a horse. As I got older, and braver, I had a lot more experience, and craved those green horses, unpredictability, and the thrill of seeing what could happen taking a novice horse over a jump that was way too big.
I rode consistently through college, and never imagined it wouldn't be a focus of my life, never mind that I would take any "time off." But, adulting happens, and something I once spent every waking moment thinking about suddenly became a memory. I had a few years post-college that I rode every week, but 2013 happened, and most things in my life dissolved. I've since reinvented my life, so to speak, but riding was still something I thought about fondly in my past.
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Everyone lately seems to be talking about the concept of "flow," a term coined by Dr. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi in the 60s. I first learned of "being in flow" when I took a graduate course called the Psychology of Emotions and Motivation. Essentially, being in flow means:
"Time seems to slow down, your sense perceptions are heightened – colours are sharper and
brighter and each sounds seems to ripple right through you.Your mind shifts into a new space. A sense of vibrant aliveness, connectedness and peace infuse your being. You feel in tune with life, moving with a precision and poise you don’t fully understand but at the same time relish in. You’re in the zone. These are moments in which your mind becomes entirely absorbed in the activity. You forget yourself and your actions become effortless, fluid, with a sense of heightened awareness of the here and now. You're in flow."
My brain is turned on to 200% pretty much most of the time. It's painstaking for me to get out of my head, and "get in flow," but the one thing that does is consistently?
Riding. I had to get back to it.
This summer I finally pushed past the "I wish/I want-to's," and made an appointment with a new trainer at a new barn, and I got back in the saddle. The first lesson wasn't pretty. My muscles had four years to atrophy in places necessary for riding, and my balance was a mess. But I was was on a horse, my butt was in a saddle, and I was doing it.
General is the horse I've been riding since I started back up in September. He's what we call a "confidence booster"-- a horse that knows what he's doing, he's been around the block, and he's steady. Steady and reliable. Again, I find myself in this place like I was when I was a beginner: unsure of our relationship, and wanting the stability. A feeling of reliability that I could count on. I've ridden General about five times now, and he's consistently provided that. I could literally and metaphorically let the reins loosen a little, and trust that he won't do something crazy. I got comfortable.
Today I had my sixth lesson on the General. And I knew from the start that today would be different. He normally likes to trot with his head low and long, and needs an extra "umpf" to get going. As soon as my butt hit the saddle today, he had a pep in his step, his head held high, and I could feel the dance of cold weather in his hooves. This was not the General I'm used to. This was unpredictable.
I stiffened up immediately, shortening my reins to a comfortable illusion of control, my breath got tense and choppy, and all I could do was wonder how this was going to end badly for me. I spent the first half of my lesson wondering what happened to the horse I've been riding for five weeks, and anxiously anticipating him trying to throw me.
A body this anxious does not go unnoticed, as my instructor kept telling me to breathe and keep him busy with exercises. I just couldn't stop imagining him bucking me off, and who was going to drive me to work if I broke my leg? That's not the stuff "flow" is made of.
At one point my instructor stops me, and corrects how I'm holding my hands. This is not new, as I have a bad habit of holding them too high, and she's always telling me to put them lower. Today, she was telling me they weren't high enough. What?? I thought. She explained, "When you've ridden him before, his head is always low, and so you have to create that straight line connecting your wrist to his mouth. It creates a solid connection. Today, however, he uncharacteristically is holding his head high. You're not used to it, but you have to match it. You need to create the connection, so hold your hands higher. I know you're not used to the way he's behaving today, but it's not a bad thing. He's not being naughty, so just take advantage of it, and go with it. Go with what you've got today."
I sucked in an audible breath, and turned him back to the rail. And we began again. I didn't fully relax right away, but I let her words crowd out the anxiety, and I went with what I got. I loosed the reins, sat up a little taller, and accepted that at this moment in time, his unpredictability made me uncomfortable, but it didn't have to. I could trust this feisty General, until he gave me a reason not to. We went through our exercises a few more times, not perfectly, and a little sloppy.
But that last time... the last time I let go. We cantered around the turn, heading towards the first pole, and I felt it. The absence of time, the focus on the breath, the absolute synchronicity of this moment, and the two of us together.
Today was unexpected. It was unpredictable, and out of the realm of control. I let him be who he wanted to be today. I went with what I got. He took me for a ride, and it was just what I needed.
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