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Giving up the Old. Embracing the New.

I recently made the call to buy some new boots. I know, SUPER tough decision--I guess I'll find myself a pretty pair of lovely tall boots and walk around feeling like a princess or a boss or queen bee.

But actually, it really did take me a few months to commit to the purchase, and for several reasons:

They cost MONEY. And I have trained myself to ONLY look for deals, ONLY buy on sale, ONLY buy used and save a buck. So looking at NEW boots felt extreme, superfluous, excessive, gluttonous (insert shaming adjective here). Also, as a horse person, I don't have a lot of EXTRA, so I tend to spend money on things like HAY and GRAIN.
I knew they were going to start very uncomfortable. Anyone who grew up pre-magical-italian leather products we are so privileged to have today knows what I'm talking about. You got a saddle and spent the first several months dumping gallons of oil on that thing, riding on a slip and slide until it's finally sticky. Or, also pre 2000s, you bought tall boots only to have to take out a loan for band-aids until those things dropped around your ankles. We were tough, let me tell you.
I didn't know. I didn't know what brands to look at; I didn't know what would fit; I didn't know what was popular or cool or best for me. I don't make any decision lightly, and I wanted to be informed.
I also pretty much never splurge on myself. So this felt totally selfish.

Yes, we are still talking about BOOTS. I am a perpetual overthinker.

But then I got to thinking:

My old boots were falling apart. Cracking, faded leather. I mean, if I REALLY tried I could get them to shine a little.
I'm a professional. While I don't need to have all the trendy, fancy stuff, I should at least present myself in a way that even the horses won't snicker at me.
They aren't going to be my "forever" boots. Hopefully I can get a few years out of them before I can try something different, so it's not like it's a lifelong commitment.
I could buy and then return if I didn't like them.
They would only be stiff for a short time. Suck it up. This is not 1995.

The reality of all this is that I spent so much time giving all these reasons why I SHOULDN'T buy new boots that I was unwilling to do something cool, practical, and compassionate, for myself.

So I bought some new boots. New, as in, not broken in yet. A brand I'd never tried before. And while I did get a GREAT deal on them, it was more than I spent on my last pair of boots (but probably way less than you're thinking).

I think sometimes we give so many reasons NOT to let go of the old and embrace the new. We are sometimes willing to stay way too comfortable with something that is falling apart, outdated that we can't even see how beautiful something new can be.

Now, I'm not saying we should get rid of everything old. I'm still currently riding in my saddle I personally broke in 20 years ago. I've got a bridle I used on my first horse still going strong on my lesson ponies. And I've definitely kept my embroidered saddle pads that remind me of a time when I was 16 with a particular horse, or barn friend, or horse show.

But I have traded uncomfortable breeches for lovely form fitting ones, and boxy, faded show shirts, for moisture-wicking, flattering tops. And I think this can be applied to our riding, our thinking, our perspectives:

What are we clinging to just because we always have done it that way?

What do we refuse to think to hard about because changing would make us uncomfortable?

What brighter future are we sacrificing because it's just easier and cheaper to stay the same and not grow or learn?

So maybe sometimes the best thing you can do is retire something that is not serving you well anymore and embrace something new.

Release. Soften. Give. Trust.

There's an incredibly important tension between pressure and release. Why? Because that's the language horses speak. Need to move them over? Push--move--release. Need to go forward? Squeeze--move--release. Need to whoa? Squeeze--respond--release.

But I would suggest that the response and the release MUST happen simultaneously. Or even in the opposite order: Squeeze--release--respond.

Why?

Well, we humans tend to cling and hold too tightly for too long. We hang on to, cling to, grasp to anything that gives us a sense of control. We spend so much time, money, and emotion to keep a sense of power in our lives in general. We rarely, if ever, actually RELEASE.

With our prey-minded equines, who give us 100% of their heart and soul, I believe there is something said in that moment of release: I TRUST you. I find that when riding, when I slightly lift and shift my hands to turn, whether a big looping turn or tight roll-back type turn, it is in the GIVE when the horse can actually process and obey that command.

When we give, soften, release that tension, even if only a fraction of an inch, we are communicating opportunity, faith, and trust. This is true also in riding. (See what I did there???)

So in whatever arena you find yourself in--one with sand and jumps, or one with work and kids--remind yourself to soften your grip. You'll communicate peace and faith and everyone, including yourself, will benefit.

Watch the siphoning.

This here is a tank of water.

Not very exciting, though useful, and has a job. They are necessary for my second job’s welfare.

This is also a picture of a significant source of stress. In the winter, we have to make sure it stays ice-free. In summer, you want to keep it algae-free. And then there is the constant battle of winding and unwinding hoses.

Stay with me, I have a point.

This particular tank was just moved to a new pasture. I was concerned that it would not hold water well, but figured I I would give it a shot.

Filled it up. 24 hours later, bone dry. Well, crap. I guess I have to find time to go spend too much $ to buy another one.

But then I realized something. I had left the hose in it for the day—the hose had siphoned the water out. There was actually NOTHING wrong with this tank.

People, how often is that us?!? We aren’t that exciting but we put ourselves to use, only to find that we quickly run dry of our energy, enthusiasm, and passion.

And we are shocked.

But we shouldn’t be. There are things in our life that secretly (or not so secretly) siphon what fills us up. And they can be good things or bad things.

I don’t know how far I can really take this metaphor. All I want to say is be aware of what fills you up, and what drains you. Take care to balance so that you don’t run dry.

There you go. That’s what happens when an English teacher lives on a farm.

Heels Down.

The most basic and significant advice I give to all my riders. If I ask them, "what's the most important thing?" Their response better be: "heels down."

Why is it so important? I mean, it's such a tiny part of your body. There's 1000 pounds of opinionated animal beneath you. The world is whizzing by. It's pretty bumpy up there. Shouldn't it be my hands that I need to worry about: those are what keeps me in control of this creature, right? All those objections may be valid, and while the hands, balance, and control of the horse are vitally important, heels down still reigns supreme.

Your heels provide you with a foundation, a direction for the weight of your body to go. The lower your center of gravity, the more likely you are to stay atop the horse. The more you press lower with your heels, the more supple and relaxed your ankle can be, to absorb the shock of the movement of the horse. Heels down allows you to keep your weight back, with your horse, waiting for the horse to do his thing.

If your heels are down, you get ahead of your horse's movement; throw yourself (and your horse) off balance, lift your center of gravity so you are almost floating above your horse; and makes riding the rhythm very difficult. Security is compromised dramatically.

Heels down, while riding, is important, and I think this is true for us as people as well. We need a solid foundation. We need to press in and find our balance. We need to sink deep into what is important. We need a way to absorb the bumps life throws at us. We need to sit back and pay attention, not rush ahead and anticipate. Now, more than ever, we need to mentally and emotionally put our "heels down": find balance between work and family, care of others and care for ourselves, not rush to conclusions or quick retorts, but sit back and just pay attention. So often we lack a solid foundation in what we deem important or why we do what we do that we end up floating around, flaking out, or feeling off-kilter.

So find what grounds you, what gives you peace, and press into that. And the next time life gets a bit bumpy, just think: "heels down."

"No, it's not perfect, but you did it."

I have several students, and all with such different personalities. Some are happy just being in the saddle, zero concerns or goals, other than lofty ones like, "I want to ride a unicorn." Others are quiet, kind, never pushy, and learn and grow gradually. And then there are others, who are driven, goal-oriented, perfectionists, who are in a hurry to get to the next phase in riding.

No matter their approach, they are all such a pleasure and joy and challenge to work with, in the best of ways. It's awesome coaching kiddos to the "next level" whatever that may look like for them.

Recently, a student of mine has made some HUGE leaps forward (quite literally, actually). Jumping higher than she ever has before. She's been pretty nervous, had some bumps and spills along the way, so it's very exciting to have her attain this goal. We decided to try a jump that she had never done before, a gate that was a significant height for her.

I could tell she was nervous. She told me she was nervous. But as we set it up, we discussed several important factors for trying something new and difficult:

Yes, it's bigger, but not by much. The jump really wasn't huge, just looked more serious and solid. So while it had an intimidating look, it was a reasonable goal.
We had just jumped the previous height hundreds of times, so she had the skills necessary to do this one. The only difference was a few inches.
Ride to the jump well, and then trust the horse to do the rest.

It was awesome to see her gather her reins, take a deep breath, and look some thing scary in the face, and go. And she did it! It wasn't perfect, and I told her that, but how awesome that SHE DID IT. So we did it again, and again, and before long, she joined me in the middle of the arena and said, "You know, that really isn't that bad." Proud coach moment.

Not all of the new things and next steps go that well. Other students fall off instead of sailing over the first time, but the point is that they get back on and keep trying. As a perfectionist myself, I've tried to steer my students away from the pursuit of perfection. Instead, pursuing PROGRESS. Every little step matters. And even when it doesn't look perfect, you can definitely say that you're doing that hard thing. And that's worth plenty, too.

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