Life lessons from the barn

Life Lessons From the Barn--Relax Your Mind

March 12, 2018


I rode Tank on Saturday while a lesson was taking place, and I heard the trainer call out one of my favorite expressions to one of the students: “Relax your mind.”

I’ve heard her use this phrase often, usually when a student is stretching outside her comfort zone and becoming uptight about it. In riding, if you’re anxious about taking a jump, for example, your horse will pick up on it and might refuse the jump, or spook at it. After all, if you’re worried about it, there must be something to worry about…

So much of horseback riding—and life—depends on our mental states. Our anxiety levels, expectations, intentions, our ability to let go of fears and worries. It’s all too easy to get worked up about specific situations, or even life in general, until our minds resemble spinning hamster wheels of thoughts (I’m especially prone to this at around 3:15 a.m.).

The antidote?

Relax your mind.

It’s a good skill to learn, and one that I’m still working on. Here’s what I do when I remember to relax my mind:

  • Stop holding my breath and start taking deep, slow breaths. This sends a calming message to my nervous system.

  • Unclench my muscles, releasing physical tension.

  • Open my eyes, ears, heart, and mind to the entire situation—i.e., stop staring intently at whatever I’m worried about, expecting it to blow up in my face.

When I’m able to relax my mind, the outcome is always better, even if it’s not ideal. 

How would you follow the direction to “relax your mind”?

Happiness

Life Lessons From the Barn: Look Where You Want to Go

March 27, 2017


So many lessons I’ve learned in riding can be neatly applied to the rest of my life. Take this deceptively simple instruction: Look where you want to go.

In riding, and even when leading a horse, if you’re unsure about where you want to go, or even just not paying attention, the horse can take over. You may or may not want to go where he does, so you’d better stay focused!  Don’t look at the ground (unless you want to meet it, abruptly) or at the horse himself. Look where you want to go. The act of turning your eyes in the direction you want to travel causes tiny changes in body position sending information to your horse, and making it much easier to steer him. (I’ve also heard race car drivers are told never to look at the wall—unless they want to crash into it!)

You can waste a lot of time looking in directions that don’t propel you forward into your desired happy life. Maybe you spend too much time looking back, regretting things you’ve done or opportunities missed. Maybe you stare at the blemishes in your life—the daily irritants, the painful experiences, all the stuff you wish was different. You might even be mesmerized by the things that scare you—afraid to take your eyes from them long enough to move head. I know I’ve turned my eyes in these less-than-helpful directions plenty of times.

So where should you look?

Look for opportunities. Look for someone who has already gone where you want to go—what path did they take? No two paths are identical, but you can often get some hints about where to go next from someone who has walked the path before you.

Look for inspiration, look for humor, look for happy.

Yes, you’ve got to back up your looking with action, but the first step is always—you guessed it—look where you want to go.

Where do you want to go? Are you looking in that direction?

Being present

Life Lessons From the Barn: Presence, Harmony, and Connection

March 03, 2017


Horses, like all animals, live in the moment. They’re in tune with their surroundings—aware of the turkey in the next field, the start up of the truck that brings their hay, or if you’ve got a carrot in your pocket. That presence, harmony and connection is something most of us want more of.

For the past six weeks, I’ve been experimenting with what horsemanship instructor Carolyn Resnick calls the Chair Challenge, “sharing territory” with my horse, Tank. Mostly it involves simply sitting in a chair in his paddock. Some days I read, some days I write in my barn journal. Others, I just sit and listen and look. The theory is that this practice develops a stronger bond between us, by “achieving a companionship experience and connection in the moment in harmony and unity.” We so often only spend time with our horses when we want to do something with them, when we have expectations. Simply hanging out allows us both to relax and become more in tune with each other.

When I first started this practice, my mind scrabbled around like a trapped lizard. I found it almost impossible to sit and do nothing. No matter how much I profess to want a present life, I more often than not careen through my day—racing from checking emails, to working out, to writing a blog post to cleaning the bathroom to running errands.

Tank napping next to my chair
At first, Tank was puzzled. Apparently, he’s absorbed my “we must be doing something all the time” attitude, and my journal entries record that he nudged me, nibbled on my magazine, journal, and pen. He still tries to do this sometimes, especially if he’s bored, and I have to shoo him away. At other times he’s happy to stand in his favorite spot looking out beyond the fence line, or doze in the corner of his shelter. I love it when he stands near me, gives a nice long sigh, and we savor the peace of being together with no agenda.  That’s when I realize one of the most pleasurable of the benefits of this exercise: harmony, living in the moment, the sheer pleasure of sharing space with this beautiful animal.

While I still have to fight my desire to “accomplish something” when I go to the barn, I’ve also started to crave the peaceful togetherness of sharing territory. Of hearing the tap-tapping of a pileated woodpecker, the haunting cry of a hawk. Of seeing sand, sky, puffy white clouds, scrubby woods bordering the paddocks. Of feeling Tank’s muzzle nudging me or resting for a moment on the top of my head. The quiet within the quiet. No one around, no sound of traffic or people.

Yesterday, I even found myself using this technique while waiting for a prescription to be filled. I stopped fidgeting, checking my phone for the time and mentally ticking off the next three items on my to-do list, in favor of sitting calmly, breathing slowly, and observing what was going on around me.

So what does this have to do with you, most likely a non-horse owner? The lesson is: if you want peace, harmony and connection, stop, look, listen, and be. Slow down especially when you feel called upon to rush. Quiet your thoughts, let your body relax. Let the moment draw out as long and smooth as possible.

You don’t need a green plastic chair and an American Quarter Horse. Wherever you are, slow down. Pay attention. Don’t miss the daily simple pleasures that are right there for your enjoyment.

Achievement

Summer Rerun: Just Call Me a Tortoise

June 24, 2016


Welcome to summer reruns! About once a month, I’ll be sharing a post from the archives. I hope you enjoy this one, from 2011.


“It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop.”—Confucius

I like to apply lessons I’ve learned working with Tank and taking riding lessons to other areas of my life. One lesson I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is “It takes the time it takes,” and the corollary, “go slower to go faster.”

I’m not particularly patient. I want to get things done, and I want them done Right Now. However, especially with a horse, I’ve learned that some things absolutely cannot be rushed. They take the time they take, and you’ll be much less frustrated, not to mention safer, if you relax—and sometimes throw out entirely—your expectations. For me, when I’m learning something new (or teaching Tank something new), things go better when I take baby steps. Sometimes to my embarrassment, I’ve become the poster child for baby steps at my barn as my trainer often uses me as an example of someone who takes things slowly. I am not naturally athletic, and frankly, I’m also a big chicken, so yes, I do take things slowly. When I take a step forward too quickly, I often end up taking two steps back. What works for me in riding is breaking down every new skill into small parts, then practicing those parts until I feel completely comfortable with them. Then I can move on.

Baby steps work great for other pursuits, too: cleaning and reorganizing the house, learning to draw and paint, changing diet and exercise habits and so on. The beauty of baby steps is that if each small step is solid, you’ll find yourself making steady progress. You’ll be less likely to stagger forward then backward in fits and starts. In this way, you will go slower to go faster.

Of course, this is what works for me. Each person has his or her own best method for personal growth—my baby steps may drive some people absolutely mad with frustration. This is where you must listen to your heart for direction. What works for me may not work for you, and vice versa, so please ignore this advice if you’re more like a hare than a tortoise. Few things make me crazier than to have someone tell me my way is wrong and I should do things differently!

Sometimes I get frustrated, and wish I could progress a bit faster than I do and I have to remind myself that it takes the time it takes. Overall, this slow and steady method works for me. It works for Tank, who gets anxious when he’s not sure what he’s being asked to do. We plod along, tortoise-like, but we’re going forward. And that’s what matters.

Accomplishment

Chillin' Time

September 15, 2014

More often than not, when I go to the barn to see Tank these days I just take him to graze while I read a magazine or simply watch him with nothing particular in my mind. Even our riding has become languid in the sweatbox that is Florida in September. I feel slightly guilty about this—after all, shouldn’t we always be trying to do better, learn more, grow, progress?

Well, no.


There’s a time for pushing and learning and stepping outside comfort zones, and there’s also a time for chilling out, for hanging together with no agenda. For me, that time is late summer. I’m exhausted from nearly four months of unrelenting heat and humidity and all I really want to do is rest. And not sweat.

Surely Tank must appreciate a break as well. I make sure he maintains a certain level of respect and manners, but he’s a good guy and a mature horse. He does that almost automatically. I think he enjoys his work overall, but even when you enjoy it, isn’t it nice to have a break?

So, yes, this is our fallow time. The time we spend doing nothing, or perhaps having a water bath from the hose. The time for me to listen to the cicadas, watch the dragonflies, smell hot horse. The time for him to search for the most succulent grassy patches. No, I won’t feel guilty about this after all. There will be plenty of time for games and longeing, for practicing our jumping or lead changes, when it’s cooler and we both have more energy. For now, we’ll roam the property looking for shady spots to graze, walk up and down the dirt road looking at the cows, slurp down carrots and bananas, and chill (as much as we can when it’s 95 degrees).

Why do we always feel like we have to accomplish something? Tick off a box or cross out an item on a to-do list? Do you allow yourself to have some “chillin’ time”? What do you do—or stop doing?

Tank's favorite way to chill

Challenges

Paying the Price

April 21, 2014

Fannin Hill, 2012. Photo courtesy Holly Bryan
We did get to go to Fannin Hill on Friday, and it was awesome. Unfortunately, I have no photos to show for it…just some sore muscles and good memories. And , of course, a whole lot of things to clean: my bridle bag, Tank’s shipping boots, my saddle bag and even Tank’s bridle (at one of the water troughs, he immersed his face up to the eyes and shook his head side to side, sending water cascading onto the ground and turning the leather of his bridle into a mucky mess). An outing like this means extra work before and after, as well as stepping outside my comfort zone during. Tank gets excited when we ride off site, and sometimes I feel like I’m on top of a rocket ready to explode. I have to work at communicating what I want in a way that makes sense to him and doesn’t frustrate him:

Tank: “If all the other horses are cantering and jumping over there, why are we over here jumping over this little log?”

Me: “Because those jumps are beyond my abilities and confidence right now—I know you could do it, but would I still be on your back on the other side?”

 Tank: “OK. I guess I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Who would bring me carrots?”

Every time we go to Fannin Hill, we try new things and come home inspired. This time, we practiced going up and down a small bank, which required him to jump up to a higher level while going up, and to step down (into the scary unknown) when going down. He did just fine going up, but was pretty skeptical of going down. We tried several different approaches until he hopped down like it was a non-issue.

Sometimes the best things require effort. In the past, I tended to give up too easily when faced with challenges. Tank is teaching me to think things through, break them down into smaller steps, and to keep trying slightly different approaches. I still find myself avoiding things because I either don’t know what to do, or I think it’s too hard, but I’m becoming more willing and able to pay the price for what I want. And that’s a lesson worth learning.

What dream are you willing to pay the price for?

Depression

There's No Place Like the Barn

February 17, 2014


During the past few weeks as I’ve worked through a bout of depression, I’ve been learning ways to manage and uplift my mood. I’ve discovered that I wake up feeling fairly cheerful, but crash around 2 p.m., so it helps to have something fun planned or someplace happy to go around then. And while I have several “happy places,” for me there’s almost no place happier than the barn where I keep my horse. It’s a few minutes from my house, but it might as well be 100 miles away from all my cares.

Why do I love it so much? Aside from the obvious (my dream horse Tank lives there), it’s quiet and peaceful. There are lots of animals, both domestic and wild, and I have good friends there. The barn also holds great memories of accomplishment and fun times. When I first started lessons there, I knew nothing about the care of horses or how to ride. Little by little, I’ve learned everything from how to properly groom a horse, to how to jump small jumps.

When I’m at the barn, I’m not surrounded by competing things I “should” be doing. I don’t need to choose between working on an essay and making dinner, reading a book or folding laundry. I’m doing both what needs to be done and what I want to do. While I stand in a cloud of dust and hair as I brush Tank, I’m also looking for cuts, swellings, abrasions, bug bites or the start of any skin or hoof issues. I “need” to groom him—and I love doing it (while not for everyone, grooming a horse is one of my favorite simple pleasures). He loves it too, especially since he gets pieces of carrot as I work my way around his body. 

Once I walk through the gate, I don’t hear the voices in my head telling me I’m not good enough—I hear turkeys gobbling, the snort, squeal or blow of a horse, chickens clucking. I don’t smell the trash that needs to be emptied—I smell fresh air, hay and the warm scent of horse. I don’t see all the chores I have left to do, I see pricked ears, a gleaming coat, and the eager expression of an animal waiting for me.


When I’m ready to leave, I’m filthy, often sweaty and fatigued, but my mind is still. If I’ve been mulling over a problem, I often know the next step to take. If I felt a little icky physically, I’ve probably forgotten all about it. Things have settled and shifted, and I’m at peace and, at least for now, happy.

What about you? Where is your “happy place”?

Eyes

The Eyes Have It

September 23, 2013

Don't look down.
Since Tank’s lips were still too sore for a bit, when I rode him this weekend I used only my halter and lead rope. Since I had no reins with which to communicate, I had to use my eyes, seat and legs to tell Tank where to go and how fast. Notice I said “eyes”—with or without a bridle, one of the rules of riding is to look where you want to go. Sounds simple, right? It is, in theory, but it’s awfully easy to find yourself looking down at the horse, or at the ground, or even in another direction than the way you really want to go. The horse gets conflicting signals and probably doesn’t go anywhere at all.

Remarkably like life, wouldn’t you say? We need to focus our attention on the direction in which we want to travel. Don’t look at obstacles, but beyond them to our chosen destinations. Don’t look backwards, because that’s not where we’re going. Focus on what we want rather than what we don’t want, because according to Peter Jones in How to Do Everything and Be Happy, “It simply isn’t possible to not focus on something. The very act of NOT thinking about something requires your brain to conjure up images of the thing you don’t want to think about, so you can ignore it. The only way not to focus on the wrong thing is to switch your focus to something else.”

We have no control over many things that happen to us or are a part of our lives, but we can choose the direction we look, what we focus on. Are we looking forward to where we want to go? Focusing on the obstacles or the opportunities? Looking for the positive or the negative? 
What are some things you’d like to focus on?

Achievement

Just Call Me a Tortoise

May 20, 2011

I like to apply lessons I’ve learned working with Tank and taking riding lessons to other areas of my life. One lesson I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is “It takes the time it takes,” and the corollary, “go slower to go faster.”

I’m not particularly patient. I want to get things done, and I want them done Right Now. However, especially with a horse, I’ve learned that some things absolutely cannot be rushed. They take the time they take, and you’ll be much less frustrated, not to mention safer, if you relax—and sometimes throw out entirely—your expectations. For me, when I’m learning something new (or teaching Tank something new), things go better when I take baby steps. Sometimes to my embarrassment, I’ve become the poster child for baby steps at my barn as my trainer often uses me as an example of someone who takes things slowly. I am not naturally athletic, and frankly, I’m also a big chicken, so yes, I do take things slowly. When I take a step forward too quickly, I often end up taking two steps back. What works for me in riding is breaking down every new skill into small parts, then practicing those parts until I feel completely comfortable with them. Then I can move on.

Baby steps work great for other pursuits, too: cleaning and reorganizing the house, learning to draw and paint, changing diet and exercise habits and so on. The beauty of baby steps is that if each small step is solid, you’ll find yourself making steady progress. You’ll be less likely to stagger forward then backward in fits and starts. In this way, you will go slower to go faster.

Of course, this is what works for me. Each person has his or her own best method for personal growth—my baby steps may drive some people absolutely mad with frustration. This is where you must listen to your heart for direction. What works for me may not work for you, and vice versa, so please ignore this advice if you’re more like a hare than a tortoise. Few things make me crazier than to have someone tell me my way is wrong and I should do things differently!

Sometimes I get frustrated, and wish I could progress a bit faster than I do and I have to remind myself that it takes the time it takes. Overall, this slow and steady method works for me. It works for Tank, who gets anxious when he’s not sure what he’s being asked to do. We plod along, tortoise-like, but we’re going forward. And that’s what matters.

Just so you know, this is not a self-portrait...
“It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop.” --Confucius