To run with the wild horses

The first time I got on a horse, I was ready to turn around, flee the scene, and pretend nothing had ever happened. Willingly stepping out of your comfort zone can be challenging for many of us, so for my twelve-year-old, introverted self, you can imagine it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows.

I used to love watching them from a safe distance—drive by a meadow and see them graze without a care in the world was like drawing the curtains open on a VIP-only show, one for which I was the sole spectator. I would consider myself lucky just standing there, chin in my hands as I leaned on the weathered wooden fence and quietly admired their natural beauty.

There's something incredibly fascinating about horses. They carry themselves with a grace that is beyond that of human nature; strong legs capable of running faster than a lion hunting for its meal, wild mane dancing in the wind, hooves hitting the ground with a power that could move mountains. They speak of freedom with every step they take, celebrate it whenever they neigh, and ultimately, I wanted to learn from them.

Thinking back on it now, maybe I had thought myself unworthy of their attention.

When I first approached the horse that would one day become my best friend, I was secretly scared. If their size isn't intimidating enough, the fact that they could probably crush you in a heartbeat if they wanted to surely is. Yet, this horse remained calm, waited for me to get used to his presence as he got used to mine. A bond was already in the works, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw hope, sadness, fear, and courage.

I saw a soul reaching out to mine. So, I pressed my forehead to his, placed a hand on his neck, and whispered "Okay, buddy—it's you and me."

Then the work began and quickly became part of our daily routine. Finish school in a rush, hurry over to the stable and he would be there waiting for me, swiping a last mouthful of hay before I took him away from his meal and over to the paddock for training. Bridle in place, saddle on, loop the billet strap once, twice, then tighten. When neither of us felt like being disciplinary, we would head out for a hike, riding bareback with a bit-less bridle—taking a breather from the rest of the world to enjoy a moment of quietude with nothing but us and the soundtrack of the forest.

Horseback riding is more than what people think it is. It isn't just a sport, a hobby or an outlet, it's all of those conjoined into one way of life. Horseback riding is listening to and acknowledging your fears before deciding to walk past them, before dipping your toes into a pool of bravery you didn't know you had. It's sharing the burden of life with the one soul who, no matter what, will always understand you. It's a world where words aren't necessary. All you need are instincts, and the will to externalize them.

Ronnie Dunn, an American country music singer and songwriter wrote a particularly memorable line in his song "Cowgirls Don't Cry" that goes:

"It's gonna hurt every now and then, if you fall get back on again."

Throughout the years, this line brought me to tears more times than I can count. It represents the balance of hardships and spirit, and how, for people like me, horseback riding can help one overcome the former in order to reach the latter.

Time passed, the introverted child who didn't know who she was grew up, graduated school, moved away. Life threw responsibilities my way, as it does for all of us. Circumstances changed, friendships evolved, but the one thing I'm sure of is the fact that my soul is forever linked to another. Whenever things get hard, whenever the anxiety creeps up a little too much or when it may feel easier to give up, I recall those simple moments spent on my horse's back.

I recall the wind in my hair, the breath stolen from my lungs, the sound of galloping through pastures, the feeling of moving in unison as if we had become one and only vessel. In those moments, I can forget about everything else, and bring myself back to the only thing that truly matters.

The present.