I have a new friend in my life. He has an engaging personality and a great sense of humor. He always greets me with a big smile. He’s the kind of friend who notices my presence when I’m still at a distance and looks up with a sparkle in his eye, making me feel welcome. We both enjoy going for walks and chatting, or just hanging out and soaking up the sunshine. But we’ve run into a few challenges as we’ve been getting acquainted. I’ve noticed that if his other friends aren’t around, he gets distracted and anxious. The first time we tried dancing, he kept getting too close and stepping on my feet. And once I climbed on his back for a ride, and he was so startled that he dropped me on the ground. I didn’t get hurt, but we were both rattled. We regarded each other with distrust for a moment, until I was able to take a deep breath and say, “Hey, I know I scared you. I’m scared too. It’s okay. Let’s do something else.” I noticed him gradually relax, mirror my exhale, and he cautiously agreed to start again.
My new friend is a horse. He came from a rescue, and has scars that indicate a difficult past. He always comes up to the fence to say hello, loves to be groomed, and is engaged in our training games. But he has old wounds, and deep fears, some of which he is quite stoic about until a last straw moment, when he can’t contain himself and has a big reaction. Getting to know him has been a beautiful reminder about the time it takes to buil
d a relationship. No matter how clearly I communicate, and no matter how much we feel a certain level of comfort and familiarity, there is no replacement for time spent together, and building
layers of shared vocabulary. I have old scars too. I am also afraid of getting hurt. We are both listenin
g. We are both learning.
It feels much easier for me to do this with horses. I rarely lose my patience. I don’t take offense to their behavior, because I know it’s not personal. I have the experience to understand, or to learn. I can be careful, and remain curious. I’m not in any hurry, because I know I can figure out my part, and honor the horse. None of us are born patient. Patience is a skill, and a function of confidence. When I feel impatient with life, with people, or with mysel
f, it usually stems from not knowing what to do, or what direction to go. When I feel angry, it’s usually because something is amiss and I feel powerless to change it.
I’ll confess I am not always so collected when it comes to my relationships with humans. I overthink everything, often feel guilty and anxious, slip into flight mode, or feel immobilized and retreat. My new equine friend mirroring my own patterns reminds me to be patient with myself. What happens when I give myself a chance to open up slowly? Can I speak of my vulnerabilities before I am overwhelmed? What if I stop taking things personally? We all have scars. We all have wounds. We all have fears.
It seems to me we have a lot of pressure and conditioning to be strong, be a leader, hold it together, try harder. These are the things I have gradually been unwinding in my relationships with horses. I am learning to listen more, admit when I am afraid, try different instead of harder. I choose to collaborate instead of lead, find the places where we can both win, say what I’m thinking, accept no for an answer. I can ask questions, and learn about individual preferences and motivations. And as a result I see the horses meeting me there, in th
at space of connection, with soft eyes and deep breath, glad to be participating with their whole being. This applies to all relationships, no matter the species. I read a book written by a popular horse trainer several years ago, in which the author stated that what horse owners really want is to be in control. But I believe what horses and people both want is to feel safe – at ease in the herd, in the world, confident in our ability to communicate, to connect, to know what to do. I want to be brave enough to join this complex and beautiful herd that is humanity. I want to stop trying to be perfect, or trying to change others. I can see that we are all afraid. And I have the courage to soften my breath and my words, to listen and to speak, and try different instead of harder.
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