I haven’t been on a horse for about a year, and I was getting that “Now or never,” feeling about climbing back in the saddle. I dislike “slow grief” situations, where you aren’t absolutely certain of a loss, but it’s looking more and more sure as time goes on, but there’s no closure, no ritual, no moment when you can say, “That relationship or role or aspect of my life is gone for good,” except in hindsight.
I was beginning to doubt that I’d find my way back to the saddle, despite all the great memories, the bond with my daughter, and the mental challenge that riding has given me. Instructors, understandably, are looking for students who will a) buy a horse, b) board that horse at the instructor’s barn, and c) have the ambition and athleticism to aim for the show ring, because competition entails hauling and coaching fees for the instructor (usually), if not fees for also riding the horse at show. Then too, teaching an old lady who mostly just wants to mess around is hardly the pinnacle of pedagogy for a true equestrian.
I observed a few lessons with local instructors, and ye gods and little fishes. So serious! So un-fun and dominance-based. My old trainer has long since moved to Florida, but I’d hesitate to ride with him even if he were available. I’m not in shape, and what muscle I had even a year ago has been compromised by weight loss. And the longer I’m away from riding, the more my courage for the sport ebbs. Horses are big, you know…
Fortunately for me, the therapeutic riding barn recently offered me the chance to ride in a class for volunteers. The horses get to do more than walk along the rail, and the volunteers can experience what our equine co-workers are like to ride. I was nervous, friends, and I’m enough of a horse girl to know that horses sense when we’re nervous, and then they can get nervous, et cetera and so forth.
I should not have worried at all. The instructor put me up on Mae, a sensible, mature Clydesdale mare, and twenty paces away from the mounting block, I was riding instead of fretting. Which is our bendy side, which is our straight side? How to approach contact with the bit when the horse is built to pull rather than push from behind? Will she move off my leg? Eyes up and soft, Grace. Remember to breathe…
The day will come when I will hang up my spurs, but I rejoice greatly to say, today is not that day. The saddle can still be a happy place for me, and my gratitude for that knows no limits. I danced a little nip-up in the barn aisle I was so stupidly happy. Texted my daughter. Cried in the car. I don’t yet have to say, “I was a horse girl.” My paddock boots and helmet are back in the passenger’s seat, and there they will stay for now.
Have you ever had the chance to revisit a previous passion? Is there a passion you’d like to revisit or maybe visit for the first time?
PS: Lord Julian’s fourth tale, A Gentleman in Pursuit of Truth, is now available from all the usual suspects, and mystery number five, A Gentleman in Search of a Wife, is available for pre-order.