Guest Blog post # 52: "The Stuff that Dreams are Made of" by Bill Woods

For most of us life is dictated by routines. They provide structure and order which can translate to comfort. Or, if unchallenged, they can bury you in a rut. Years ago at my first teaching job my rut took me on the two mile drive from home to barn and back three times a day with little variation.

One morning I had to go someplace—I don't even remember where—on an inconsequential errand. And I was shocked to see all the people out and about on the roads doing things. Had anyone asked me beforehand what I expected to see, I'd likely have nailed the answer, but I was surprised anyway. In my rut I'd forgotten to imagine the possibilities.

As riders we have to imagine the possibilities too. If we're stuck in the rut with a horse who pushes our same buttons day after day or shows us the same evasion or the same indifference, it's easy to become numbed and eventually discouraged.

 
Solution number one is to shrug your shoulders, say to yourself "everyone who does dressage goes through this every so often," and just soldier on.
 

The second remedy is easy to say but hard to do. A creative, outside the box, rethinking of the cause of your malaise can prompt an end run around your situation and reestablish the relationship you want with your horse. Creativity, even plagiarized, unfortunately can be hard to come by.

Alternatively, sometimes it's just better to step away from the problem and do some daydreaming. Some fantasies are beyond our wherewithal to fulfill. For some it’s:


An Olympic dream...
Or to passage down the centerline (ANYwhere!)...
Or to feel a soft, pliable, willing partner for a whole hour (or a whole minute)

Depending on who you are and how your circumstances limit you, your unreachable pie in the sky may be as close for someone else as their checkbook.

My own dreams are fairly simple, and when I'm down I try to remind myself of those which have come to fruition in the past. A gallop on a sunswept beach. A leisurely splash through the tidal pools. Of course, it's infinitely better on a horse whom you admire, better yet, cherish.

In my late teens I began to ride so I could fox hunt. Only then did this suburb-raised kid discover how much taking part in a centuries-old tradition and bonding with the open land we rode over could matter to me. T. Scott Anderson wrote this Huntsman's Prayer. The emotion he taps into could apply to anything you hold dear as a horse person:

An easterly wind and a lowering sky,

A straight-necked fox with the scent breast high,

I pray for no more, unless a good start,

At the tail of my hounds on the horse of my heart.

Such dreams can jolt you free from any rut.