What a 1,200 pound animal taught me about embracing change

To face your fears you have to face yourself

It started with a carrot.

“Give it to her,” my bonus daughter said as she thrust the crunchy treat into my wavering hand.  “She loves them.”

With only a rickety wood fence between me and 1,200 pounds of pure muscle, I made my first move.

“Um. Here. Ellie,” I tentatively offered the carrot to a massive mouth full of menacing white teeth. 

In a micro-second, Ellie opened her enormous jaw, snapped the carrot out of my hand, and started chomping on the crunchy orange stick.

I didn’t know whether I should laugh or scream. 

Six decades into my life, for the first time, I was face-to-face with a horse.

I grew up on the East Coast in a suburban town. 

We rode sensible transportation like bikes, cars, and buses to get where we needed to go. We had normal-sized pets like cats, fish, and gerbils. And Western was how we ordered our omelets. 

I was living a full and happy life. 

I had no idea that it was empty without a horse.

It wasn’t that I shied away from new experiences. I left the comfort of my wonderful family after college, worked on Seventh Avenue with a world-famous fashion designer in New York City,  and was a pioneer in the “kind of” legal cannabis industry in California. 

A relationship with a horse, however, seemed like a much bigger deal.

To get to the next stage with this massive mammal, I had to open the gate of the rickety wood fence, lead Ellie across the street, and take her to the equestrian center where she would get a good grooming.

“Hold on to the reins and be confident!” was the new directive.

On tall days, I’m 5’1”. Ellie felt like she was twice my height. 

Confident? Not so much.

I took a deep breath, dug down, and took hold of the reins, “Okay Ellie, let’s take a walk.”   

To my surprise, this enormous creature actually followed my lead.

As we walked, I had a lively conversation with Ellie and her remarkably large eyes. Did you know that horses have eyes that can be up to two inches in diameter, the largest among land animals?  That is the same width as the Coke can you just threw away. 

On our way to the equestrian center, Ellie and I talked about climate change, the situation in the Middle East, and the upcoming presidential election. It was hard to tell over the clip-clop of her four-beat gait, what she thought about the chaos in Congress.

Once we arrived at the equestrian center, we groomed her with a Curry Comb to get the loose dirt off her body. We brushed her with a Body Brush to get the finer particles off her coat. And then we used a Hoof Pick to get rid of stones and other debris from her feet.

At this point, I’m feeling pretty good. I’m getting the jargon down and haven’t gotten kicked yet. The grooming was a safe way to start to touch this colossal creature.

“Bring Ellie into the ring!”

Okay. Let’s do this. I opened the gate and let her in. I turned around to close the hatch and when my gaze returned to the center of the ring I saw it. Right in the middle was a challenging menace designed to test my resolve — a dusty step stool.

Sure, it looked innocent enough. Like a helpful home accessory used to reach tall, out-of-the-way things. In this case, the tall, out-of-the-way thing was Ellie and her saddle. 

I was terrified. What was I thinking?  Why did I want to do a silly thing like ride a horse? The safer path would have been choosing to spend my time gardening, making soup, doing puzzles, and knitting. Some day, one of my kids would have a child and they would need knitted mittens from their grandma.  No reason why I shouldn’t start working on those now, right?

Just as I was about to walk away from Ellie, I thought back to an incredible talk by Alpine Investors founder Graham Weaver about asymmetrical growth. The point was that you have to do hard things to grow. The only thing standing between you and progress is fear. 

Okay Graham, if I fall off this horse and break something, it is on you.

I mounted the step stool. My heart was racing and my hands were dripping with sweat. I grabbed the pointy thing (it’s called a horn) on the top of the saddle as if my life depended on it. I lifted my leg over Ellie’s mammoth body and found my way into the seat. After several expletives, my legs mysteriously settled into the stirrups. 

“Okay, I’m on the horse. Now what?”

“Hold on to the reins, I’m going to lead you around the ring.”

The horse started moving, and I assume by the law of transitivity, I started moving too. At first, I was going one way and Ellie another.  She’d clip up and I’d clop down. It was uneven and uncomfortable. 

But then, I had a genius revelation, “I should try to move with her.” I stopped squirming with nervous energy and started to move in rhythm with her. All of a sudden it wasn’t me and her.  It was as if we were one unit moving together. 

And it was glorious. 

The world looks and feels totally different when you are on top of a horse. For a few moments, I had a sense of power, confidence, and grace that I had never experienced before in my life. 

While things were going well, I made the decision that it was time for me to get off. And with another set of expletives, I dismounted the horse. I was proud of myself for taking the risk, but I’d had enough enlightenment for one day.   

Big change. 

Small steps.

“Thanks, Ellie. I’ll see you again soon.”