Equuality: Reflections on Life with Horses

Recognition is the First Step

About the Book

You might still be doing what you did before, but now you know it; and you can envision doing things another way. -Karen Pryor

I love this quote from Karen Pryor for the simple way that it reminds me of one of the keys to practice(and to life in general): the aim is not to be perfect in every action, but to be paying enough attention that possibilities have space to unfold.

Truthfully, Pryor's is a reminder that I find myself needing quite often. The voice of self-criticism can be quite loud and amazingly persistent. I find hearing this voice to be a paralyzing experience. Often, when I learn of a different way of doing things, or have my eyes opened in a way that makes me question ways I have been behaving, I become frozen in the center of a whirlwind of self-doubt and recrimination.

I believe my tendency to freeze stems from my yearning to shift my way of doing things, combined with my perception of the gap between my current habits and those I now desire to embody. That distance can seem like a great chasm: it is possible to see the goal on the other side, but the distance from here to there is deep, dark, and unknown. The path is not obvious, making it challenging to take even the first step towards change.

One of my core beliefs is that, through our relationships, we are provided with a lens that helps us to see ourselves more clearly. I find this idea applies equally to my relationships with horses, dogs, and other animals, just as it applies to my relationships with other people. In fact, because of the way we can take human/human communications so much for granted, I often find that I discover things about myself through horsemanship first, and then see how they manifest in other parts of my life.

Of course, this means that my horsemanship practice is ripe with paralyzing a-ha moments. Actually, the language I would use to describe them would usually be much stronger and more negative than "a-ha." Sometimes they have been small things, like realizing that I was the one who was subconsciously starting the opposition during that day's ride. Sometimes my paralyzing "a-ha" moments have been bigger, like coming to understand that I've been using too much force for a long time, when a bit of positive reinforcement would have got the job done much better. Sometimes my "a-ha" moments have been huge, like questioning ideas I have been taught about the fundamental nature of horse psychology.

In nearly every case, my response to the new information has been negative. The aversion comes from the fear that arises from suddenly being able to see the other side of the abyss, the promised land of better living, without being able to see the trail that leads there.

What I've begun to find is that it is not important to have a map to lead me from my current habits to my desired self. If I can be still for a moment, then from the simple event of having my eyes opened, I will begin to glimpse the path that leads down through the canyon to the other side. As I am already frozen, the shift to stillness seems to come from a simple, though not always easy, softening of focus. There is a space there to step around the hard edge of judgment and to begin the journey anew.

This letting go of self-judgment allows me to set an internal compass towards my goal, giving me the freedom to turn my gaze towards each step that lies before me. In that way, I can enjoy the path I am on, even as it bends and meanders. Moving from a strongly held image of self towards a new vision of self-to-be is never the straight-line process my outcome-oriented ego would like. However, by holding the feeling of where I am going while allowing myself to guiltlessly be whomever I am in the moment, I find it is possible to appreciate the journey as much as the destination.