Riding test
The other day, I had to perform a riding test at my new barn. Now, let me tell you right up front: I am not a sophisticated rider, y’all. I learned to ride from scruffy, fearless cowboys who told me encouraging things like, “don’t come off” and “that horse knows more cow than you do, darlin’, so let ‘im loose”. Over the years of teaching therapeutic horseback riding and watching others teach, I’ve picked up on more thorough riding techniques, but at the end of the day, I’m just a self-taught cowgirl, and I deeply feel my inadequacy in the presence of formally trained, sophisticated horse-folk.
Long story short, the test was actually really fun. My fellow instructors (intimidating though they may seem) were kind and helpful, and I felt like I actually got my very first riding lesson out of the deal. I walked into the barn feeling insecure, gangly and awkward, but I walked out hopeful and happy, excited for a new chapter in my wrangling life.
I tell you this story because I know that this will also happen with adoption and motherhood. One of these Mother’s Days I won’t find myself in tears alone in my car because I passed a florist. One of these days I will get to walk in the park with my own kids, and not just smile at everyone else’s kids as I walk my dog.
I don’t have a neat bow to wrap up here. I’m trying to see the hope and the bigger perspective, and I know it’s there. My head knows that all I have to do is sit back in my saddle and relax my elbows. My head knows that in order to move well, my horse has to bend and collect himself, and it’s my job to help him do that. My head knows that I have ridden hundreds of horses and have worked everywhere from cattle ranches to trail rides to therapeutic riding centers, that despite my lack of formal training, I know how horses work and I can do this. My heart says that I’m afraid of failure, that I feel lonely and altogether incapable of these big things. I feel small and silly and scared.
Maybe it’s OK to not have a bow to tie on this story. Maybe it’s OK to admit that maybe I am a little small, silly and scared, but that I don’t have to be anything else right now. Maybe it’s OK to just keep moving and hoping, and letting Somebody else handle the rest. Maybe I’ll just go for a ride, and let my horse remind me that I know more about all of this than I think I do.