Eat up the ground
Cowboys say a fast horse “eats up the ground” a colloquialism which has always made me think of a dragon’s mouth right behind my horse’s hooves, its hot breath on our backs and its gullet open in voracious hunger. The dirt is moving, not me, it is being tipped back and poured away, the past is sliding behind us in a cloud of chocolate dust, accompanied only by the sound of pounding hooves.
I often use this saying on my students, thinking I’m encouraging them onward, pushing them into speed. “I want to see your horse eat up the ground!” I holler, as they gamely attempt a trot on our sweet steeds. But it struck me recently that it doesn’t apply in our lesson context. In the arena, there’s no ground to eat – you’re not going anywhere, at least not in the literal sense. You’re going in circles, finding horizons only inside yourself.
Often I get antsy with the tedium of chasing perfection, of asking for subtle movements with subtle cues. After all, I come from a tradition best described by the not-exactly-comforting words of advice offered me more than once: “you’d best not come off.” But as much as I love that way of thinking, I realize that sometimes what I actually need is to face my own failings – the tedium I am annoyed with – and do the hard thing. I need to focus; to get it right and not just done.
Over the last few weeks I’ve been disquieted, I have been juggling and caring and hoping and trying and I’m so tired. I’m in the proverbial arena ride of life and I’m not all cute and put-together with my hair in a velvet bow, I tell you what. My butt cheeks are clenched and my breeches are tight and my fingers are sore but my horse is going to stay on this arena rail at a collected pace so help me God. I long to go for a metaphorical gallop but that’s not the time we’re in, is it? We are all here, waiting and longing for freedom, hoping we can figure out how to stop nit-picking and start hugging again but right now it’s 6-foot distance, please refrain, this table is closed, wash your hands, adjust your mask, VOTE, here’s sanitizer for every surface, here’s outrage for every other surface, VOTE, have I told you lately that the future of the free world depends on the positioning of your bandanna and your mail-in ballot? WELL?!
I have to remind myself there is wisdom both ways. There’s freedom found chasing cows through prairies, in bombing down mountainsides and galloping over sagebrush country. But I can also find freedom by being willing to acknowledge that the frumpy body in the arena mirror is indeed my own, and by pushing on and trying to be better anyway. By this I mean that freedom is found in the truth, even when that truth is ugly or tedious or discomfiting. They might not be “eating up the ground”, at least not in the cowboy sense, but my students prove to me every week there’s freedom found in honest effort.
What I’m saying is, I’m tired of how things are, and I would like very much for the world to be different, please thanks. But maybe I should be different. Maybe instead of insisting that my arena walls fall away and offer me the open country I yearn for, perhaps I should learn to ride well in the space I’ve been given.