Connecting the Dots

Someone once said to me, did you know you can only connect the dots looking back? It took me some pondering to process that idea. Turns out they were right.

We don’t always see a clear path moving forward. Sometimes things happen that just don’t make sense. Or we have a fabulous plan, but it falls apart and doesn’t come to fruition.

Other times we hit multiple roadblocks, or seem to go through more valleys than peaks. It feels like we take one step forward then three steps back.

Horses get injured. Sometimes we are the ones who get injured. Training progresses amazingly, then suddenly things fall apart. One day we have tempis, then the next we can’t even do a clean single change.

We often can’t explain why these things happen in the moment, or even for a long time after. Our lives go down unexpected paths, not always leading to the intended destination. But when enough of these pathways accumulate, and we start to see the unplanned destination unfold, we might suddenly find purpose in those paths.

Lacey went from showing I2 last summer to barely being able to trot a corner in the winter thanks to a slip in the mud while playing in her paddock. She went from being at the top of her career to feeling more unbalanced than a green training level horse on a twenty-meter circle.

Her slow rehab took me back to the most basic of basics. Because she struggled so much to bend and balance, I needed to go back many steps in her training to help her regain those abilities. During that time, she taught me more about ribcage mobilization than I’d ever learned in 36 years of riding.

What I learned from my I2 horse when she couldn’t do a balanced trot through a corner has made a huge impact on how I teach horses and riders about biomechanics. It helped me connect so many concepts together, resulting in far greater results on every single horse I have worked with since.

If you’d asked me last winter what the reason (as in “everything happens for a reason”) was for Lacey’s regression I would have had no idea, beyond assuming we needed to go back to basics to fix something foundational.

It can be a sad day when you realize that instead of working towards Grand Prix you’re going to be spending the winter trying to help your horse stay even through a corner. But that’s horses, and after a few decades of these ups and downs, I’ve learned not to dwell on where I am versus where I thought I wanted to be.

I still let myself feel sad or frustrated, but I don’t stay there. I figure out my next path forward, and trust that something good will come of this unexpected journey.

Sure enough, last winter brought the ribcage epiphany. I’d had coaches touch on it before in lessons, but it didn’t really transform my understanding like rehabbing Lacey did. I didn’t get to show her this year, but I learned so much more about biomechanics from her that it was as exciting as I2 had been the year before, just in a different way.

Then when our rehab was well underway and Lacey was feeling closer to her old self, the spook at the ducks happened in May. I didn’t know at the time that this was going to be a major catalyst for the next chapter in my life, I just knew that she was suddenly lame for the first time in her life other than an abscess over a decade ago (which doesn’t really count since it wasn’t an injury).

She was only off for two weeks, but when it happened I didn’t know it was going to be so short. She could have been off for months, or even permanently. But those two weeks were all the time I needed to decide to buy another horse - and find not only one, but two.

I would never have guessed this spring that I would have ended up where I did this summer, owning and riding three horses. I hadn’t planned to get another horse for a few more years. It didn’t become clear until after it had all unfolded that the underlying reason for Lacey’s time off was to start this next chapter.

Life works in mysterious ways, as do horses. To become the best riders, trainers, and horsemen we can be, we need a certain level of trust in unpredictable outcomes, as well as adaptability. To be able to go with the flow and follow these alternate pathways as they appear is truly a life skill, and one that didn’t come to me easily.

I hated change as a kid. I needed control, and I was a perfectionist. Not knowing made me anxious. I obsessed over finding answers. I was a planner and list maker.

I probably needed horses in my life to get past that. There’s nothing like a horse to teach you to let go of controlling the outcome. Horses have taught me patience - not just with them but with life. You can never fully control what they’re going to do; you can merely offer your suggestions, hopes and dreams.

I’ve encountered countless so-called setbacks with many, many horses over the years (both mine and my clients’). I’ve also had life outside of horses go in unexpected directions. At the time, it didn’t always make sense or seem like a positive. In retrospect, however, I was able to see how fortunate I was that my life took me on those journeys.

All the issues I’ve had with my foot and SI over the last 4.5 years are another example. And just when I think I’ve learned everything I can from those experiences, another flare-up will make it apparent I have not. Some days I’m schooling Grand Prix movements, and others I can’t walk without a cane.

It isn’t always easy to appreciate those difficulties in the moment, but they’ve also taught me a lot. From the life lesson of how to ask for and accept help, to not working so hard in the saddle and letting my horse do her job instead of trying to do it for her.

Sometimes it’s easier to see the benefits than others. Occasionally we see them right away; often times we don’t notice them for months or years, if ever. But it definitely takes looking in the rear view mirror to connect all of the dots and see the bigger picture in a way we can only do once we’ve lived through it. If you’re going through a valley, trust that there’s a hilltop on the other side.