Bless the Broken Road

You get out of life what you put into it. That’s what I said to my 19 year old step daughter today. I hope she remembers it. As I said it I looked around at the barn we were visiting and I noted a lot of differences between that barn and my own.

It’s time for the Elder Daughter to go her own way, make her own life, and her Dad and I want to help propel her on a path to (hopefully) a successful life. Which means I can no longer do everything for her. When we come home from a show she will be the one to clean her muddy spurs, wash her saddle pad and breeches and send her jacket to the drycleaners. It won’t be me. Perhaps she will forget something important the first few times. And I’ll gently remind her. But when we come home from her lesson at her new trainer’s barn, she will be the one to clean out the back of the trailer and put her things away. Pretty soon she’ll be the one driving herself to her lessons and backing the trailer up and unhooking it. I’ve plenty of my own things to do, not least of which is raising her 6 year old sister.

Today was ED’s first lesson with a new trainer. The first time she has taken instruction from someone other than me since she began riding at the age of 9. And I am delighted. I am excited for her, and thrilled that I can finally just let her figure shit out and be the mom cheering for her at the shows. Just like I have given over the training reins on Baby Girl to the lovely next door neighbor trainer, I should have done it long ago for ED. I was selfish. I was immature. And I wanted something that would never truly be mine.

As I looked around the barn we were at today I noticed how clean it was. How the aisles were perfectly swept and the stalls perfectly clean. With hay bags hung for each horse and matching sheets and tack trunks. A few years ago I would have been very envious of all the matchy-matchy and perfection. A few years ago I would have wanted all these same things and more. Tack room stall curtains for the bigger shows and beautiful fake plants and laying down mulch and a large wooden, custom made “Abingdon Park” sign like so many of the other barns have. I do actually have curtains. But they are old, and there is only one of them along with a name banner. It’s all I could afford at the time. And it’s been perfectly adequate for all these years. When there is “extra” money hanging around it sure as shit isn’t going to get spent on stall curtains.

But along the broken road I have learned who I really am. I am a trainer 100% dedicated to the middle class, middle income family who, if it weren’t for my guidance and patience, would never be able to afford this sport we love. This is my passion. I don’t want Mercedes or Teslas by the dozen coming up my driveway, driven by moms parents in skirts and cute tops with perfect nails that can’t be broken. I want the ones that are willing to get dirty. The ones that will help their kids tack up. The parents that will hang the curtains at the show and hook up the trailer. The ones that will have a glass of wine with me at the end of a long day. I want the parents I can be friends with. I want the kids that want to learn how to clean a stall, how to body clip, how to de-worm and why. I want the kids who will always, always clean their tack to “is this Julie clean?” specifications. I want the ones that will earn their way to a middle-of-the-road saddle and love it simply because it’s finally theirs. The ones who can learn to read a course by themselves and execute it without waiting for me to teach it to them. I will teach you to take care of yourself and your horse and then I expect you to actually do it. I want the kids who WANT TO.

I love my barn. I love the slightly chaotic look, and while mostly clean, always has something that needs to be done. I love how all my students want to be here. They want to help. They want to feed and clean stalls and groom ponies and scrub water troughs. I love that my ponies mostly stay out, with their somewhat shaggy appearance if I don’t have time to body clip them. I love that they are not picture perfect at all times and that they know I am their person. I love patting and talking to them while I feed and gently swatting the ones that put their ears back and pretend to be offended when I put their blankets on.

And even as I hate the freezing cold weather I am happy to be the one taking care of my horses when it snows, or ices, or rains. I am also happy that I can call any one of my parents and ask them to come feed at a moment’s notice when I have to take a horse to the vet clinic and that they will absolutely come. I love my property, too. I may not have that coveted indoor arena, or even a covered one, but what I have was built by my husband, by my dad, and by parents. Out of love. I love my arena. It’s the perfect size and maybe the jumps are old and worn but once again, they were built by my husband, and my dad, and painted by me.

I have walked that broken road. I have been in many places, and in many barns. I have done it all alone, and I have been lucky to find my husband to share it all with. I have been to many shows, and have had hundreds of students. I am ridiculously proud that at least FOUR of my former students are currently teaching and training in the North Texas area. In my mind that’s a pretty big number. I am proud of them – even the ones I haven’t kept in touch with.

This road has definitely been rocky – too many times to count I have wondered if it was all worth it, if I should give up, if I should quit. And the thing that always comes back to me is – I do this for the kids. The middle class, middle income kids that are everything I was, and more. Maybe I’m living vicariously through them, but I’m willing to admit that I love my kids. I love my parents. I love my barn. Along the way I have learned what really matters, I have learned that love is everything. Love the horses, the ponies, the sport, and the kids. That’s what fulfilment is. Not all the fancy stuff. If you love, you win.