The Big Things and the little things.

I used to think that when I could do a flying change, I would be a dressage rider. That would be the One Big Thing that would show that I had made it.

Then I thought when I could do a canter pirouette, I would be a dressage rider. That, instead, would be The One Big Thing that would show that I was a dressage rider. 

I have done both of those things, many times. I have taught those things to several horses. Am I done now? Can I rest and take it easy knowing I have Made It? Ha. That is funny. 

I think, unless you are trying to learn a very concrete thing (like maybe tying your shoe? Parking a car?), there is no Made it. There is no done. And there doesn’t seem to be One Big Thing. Not for me, anyways. Especially for dressage.

Dressage isn’t made up of such big things. It is made up of millions of small ones - of transitions and half halts and attempts and many many failed attempts. It is having a fabulous ride, balanced and through and fun and easy, and then sucking at everything you even try to do next time. 

Even those Big Things aren’t built in a day, or a week, or a month, or often even a year. They are built slowly and gradually, in fits and starts and many many false starts. They are built slowly and softly and sometimes with great difficulty. They are started, and they are worked on, and they are probably never done. This is not about perfection. It is about striving towards excellence. 

If I had all the time in the world, I would ride six days a week. One day would be a walking hack, one a conditioning ride, one a jump day, and three dressage days. Varied, fun, strengthening. Right now, I am able to ride each horse four days a week - two dressage, one conditioning/hack, and one jumping, usually. While my rational mind realizes that a skipped ride or even a few skipped weeks isn’t going to make or break anything, I still have a lot of anxiety about it. Because I know that it is these regular rides, the same old chipping away that builds up over time. Every ride adds up and gently pushes you a miniscule bit forward. It’s like a steady stream of water wearing away a rock; from day to day, hardly any change is seen, but six months from now? Things are different. 

It can be hard to stay motivated without those Big Things. A good trainer can help with that. They can help you stay on track and focusing on the correct things. But the day-to-day? That’s on you to keep plugging away. Progress can seem non-existent or useless. The motivation has to come from within, from inside. There is little or no glory in this sport. 

My motivation? I want to learn more, and do better, and help the horses feel proud and balanced and fun. I want their gaits to improve and their knowledge to improve, and for them to become more beautiful and majestic under me than they are standing in a field. I want to do better. As cellist Pablo Casals said when asked why he practiced four or five hours a day at age 80, “Because I think I’m making progress.”  

Every mistake, every setback is an opportunity to improve a little bit next time. It’s a chance for me to reflect and do better. It’s a chance for me to practice being dispassionate and calm. Of course, it’s a chance for me to do many many things very wrong, too. But that’s okay. That’s the only way I’ll learn, and learning - for me, anyways - is what it’s about.