Currently, I have a
problem. When we canter to the right, it feels like trying to use a dull
hunting knife to cut someone’s hair. We can do it, but that is not the intended
function, and I really have to grit my teeth and MAKE it work. As a result,
when we start cantering, I am anxious, and Surya pops her left shoulder out and
tries to run into the wall instead of tracking a circle. I then lock my arms,
forget about my left leg, and try to force her to the right. She panics, gets
off balance, and goes very fast. We have the same problem at the trot, but I
can do something about it. At the canter we just fall apart.
This is a problem that
is not related to Surya’s youth. It is entirely my fault. I am simultaneously
trying too hard and not trying hard enough. I am saying ‘go right’ with my
arms, but my intentions are entirely blasé about the matter. I want to go the
right about as much as Surya does.
My trainer is trying
very hard to fix me.
“Don’t put your hands there.” She stuck her fists out in front of her. “Just, put your
hands...there.” She returned her hands to the same place but wiggled her
fingers and wrists around. “Don’t make it happen. Let it happen.”
I think I finally
understood the idea behind this statement at the end of my lesson yesterday. It
was one of those rides where I felt lucky to still be astride at the end. Not
because any especially gymnastic antics were going on, but because I was
exhausted in the way that takes five nights of three hours or less of sleep,
enthusiastic physical activity, relentless sun, and a total of 36 hours in a
car to achieve. Namely, it takes Bonnaroo.
Bonnaroo is a four-day
music festival held on a 700-acre farm in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains
in Manchester, Tennessee. It’s kind of a modern-day Woodstock with better
sanitation. Everyone arrives in the middle of the night on Wednesday and car
camps through the middle of the night on Sunday. This year, Bonnaroo drew a
crowd of 100,000 people, ranging from 70 year-old hippies to 25 year-old
investment bankers. The 60 hours of music is as diverse as the people. Some of
my favorites were Ludacris, Flogging Molly, Red Hot Chili Peppers, fun., The
Dirty Guv’nahs, and Alice Cooper. My group consisted of me (environmental
consultant), my younger sister (future doctor), former roomie (Bikram Yoga
teacher and former engineer), Awesome Rider Friend (actuary), and roomie’s
friend (Bikram teacher and interior designer). We were all thrilled to be there
and expected to have a great time.
There are two types of
people that go to Bonnaroo – the type whose main goal is to get as wasted as possible
and partake in the ubiquitous presence of drugs, and the type whose sole goal
is to see as much great music as possible while hanging out with good friends.
We fall into the second category. That being said, we still stayed up until
4am. And the sun and the heat (Tennessee, summertime) woke us up at 8am. By
noon it was so hot we were all dripping sweat and had to reapply sunscreen
every half hour. The porta potties, while being maintained to the highest
standards, were nevertheless porta
potties. Dust and cigarette smoke clouded the air. If you go to Bonnaroo with an agenda
and the resolution to have a good time, you will fail. If you concentrate on
getting somewhere despite the crowds, or dancing the entire time despite the
heat, or getting along with your group the whole time despite the exhaustion,
the only thing you will notice is how hot, dirty, and tired you are. Relax. Let
it go. For lack of a less clichéd mandate, go with the flow. Nap in the sun.
Stand ten feet from Needtobreathe’s lead guitarist. Sing along to Alice
Cooper’s cover of Lady Gaga’s Born This Way (epic).
And that is part of
what makes this festival so special. Everyone is chill. There are some of the
most memorable sets by my favorite musicians, and some of the most ridiculously
hilarious things I have ever seen (guy walking around dressed as a jellyfish).
And some of the most ridiculously, hilariously, fun things I have ever done.
Case in point, Balloonicorn:
This is me trying to
jump around with a giant paper-mache unicorn on my head and pop balloons in the
net above me with the horn. About halfway through, I realized I was failing and
chose to canter around and charge the attendant instead. Believe me, I did not
go to Bonnaroo with the intention to do this.
My point is that I’m missing
that intentional spontaneity in my riding (unintentional running into walls
aside). I’m insisting we go right instead of suggesting and backing up the
suggestion with let’s-go-right encouragement.
I didn’t realize
before, but there’s a reason for our terminology that ‘asks’ a horse to do
something rather than ‘tells’ it. Once we ask, we can insist they respond, but
the initial communication must be a request, or the relationship turns into a
dictatorship. I have my siblings to be my serfs. I would rather my horse think
and choose for herself. After all, she is the one moving her legs. If I want to
be in full command of legs, I should get off and move my own. When things get
dicey, I forget riding is not Invasion of the Body Snatchers, but a partnership.
Basically, I need to
breathe, relax my elbows, stop pulling on the right rein, apply my left leg and then release and re-apply, and
suggest we go right with the absolute desire to do so. Maybe I can imagine Neil
Patrick Harris running in front of us.
Yesterday I cantered
for one uncertain circle using ‘soft, flexy’ hands, and it was a little better.
I can’t wait to try this approach again and see if it works.
Also, Bonnaroo was awesome. Everyone should go.
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| Graffiti on a wall at Bonnaroo |
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| The Red Hot Chili Peppers |
