When I was a child, I used to jump on my parents’ bed, and then leap as far as I could off the edge, convinced that if I practiced enough, one day I would miss the ground and learn to fly. I also used to sit in the backseat of my parents’ car and imagine riding along the side of the road, convinced that if I wished hard enough, one day I would have a horse. I didn’t really think it would work. But I’ve been airborne for two years now, and it’s been incredible.
When I met the Kiger Mustang mare Surya, there was nothing in the world I wanted more than a horse. Nothing in the world I wanted more than to ride. Nothing in the world I wanted more than to feel connected to another creature, to love her unconditionally and completely. I was broken, lost, and sad. Surya was love, acceptance, and fulfillment of a hope that I’d harbored since before I can remember.
She is colored like high noon – deep yellow offset by the sparkling shadows of her mane and tail and legs, and one bright white star on her forehead. When she came, I was awake.
When she came, I poured all of myself into training her, and learning to truly ride. I drove back and forth to the barn 45 minutes away every day after work. I drilled my seat, my legs, my heels, my hands. I pushed her to the bit, I softened when she bent, I dug in my spurs and encouraged up and forward and in and together. We jumped on the weekends. We cantered a pole to see a distance, we practiced turning on the outside rein. We flew. In the evenings I collapsed into bed and dreamed of galloping dark mares and broken fences.
I committed everything. My time, my income, my capacity for devotion, and my trust. But my time and my income were no longer sufficient. I have begun to dream beyond the now. I could barely afford to keep Surya. And I was tired.
I agonized, and justified, and bargained…but in the end, I came to the conclusion that I must sell her. Living so close to the edge was not fair to me, and not fair to the horse, and with one extra expense I was tipping right over. The week I posted her ad for sale, the perfect family came to look at her and decided to take her. She went to a picturesque farm in northern New Jersey, and will be fed, blanketed, loved, and pampered.
I am heartbroken, but I have no regrets. Through her, I became an equestrienne. Through her, I learned to trust myself, and I learned to trust someone other than myself. She took my lonely soul and made me the happiest I have ever been. I did this fully. There will be other horses, and perhaps one day I will again make them my life. I hope that Surya is always loved and cared for. I hope that her absence leaves room for inspiration.
There was recently a post on Eventing Nation by Lila Gendal about “a world where money means everything and nothing.” She concluded “don’t ever allow money to dictate your life or sway your dreams, but you have to keep working hard if you want results.” I too was the child working in barns in exchange for riding time on half-broke horses. I was the adult who, after powering through graduate school, used my newly minted income to buy the thing I wanted more than anything. I was the adult who after working all week at my professional job in environmental engineering, got to the barn at 6:15am on summer weekends to work for 5 hours to pay for event entry fees.
But here’s the secret. I am more than an equestrienne. I will allow money to sway my dreams, because my dreams are mutable, and some of them involve security and freedom. My mare was there when I needed her, and I will always love her completely.
“The dance is this cage, in which one learns to fly.”* Surya was the dance.
* Claude Nougaro (as quoted in Philippe Karl’s The Art of Riding)
