A Matter of Trust

I have two beautiful, smart, funny children.  They have changed my entire world in good and not so good ways, but I can’t imagine my life without them.  For me, it was the right choice to leave my corporate job so I could give myself over to raising my kids full time. 

I take the job - which, by the way, is the hardest job I have ever had in my entire life - of raising my two small people very seriously.  I may laugh, joke and tease along the way, but that’s the only way I know how to release tension and dissipate my stress because truth be told, I have no idea what I’m doing.  No one hands you an instruction manual in the delivery room nor does anyone provide you with a fail proof, step-by-step instruction booklet on how to raise a well-adjusted, happy child with a follow up pamphlet illustrating how to mold and form the perfect adult.  It’s all guesswork.  You do the best you can and trust that you’re doing the right thing by your children.

Trust. 

Trust is a funny thing.  You trust your gut.  You might even trust your instincts.  You put your trust in other people and in yourself.  Some people have trust issues, mostly deeply rooted in past experiences.  Life is complicated and while some people at my age complain about their “baggage,” I, at the ripe old age of 42, have lived long enough to have accumulated a complete set of personalized luggage. 

Having Wassachusetts in my life has been a learning experience in so many ways that I can’t exclude how he has taught me to trust.

Thinking about what we ask of our horses and what these animals are willing to do for us is nothing short of awe inspiring.  We trot, canter and sometimes gallop our horses towards obstacles assuming that they will leap high enough and with such balance as to clear said obstacle and carry the rider safely to the other side.  It’s really quite unnatural.  In the wild, they might be forced to jump a downed tree or hop across a creek, but more often than not, your horse is going to look for a way around an obstacle.

Yet, here is Wassachusetts.  He’s always game for something new even if that means leaping over an odd configuration of painted poles and flower boxes spilling over with dusty, Dollar Store flowers. 

Turning on the forehand or haunches can’t be comfortable for a horse or feel “right” but he does it – or at least tries.  He always tries.

A year ago, Wassachusetts and I had trouble getting over a jump lined with fake poinsettias in foil-encased pots.  The foil made a horrendous noise as the horse approached the jump, spraying grit onto the foil.  I couldn’t blame him for stopping and I certainly couldn’t blame him for wildly leaping over the jump from a standstill with such force that we cleared that jump with what felt like three feet to spare and throwing himself into hyper-drive on the other side in a concentrated effort to escape the dangers lurking in, under and around that jump.

While I couldn’t blame him for reacting the way he did, I also couldn’t help the way I became defensive and nervous the next time we came around to that jump. 

“You have to trust him,” my trainer advised.

And she was right.  I had to trust him the way that Wassachusetts was willing to trust me.   While it wasn’t pretty, we managed to get over that jump the next time we came around to it.  That horse, all 1200 pounds of him, trusted that I wouldn’t steer him wrong or put him in any type of perilous situation.  Wassachusetts also has a lot of self-confidence.  The combination of that trust and self-confidence has taken us a long way. 

Wassachusetts has so much faith in himself – he’s a very brave horse and very rarely spooks away from objects or sounds – that I’ve learned to trust him.  And with that trusting relationship has come a burst of self-confidence for me.  I no longer question my riding ability or get nervous when my trainer puts the jumps up.  It’s a great feeling.

I carry this new-found trust and confidence in myself forward from my life with horses to my life as a mom.  I trust that I’m raising my kids to the best of my ability.  And even when I might falter, I’m teaching them that life isn’t perfect.  No, it’s far from perfect: it’s messy and complicated and vast and wonderful and full of extraordinary adventures.  Life is going to be what you make of it.