When I was 16, I was at Turfway Park in Kentucky, showing my horse in the Junior division, and I was extremely nervous, because it was an A-show, and it was my first time showing the 3'6" jumps at a big, rated show. Well, before our rock star moment in the show ring, I had accomplished all of this: gotten up at 5 a.m. or so to braid my horse, cleaned his stall and some others, gave him a bath, cleaned my tack, and the list went on and on. I was never one of those riders who merely showed up to ride. I had to do everything myself to save on the bucks. I'd been doing it that gritty way since I was 10 years old.
Well, the day was a scorcher. I was sweating through my breeches and coat, and I felt nauseous, but our warmup rounds went all right. Not perfect, but not too shabby. I was simply glad to get through it. When it came time to do my first Junior round, we cantered into the ring, started our courtesy circle like always, and everything seemed to be pretty normal, but as we were on our way to the first jump, something happened to me...
I froze. Completely, I froze. After years of practicing vigorously, I couldn't remember the course or how to ride at all. I stopped steering. I took my leg off. I totally stopped riding. Underneath me, I could feel my horse thinking this, Uh, which way? What's going on here? So eventually, he just did the smart thing -- he stopped dead in the middle of the ring. No, he didn't stop right in front of the jump. Oh no. Instead, he stopped long before the first jump. Frozen in the sand, we just stood there, motionless for many minutes I suppose, but it seemed like hours.
My loving, dutiful horse just stood there, waiting for me to do something.
I didn't do anything at all.
So, with loads of people watching, we both continued to freeze solid in the show ring.
Eventually, I came to, and I steered him around, and we slowly walked out of the ring.
Scratching his head, my trainer sauntered over to me and said, "What the hell happened? It's like you just stopped riding."
"I don't know," I said, looking down, tearing up some. And I didn't know. "I guess I spaced out," I said. I shrugged.
My trainer shrugged.
Later, I practiced some more and did the rest of my rounds, and for some odd reason, I ended up winning a few classes, so I suppose I redeemed myself. That's often how it went for me; it was tragic, or I won.
But that first class really spooked me. For a moment, I lost all sense of place and time. And looking back on it, I think it was this: I was exhausted. I was trying to make it through college prep classes in high school. I was taking care of my horse and training daily. I was working a part-time job. And in all of these activities, I was trying to be the epitome of perfection. At a certain point, my body just gave in. Certainly, I needed a break. My brain went ahead a took a break without my permission.
This morning, I thought of this time in my life, because I was musing about how I'm too hard on myself in general. This year has been so unbelievably tough for me...and for so many...and yet I've still been beating myself up, telling myself I haven't done enough, that I'm not where I should be. But I have honestly faced so much, and I still managed to write another book. And I still managed to send that book to some agents. And I still stayed sober and handled my outside illnesses the best that I could. Indeed, I should be proud, not down about my place in life.
I should celebrate the victories.
Instead of focusing on the time I "froze up" riding, I should focus on the rest of that day, when I won some classes. I'm not sure where I learned the art of "beating myself up," but whoever taught me did a bang-up job.
Sometimes I get focused on others' outsides -- someone's beautiful children, fancy house, hot boyfriend or girlfriend, fame, celebrity power, beautiful skin, and on and on. But those are just snapshots of the winnings. I guarantee that everyone around me has felt the same exhaustion of trying to be perfect. I'm certain they've all felt those moments when they absolutely panicked and forgot how to do something that would normally be routine, or spaced out, or woke up and thought, If only I had her life. If only I had his life. If only I could take a break. If only I could win every time.
Take it easy today. It's been a horrendous year for so many. Focus on the victories, however large or small. We all deserve it. I am here to say this: forget about beating the self up for the things that haven't come to pass. Instead, I've decided I need to take a look at how far I've come. Here's why...
If I'm in a place of wanting, I can't give. If I'm in a place of contentment, I can be of service. See, I could focus on the pain I'm feeling from this extracted tooth, or I could focus on my ability to write this piece today. I'm doing the best I can. Remember, those around are doing the same. My horse loved me unconditionally. When I made a mistake, he held no grudges.
If I could go back to that horse show, I'd hug my teenage self. I would whisper in her ear, You are good enough, just how you are. You are a fighter. You work so hard for your dreams. You are full of integrity and passion, and one panic attack in the show ring could never take that away. It's OK to lose your shit and begin again. You are loved, unconditionally.
It's OK to lose your shit and begin again. Celebrate the victories. Be easy. Be proud.
C.A. MacConnell
