Final



 I find that everyone discovers their passion in life, something that drives them to push forward, something that inspires, and defines them. My passion is horseback riding, more specifically dressage. Dressage is very much like dancing . Two partners in perfect synchronization, thinking and feeling the other’s movements. Each graceful step is an ingredient to the recipe of riding.  Once a communication barrier is broken, anything is possible. Cantering down a straight- away, I feel like I'm on the wings of an eagle, flying down the path. Completely liberated, the wind whips my hair back; soon everything dissolves into a blur. Ever since I was young my fascination with horses has grown and matured over the years. I once was a child longing to have a horse of her own, yearning for a kindhearted companion to ride into the sunset on. What I wanted was nothing more than fantasy. I am now an educated rider, eager to discover not how to own a horse, but how to understand a horse. I long not for a possession, but rather a teacher, whom I can learn from. The story of the riding arena goes like this.   I remember Clambering up onto the lofty palomino, blindly moving my hand along his neck, hastily searching for a mass of coarse mane to grasp.  Steadying myself on the saddle, my hands slightly sweaty from nerves, I hoist myself up, peering out onto the lush landscape. This is my first memory of riding. Anxiety. Fear. Excitement. All of these emotions sped through my mind. I felt like a little baby bird about to fly for the first time . I used to be terrified of heights. Even the seemingly not-so-short distance atop a horse gave me goose bumps. That day I conquered my fear. I was determined to ride that horse, even if it did take some coaxing from my instructor.
 * <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">Moving Forward **

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Since that day I have conquered many more fears. Trotting along the rail in the warm up arena, the hot July sun beating down on my back, I prepare myself for the upcoming event, dressage equitation. I have been working hard to be able get to this level in my riding. I gaze around at all the other riders. I notice Letti, an annoying little girl who used to be in my lessons and believes she knows everything, prancing around on her race car of a pony, Jessie. I nervously slow to a walk and absentmindedly fiddle with the reins. Once they call for the event, I turn my horse Wyoming, a lanky chestnut, towards the gate. My instructor gives me a thumbs up, and I weakly return the gesture. Once all the riders enter the arena, a judge makes an announcement: <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Riders, you are now being judged, please begin at a working trot.” <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">I gently press the heel of my boot into my horse’s side and speed off into a fast jog. I quickly check my position, making sure my elbows are bent, thumbs up, eyes forward. I count beats in my head, one, two, one, two. Soon a voice interrupts my thoughts. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Riders, please canter.” <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">I move my outside leg back, straightening up in my saddle, urging Wyoming forward. Once again I think of my position. I feel like I’m on a rocking horse, back and forth, back and forth, keeping a steady pace. After a few more instructions from the judging table, the event ends. I proceed out of the gait, Wyoming plodding along behind a hasty Letti. I wait eagerly for the ribbons to be awarded, hoping I did ok. I see my riding instructor walking over to me, smiling. I sigh with relief. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You looked really nice out there,” she complimented me. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Really, ok good, because I wasn’t sure,” I start rambling off all my insecurities, but now those are long past, and I feel much more confident. The ribbon ceremony begins. The judges start with fifth place and work their way down. My number had been passed, and the first place ribbon was the only one left. A grin slides its way up my <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 130%;">face, like a caterpillar inching its way along a tree branch. I <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;"> hear my number called, and step forward to receive my very first blue ribbon. Looking back upon that day brings a smile to my face. I work hard to achieve my goals. I’m really a very competitive person, although not against other people, but rather against myself. I am my own opponent. Each time I do something I strive to make it better than the first time. Dressage competitions are really just about trying to achieve perfection, and I am an extensive perfectionist. Ask anyone. That day when I was awarded my blue ribbon I knew that I had done well, but I was also certain I could do better. Riding teaches me to expect more of myself, to try, try again.

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 130%;"> Fear. Exhaustion. Panic. My <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">heart races viciously in my chest, as I hear myself quickly breathing. Today I’m riding Dancing Doe. Unfortunately Dancing Doe doesn’t really dance, she races around the arena, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 130%;">like a crazy mustang. Glued to my seat, I grip <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">the reins so tightly my knuckles turn white. I look over pleadingly at my instructor who is now lost for words. She has put me on this horse repeatedly every lesson, and every lesson this happens, the horse takes off and I don’t know what to do. Time seems to slow down when you are in a state of total panic. My mom, who by now must be having a heart-attack, inches over to the railing. We have identical expressions, eyes wide and mouths agape. She looks over menacingly at my instructor, who reciprocates a look of sheer innocence, as if she has done nothing wrong. Doe rounds a corner and my hands slide up her neck, clinging for dear life. I now start seriously questioning whether this horse will ever stop, and if I might actually die in the process. My fellow classmates slow to a walk, staring as I speed across the arena. I can feel my grip slipping, my seat detaching from the saddle, and suddenly. <span style="background-color: #ffff00; font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">Thump <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">. I land hard on the sandy floor, dirt spraying into my eyes. My instructor leans over to me asking if I’m ok.

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 130%;">“What do you think?” I simply say <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">, angrily wiping the mud off my face. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">That day was a thorn in the side of my riding career. In just one lesson, I took about ten steps backwards. After my terrifying experience I had to relearn many basic riding techniques, like cantering and controlling speed. I was emotionally scarred by the incident, and in a way still am. But today I am almost thankful for the experience. I now know that anything is possible. Coming away from my fall, I have had to learn how to trust myself again. I have rebuilt my confidence, proving to myself that I can do almost anything with determination. I know that when something gets bad, it will always get better again. It takes patience and dedication, something that makes me a better person. There is a saying that goes: “If it doesn’t kill you, it will make you stronger”. I sincerely believe in that statement. I am much stronger as a person, emotionally that is. I believe in myself now, and always will.

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;"> Ambling down to Nikko’s round pen, I glance around at my surroundings, <span style="background-color: #ffffff; font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">the perfectly square arena outlined by neat rows of pine trees, rows of stalls complete with an array of horses, <span style="background-color: #ffff00; font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;"> the way the wind softly nudges the tall grass. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;">This is my first time here and the first time riding Nikko. I look in the distance to find a jet black horse gazing out into the sky. This is Nikko, the powerful, overexcited, yet stunningly beautiful Friesian. I carefully walk over to his pen as he shakes his head and makes his way over to me. I fasten his halter and we walk side by side to the barn. I begin to brush off his coarse coat, taking notice at the star clipped on to his flank (“Because he’s a star!” My instructor, Kelly, later informs me.). After hurriedly tacking him up I meet my instructor at the arena to begin my lesson. I enthusiastically mount up, and start off at a walk. The walk is very energetic, quite different than what I had normally been used to. Nikko walks with a sort of mission in mind. He charges forward dutifully as a soldier marching to battle would. Then we move to a trot. I know that Nikko is a tough horse to ride, but challenges make me a better rider. I grip the reins, having a subtle connection with the bit and lean back in my saddle stretching my shoulders. I look around the corner as a lonesome barn cat hops between poles, howling like a dog. Zipping around the arena, Kelly instructs me to change direction. Nikko whirls around the turn and speeds off in the opposite direction. Every lesson I seem to learn something new and exciting. Turning away from the railing, I leg-yield to the center of the arena. Nikko refuses however, and merely turns his head in, still continuing straight. Kelly instructs me to walk. After a few strenuous attempts Nikko finally obeyed me.

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;"> ﻿ “The thing is,” Kelly explained, “If something doesn’t work, you have to slow it down, get to the root of the problem. Going faster will just be more confusing, for you and Nikko.” I strive live by these words now. They seem to be purely instruction to some, but to me they are keys to life. It seems like if you merely ignore your mistake and continue to speed past it, you learn nothing. Life doesn’t always have to race past like a speeding bullet, sometimes “slow and steady wins the race”. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 14pt;"> I am defined by horseback riding. In more ways than I realize I shape who I am around the lessons I learn. Overcoming obstacles and surmounting fears make up who I am and who I aspire to be. Some ride only to ride, but I ride to discover, to overcome, to achieve. Walking out of the arena, the sun begins to set, brilliant reds and purples splash onto the sky. My horse and I leave behind a trail of whirling dust. Now, I am living my fantasy.