That Moment.

There is a moment while riding a horse. As far as I know it is a well known -- as well as well dreaded -- moment for most equestrians. Let me lead you up to it:

You are approaching a jump, the horse drumming out a cool, steady beat below you. You can count the strides: One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four -- and you even hum a song in your head, perhaps to the rhythm of the hoof beats. Your eyes are fix at a point above and beyond the jump, your hands brushing at the whithers as you tighten your grip on the leather reins. You push your heels even further toward the ground speeding away beneath you, stretching your calf muscles longer and longer. The jump comes closer. You want to hold your breath, but practice keeps you breathing steadily in and out through your nose, your mouth curling into the smallest of smiles. Here it comes. The moment that should be the release, the freedom you get when your horse rears back and gracefully clears the obstacle in the way and you are disconnected with the earth, leaving your problems behind in the dust...

But that's not the moment I'm talking about.

The moment I'm talking about occurs exactly at the second when you think the flying will happen, but it doesn't. You press your heels down, throw your hands forward to give the horses head room and begin to lean forward -- but the horse has other ideas.

So as you steed veers suddenly to the left, shying away from some unseen terror, you continue to sail over the jump... alone.

They say you really have never ridden a horse until you fall off. I remember my first fall was on a pony when I swung my leg up a little too enthusiastically to mount and plonked on my butt on the other side of the pony, my eyes wide with surprise. That doesn't really count, I guess. But not all falls are as comical. I've once fallen over the top of my horses neck at a jump, my hands twisted in the reins. I landed on my feet, only to tilt my head back and look to see a frightened rearing horse inches from my face, my trapped hand making sure that I could not move away. I've had so many falls that I can't give you a number, or tell all of the stories.
But I don't believe that is what makes me a rider. It's not the falling off the horse that is important... it's the getting back on.

Now in the "the moment" of falling some very unwanted feelings begin to bubble up under your skin: Anger, fear, betrayal... all of the feelings and instincts that tell you to never get on a horse again. See that, the falling, does not, and never will, make you a rider.

No, it's the moment when you pick yourself up, dust off your jeans, straighten your back and walk over to your unrepentant horse, give her a pat on the shoulder, and hoist yourself back up into the saddle to try again... That's the moment that you officially have ridden a horse.

This is how I try to go through my life. I believe that you have not really lived until you fail at something and then pick yourself up, stick up your chin, and try again.

So go on. Go fail epically at something. It's good for the soul. It's even better when you come back and kick ass at it the second time round.