For a while, I’ve been contemplating my relationship with blogging and social media in general. At first, I blamed it on online habits. The landscape has changed. Are blogs dead? I don’t know. They’re certainly increasingly rare in a society that’s rapidly losing our attention span. And I’m not above it. Want to know what app I spent most of my time mindless scrolling on last year? TikTok. And I think those 3-minute videos are just way too long.

But it’s more than that. I’ve changed. A more correct way to phrase that would be, I’m changing.

I first started writing here when I moved to Texas in 2010. It was a fresh start for my little family—me, my husband, Tim, and our two dogs. Things had not been good for us living in MA. We both drove into town determined to find some happiness in the 300 days of sunshine a year this city offers.

For a long time, we did.

When I got Simon in 2012, it became mostly a blog about a horse. But as any equestrian knows, horses are about so much more than horses. I wrote about failure, fears, success, dreams, wants, frills, and anxiety. This sport is incredibly hard. I don’t have to tell any of you that.

Looking back, I thought I wrote a blog about horses and riding. But really, it was more about perseverance and love. The cast of characters grew with new dogs, horses, barn friends, and blogging buddies. I shared them all with you not only out of habit but deep admiration. Because I love this sport, the friends I’ve made through it, the animals I’ve been privileged enough to share my life with. I still do.

Ever since Simon died, it’s been hard for me to write here. I go in spurts, but I can’t maintain it. For a long time, I beat myself up about this. Told myself stories why I couldn’t write for SMTT. It’s because I should be working on “serious” writing instead. It’s because I get paid for writing for other media outlets. It’s because I don’t have enough time. Because, because, because…

But really, it’s because this blog is a long, messy, book. It’s the story of a girl that moved to a new city and got back into riding. One that loved a complicated man. It’s a book about a horse that helped hold her heart when it hurt the most. This story has so much loss, but just as much joy.

I think every time I’ve tried to re-start the blog, the book really, with the newest character, I fall short. I thought it might have been because Poet and I ended up not being the right match, but really it’s because the book has ended. The book of Lauren, Tim, Eliot, BT, Pascale, and Simon living in Texas is over. Writing that sentence, staring at it now, makes me cry. Even all these years later, I hate that it’s over. As difficult as it was, I loved that life. I would have held on to it forever. But damn, wasn’t it a good story?

For a long time, maybe years, I’ve been unable to accept that part of my life is over. This blog is a part of that. I kept trying to plug away at it with a new spin, new adventure, new horse, but it hasn’t felt like home (if home can be a digital little space on the internet) since Simon. I haven’t been able to maintain the joy of writing here. So, it’s time. It’s been time.

Since this might all seem a little melancholy and final, let me say that I’m definitely not done. Not with writing, and certainly not with riding and adventures and maybe even blogging. 2021 was a very rough year for me. The impact of everything that has happened, all the losses plus a pandemic, settled on me—and settled down hard. But I’m okay. I wasn’t for a bit, but I am now. Am I great? Who knows. It’s hard to imagine what “great” feels like, but I am okay. There is laughter. There is joy.

Of course, everyone is most interested in the horse. And I don’t blame you! When I dropped off here, I was mid-horse shopping. In a twist of events I never thought would happen, I imported sight unseen off video. Me, huge OTTB advocate “broke” equestrian whose heart horse was a free TB with terrible hocks, now owns an imported Oldenburg. Bananas!

This is Crusero, aka Captain, a 2012 16.3hh Oldenburg gelding, Cortez x Stakkota (Toulon) for all you bloodline folks.

He is the best thing that happened to me this year, and one of my greatest sources of joy. Bred by Lewitz stud and presumably sold as a yearling, he was owned by an older adult amateur man and showed the 1.10m jumpers locally in Europe. I don’t know his full story. He has no rated record and although I have his Oldenburg papers he was never branded or officially registered that I can tell. Somewhere along the way, I think he fell through the cracks and ended up at the reseller I bought him from. None of this matters much to me.

Captain isn’t a “perfect” horse but he is perfect for me. Even though he is nothing like Simon, every now and then he does something that reminds me of my beloved nerd horse. When that happens, my heart pretty much explodes with warmth. Like Simon, he is extremely kind and wants to do the right thing. I call him a cruise ship because he is long. This makes him kind of hard to ride, not because of any naughtiness but because he needs a lot of nuanced communication to keep that big long body moving properly. But that’s okay because it gives me so much to work on.

I never feel unsafe with him. My jumping confidence is slowly coming back. We’re in a great program, and both getting better. It’s odd though. I’ve sunk so much more money than I ever thought possible into a show horse, and have less desire to show than ever. I know we’ll get out in the ring, but there’s no rush. Until then, we’re having fun and improving together.

As I rattle off about Captain, I remember how easy sharing my horsey world with y’all is. That will continue in some ways. I Instagram a lot on my horse account, @laurenlovesapony, which features quite a lot of Captain content. Moving forward, I may use that more as a mini-blog platform when the mood strikes. And I’ll probably blog again on a personal level, but it won’t be here.

This blog has given so much to me. I never considered it “serious” writing, but that isn’t fair. It helped me hone my voice. It has gotten me jobs and opportunities I wouldn’t have had otherwise. In large part, it helped me get into graduate school for writing—a dream I had since I was a teenager. But more than the accolades, it’s a digital archive of my best—and worst—moments. I can look back into those times whenever I want, with a smile or a deep sigh. It connected me to so many people I consider true friends. It opened my world and my heart.

The hardest part of writing longform is the beginning and end. The last sentence you leave readers with needs to be powerful. It should linger with them. It should tie back to themes you established throughout the book. I can bust out a curtain line (that sentence that ends a paragraph or section that ideally feels like a little bit of a gut punch), but I suck at endings. When you write memoir, or blog, the ending is never really the ending. It’s a fight with yourself to get the last word in.

So I’ll just say this—I loved it all.

The best side effects from the glory days of horse blogging when I went through my entire feed daily and wrote all the comments are the friendships. Through blogging, I’ve made connections and friendships that feel lifelong. Bloggers and readers have given me support beyond what I could have imagined. After Tim died, the generosity from the blogging community literally helped me pay my mortgage one month when I wasn’t sure how I’d manage otherwise. Luckily these days, things are better. I can focus on the fun part of blogger friends, whether it’s supporting each other on social media or texting about all things pony. Most fun of all though is when I get to hang out with my blog friends in person. That was the case this weekend when I had the pleasure of hosting Emily!

Through the magic of work travel in the before times re Covid, I’d met Emily for drinks a few times over the years. Since then, a lot has happened. Her story is her own, but we have a lot in common far beyond horses. Which was a metaphor for the weekend. In fact, this was the only horse that made an appearance during her visit:

Well, unless you count the time we spent watching Olympic cross country—aka gasping and repeating “Oh hell no” over and over again to the television between sips of Champagne.

Horses are the common denominator that brings blog friends together, but we stick to each other for way more than that. Horse people are passionate, driven, hard-working, and a little bit crazy (in the best way). In addition to that though, I’ve found the bloggers to also be empathetic, deep thinkers who really care about the people in their circles.

So of course, it was a fun weekend. And of course, we talked about ponies. But between escaping the Austin heat and trying to make sure Lucie didn’t try to jump in the plane with Emily to head back home (Lucie snuck into her room at night to sleep!), we covered a lot more than the hunters.

As I resume my normal day-to-day worklife, I wanted to take a minute to appreciate not only Emily but all of the friends I’ve made through this blog. I’m so grateful for all of those who have opened their hearts and often their home to me. I’ve been fortunate to meet so many of y’all, and hope to see more in the future. Whether we stopped blogging, kept blogging, or somewhere in-between, the people will always be the best part of this space. Though I love your horses past and present, I love y’all much more.

So how do you write an update with no firm details and no media? First, the high-level overview:

1. This market is nuts.
2. I’m in the early stages of, “I’m never gonna find a pony!” stage.

That being said, I would like to share a little about the prospects we’ve passed on. So to do that, I will be describing them as very-not-horsey animals.

The Kudu

I didn’t actually meet the Kudu myself. It was a few hours away at a Kudu showing facility doing fancy Kudu things. But my trainer happened to be there with reinforcements, and they checked out the Kudu for me. This creature had the best brain ever. So much to love about the Kudu. We had known about it for a while, but at first watching the Kudu on video didn’t exactly spark joy for me. After hearing how great the brain was, I was a lot more interested. But ultimately the Kudu had some price fluctuations, and ultimately decided to continue looking. This one is going to make someone really happy though.

The Brontosaurus

When I saw the ad for the Brontosaurus, I was immediately in love. On paper, it was absolutely everything I was looking for. Already having missed out on two seemingly perfect creatures in my price range that went on trial in less than 24 hours before I could even think about traveling to see them, we didn’t want to delay on Bronty. So trainer and I hopped on a plane the next day to see it.

Bronty was beautiful, tall and at a very “what you see is what you get” dinosaur training facility, which I love. It was a great size with comfortable gaits. But there were a few things about it that triggered some horsey PTSD for me. Things a different rider would not care about at all, but for whatever reason they bothered me. Still, we decided to go back the next day to try Bronty again, because I really wanted this to be the one. But my heart wasn’t in it. When my trainer hopped on the beautiful dino again, we both agreed it wasn’t the one.

The Swan

Ugh, this one still stings a little. The Swan could have easily been a black swan, because I had no idea it existed. When we flew to see the Brontosaurus, the swan was an extra creature we figured would be educational to sit on. Then we both fell in love. On paper, I would have never wanted the swan (which goes to show you how wild this process really is). It used to swim in super fancy ponds and there are photos of it all over the internet zipping and swooping over huge obstacles. Meeting the swan, we were overcome with kindness and a willing attitude. It was a little older than I wanted but came with so much knowledge and experience. When I said “Hey I’m with you, let’s do this” the swan replied, “Good. Let’s fly.”

I took a million pictures of it. Watched all the videos over and over again on the way home on the plane. But, you know this story has to end differently than I wanted it to. When the vet looked the swan over, they found something that not only currently bothered it a bit but one of those “not if, but when” situations. Still, I tried to offer a lease-purchase at a price I was comfortable gambling with. I knew they wouldn’t take it, and they didn’t.

So that’s where we are. I know I’m not patient, and I know the market is nuts, so I give myself pep talks a lot. Mostly they are, “You are so lucky to be able to do this” and “You haven’t been looking long. It’s too early to despair.”

I wouldn’t categorize my feelings as despair, but it’s a hard process in a hard market and I am so desperately ready to find ‘the one.’ Until then, the search continues.

Back in April I was feeling a little blue, and texted a friend who moved to Oregon a few years ago. Because she is such a fun, kind and positive person, I essentially invited myself over. That trip happened last weekend (sorry y’all, I think I brought the Texas heat with me) and it was such a lovely break from reality. Also, like, no one told me… Oregon is BEAUTIFUL!

She lives in the valley, so I flew into Portland where we did essential Portland things like go to Powell’s book store and eat delicious food. I’ve been to a ton of book stores in my day, but completely underestimated Powell’s. So. Many. Books.

Even though I have a stack on my nightstand that I’m “totally planning to read” right now, I still picked up a few. Channeling my inner horse/dog girl, I got a researched nonfiction narrative about dog showing and breeding which should be interesting (whenever I actually read it) since I’m so on the fence with purebred versus rescue mutts these days. I also picked up a Frank Madden showing/training book from the early 90s as a gift to my trainer (spoiler alert in case you’re reading this… surprise?). It has a ton of exercises and charts that I think she’ll geek out on, and a totally laughable dedication for George Morris for being “such a great role model and friend.” Barf.

The rest of our time we mostly spent hiking through Fern Gully to look at waterfalls. Living in Texas so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be around tall trees. And Oregon’s are huge even compared to North Carolina standards. All the greenery was amazing. I think it’s my late-30s-year-old-lady coming out. But ferns growing naturally all around the path did me a damn delight.

And the waterfalls! Zomg! In North Carolina, there’s a park with some falls that people drive hours to go hike and see. I too have hiked and seen those waterfalls. They were nice. They were pretty. We were all like, yay! waterfalls! But um, they can’t compare to the ones in Oregon.

We went to a smaller park/hike first, and I was like “ooo what amazing waterfalls what a treat” and my friends said oh no, wait until tomorrow. That’s when we went to Silver Lake Falls and I was like “Okay, well that’s a waterfall!” Then we proceeded to learn how to do slow exposure photos on iPhone to photograph said waterfalls to death, and wish it wasn’t so hot when we had to walk back up a mountain to get to the car later.

To round out the weekend, we decided to head to the coast to escape the heat. The temperature dropped 40 degrees in an 1.5 hour drive. But the closer we got, the foggier it was. Why were we driving into the cloud? We came for the scenic views and to watch the sunset, but standing on the beach you couldn’t even see the ocean. It was comical.

That’s when we learned that the hotter it is inland, the foggier the coast is. With the heat wave this weekend, you can imagine it was pretty damn foggy. But we ate delicious crab soup on the dock and walked around the fishing boats. Nothing wrong with that.

It was a great, much needed escape. Now I’m back in the throes of my bananas life. Trying to figure out how to blog about the horse shopping without jinxing myself, putting down any horses/sellers, and generally being on the up and up about the whole thing. But that’s a problem for another day.

Five has more oomph. Major milestones are always a dividend of five. A solid half or a quarter on your way to something. High five. Five fingers. When it comes to horse shopping (something on my mind a lot lately), five figures.

Six is less ostentatious. Maybe even a little ominous. 666 doesn’t really fill you with the warm and fuzzies, but here we are. Tim died six years ago. He was 36 then. I am 36 now. Everything—and nothing—has changed.

I thought five years was going to be a significant milestone. I planned this big hiking outing to Enchanted Rock, the last place we spent the weekend together before he died. Only when I got there, they sold out of day passes the car before me. I had to turn around and drive home. Like so many things last year, Covid changed protocol. And even though I’m someone who prides myself on my planning, I wasn’t prepared. In the last six years, there have been many things I wasn’t prepared for.

At this point, I’ve written so much about my grief. It has all begun to feel a bit repetitive. I write about how I never thought I’d be here. Didn’t expect to be a thirty-year-old widow, and certainly didn’t expect to still be alone so many years after. I reference the worst times. They mostly seem bound to this god awful Round Rock apartment where I sifted through his private papers—old love letters and notes from group therapy from a part of his life I never knew. Boxed in by those soulless tan walls, I rocked in place to soothe myself as I listened to the voicemail from the Travis County coroner finally declaring his an accidental death. It was that apartment that I came home from the vet without BT. That room where I always had trouble sleeping, listening to the coyotes yip after rabbits in the fields behind the building.

Those days are far behind me now. I don’t go there often.

I’ve written about how I often feel alone in my experience. There are so few people in my life that know what it’s like. But lately, I feel like this solidarity is a choice I’ve made—and probably not the right one. It’s a lot easier to say, “My husband passed away, but it was a while ago,” with a smile or reassuring remark. Hearing that from someone so young makes people uncomfortable. They live comfortably in a reality where it can’t happen to them (spoiler alert—it can).

It’s much harder to talk to someone who knows. When I do, I have to face it. Even though it was “a while ago,” when I remember what it was like coming home that day my breath falls short, my heart rate increases. When I really remember, no time has passed at all. I think it would have served me well to have more of those conversations over the past six years, spend more time with others who have walked this walk. Grief is not an endurance race with a finish lane, but I have often felt behind or stuck.

Something I have thought about a lot lately is what would Tim think of the world if he were still here. No part of me wishes that he died, but I’m glad he hasn’t had to witness a lot of the past year. The anxiety of Covid, especially when it comes to his mother being at risk, would have broken him. He would have wept over George Floyd. Tim felt things so deeply that I wouldn’t have wanted him to see so much of this hardship and tragedy. Yet, I wish he could play with his niece, who he would adore. I wish he knew Lucie. She’s such a playful goon. He would have happily gotten down on the floor and wrestled with her—his favorite way to play with dogs. Even with all the stress and sadness, there is still joy. We’re all trying to find the slivers.

Ever since he died, I’ve had this sense of “catching up.” Our six-year age difference was never a big deal, but it was something we were both aware of through the relationship. Mostly in those silly, “You were in middle school when this song came out?!” kind of moments. I used to joke that I was young and vivacious. When he or his friends called me a baby, I’d quickly spurt back how they were just jealous because I would outlive them (let me tell you, that joke has not held up well). But now I’ve caught up. In a few months, I will have outlived him. It’s extremely unsettling.

I feel like I understand him so much more now. In my 20s, my career was just this thing I did to try and pay the bills. He was the breadwinner, with all of the pressure that comes with that, and I felt like my role was to be supportive. The big logistics of adulthood all landed on him. It feels unfair now, but I didn’t understand those pressures back then. Now I’m in my own corporate rat race. Large decisions are mine alone. It was overwhelming at first, but I freeze less now when it’s time to pull a trigger. Still, there’s a weariness that piles on over time. I regret I can’t share the understanding with him now.

While time is not kind to our bodies, it gives the gift of maturity. Many of the things I cared about or said to him from 21-30 seem so trivial now. I wish I could sit down with him for coffee and chat with the insight and experience of these past six years. But beyond whatever metaphysical connection there may be, the person he knew is frozen. I’m not the same person anymore.

Tim always felt things deeper than I do. Unless a horse or a dog were involved, I turned away from sentiment. Though he was kind about my perceived heartlessness, the disconnect frustrated him. These days, I feel so deeply. I can’t handle any violence on film or media. At first I thought it was a result of the trauma, but just yesterday I watched a nature documentary where a pack of African wild dogs chased down a herd of Wildebeest. As the herd sprinted away, a stray calf trailed behind dangerously close to the snapping mouths of dogs. I could picture what was going to happen. I’ve seen the takedown so many times before. But the mother Wildebeest slowed her gait to fall back with him. Galloping, she darted behind her calf and flanked the dogs. They spun off her thick shoulders to smash down into the dust. The Wildebeest caught back up with the rest of the herd. Watching this, I felt the lengths a mother will go to for their child. I thought of Tim’s mother, and felt a hollow spot grow inside my heart.

It’s not blood or violence or gore that triggers me. It’s knowing what it feels like to lose.

Most days, there’s none of the sadness or the dark thoughts. Occasionally I feel ridiculously sorry for myself and have an epic pity party. More rarely, I’ll cry to a friend or my therapist. Mostly though, mundane life crept back. After Tim died, my perspective entirely changed. So many things that used to seem important, like horse showing or housework, barely mattered. My pendulum of what consisted of “happy” or “sad” burst wide open into emotions I didn’t realize existed. I thought I would hold onto it forever.

But it’s all slowly shifted back. The worst of the pain sits like a shadow, a memory of how bad it was. Even though I’d like to admit otherwise, I do in fact “sweat the small stuff.” I think—I hope—this entrance back into normality is another form of healing.

Which means that today I didn’t make any grand plans. I took the day off from work, and am finishing this post on my couch with Lucie splayed out next to me. We’ll go for a hike before it gets too hot. I may get crazy and buy some stuff for my patio this afternoon. Plant a few flowers. You know, the wild and crazy times of a 36 year old woman.

I’ll think about Tim some throughout the day, surely more often than a day that doesn’t hold as much significance. I will go through the mental gymnastics of conjuring up his smile, his walk, his laugh—something that is more difficult to reconstruct now. I’ll notice and appreciate the things he’d like but isn’t here to see. But also, I’ll run the dishwasher. Talk about something he wouldn’t give two shits about. Look online for ponies with price tags that would horrify him.

Because as big of a part of my life he continues to be, I’m more and more of my own person. I used to live for him. To honor his memory, write and share his story, love him forever. And though for year six and seven and eight and forty-two I will continue to do those things, the person I have to live for is me.

I’m in the very early stages of horse shopping, something we all know to be both an exciting and frustrating process. And unlike the last couple of times I’ve shopped, my trainer will be the one driving the shopping process.

Don’t get me wrong–I’ve always had trainer input on my horses. Usually I go through 100 videos online, share 50 of those videos with friends, and 10 with trainer. If there’s one they like, I try to go see it. Sometimes I go alone or with a friend, and sometimes I go with the trainer. And if we all like it, we try to buy the horse. Bing bang boom, pony!

Looking back on my track record of horses purchases, my success rate is pretty mixed. My first heart horse, Elvis, I found myself out of the Raleigh “News & Observer” newspaper. My heartiest of all heart horses, Simon, I met at a former barn. Really, he found me.

I’ve owned a few horses that I never would have met if it weren’t for my trainer making the connection. And, um, I–cough–didn’tlikethosehorsesatall–cough–. Honestly, I don’t really want to get into which horses or why (longtime readers can probably guess). I chock it up to life lessons, and Captain Hindsight.

So now I’m here letting a relatively new trainer drive the process. Because I’m a bit of a control freak who is used to doing a lot of things myself, it feels strange. But in the spirit of making my life easier right now, I’m going to trust trainer’s expertise. I really like the horses in the barn that she’s found and produced. There are several of them I’d be happy to own myself.

The other thing I’m doing differently, which can be a little uncomfortable to talk about, is that I’m planning to spend more money. I may be horse poor, but I’m privileged. I work really hard to afford all of this, and as a trainer once told me “It costs just as much money to keep up a nice horse as it does a not-so-nice one.” That isn’t saying the horses I’ve been fortunate enough to own or work with aren’t nice. I’d dump all of my bank accounts in a second to have Simon back, even though he’s not the kind of horse that would have stood out at most shows.

But at this point in my life, I want more training. I refuse to buy something that doesn’t already have a lead change. And with horse prices being absolutely insane right now, I have to pay for that privilege. In hunter horse budget terms, I still don’t have much to play with. I’m not shopping for a Lexus or a Tesla. We’re going more for like a Honda crossover SUV. And you know, I adore my Mazda CX-5.

I feel like this is the point of the horse shopping experience where I’d write a funny, honest ISO. Even though trainer is the one posting those in Facebook groups, here’s my take:

Emotionally battered adult amateur seeks fun horse. She really wants is a 17hh hack winner palomino or pinto with a 10 jump and an auto-change, but her budget is more along the lines of an honest citizen who safely jumps with an easy swap. Quirky is fine, as long as quirky doesn’t involve spooking at imaginary fairies or stopping for funsies. This horse’s version of funsies should be 2’6″ hunters and getting groomed (currying and all). Would love to have scope and step for the 3′, but buyer only ever wants to jump 3′ if she’s had a really good night’s sleep and perhaps an extra glass of wine. Can be older (buyer is getting older herself) or need maintenance, as long as horse can likely do the job for the foreseeable future… or at least as much as anyone can predict these things. Looking for a can do attitude. Can deal with all sorts of mental issues (owner has a lot of experience handling her own) so long as the desire to work and please is there. The dream is something that’s been to a few shows, but is green enough for buyer to afford. But really, there are so many different varieties that could be the dream. Just looking to start a fresh one.

If you’ve been following along, this may seem to come out of no where. It happened quickly for me too, but let me back up.

For as long as I remember, I’ve seemingly launched myself into big projects. I’ll write a book! I’ll go to grad school! Let me work another job! Let me find a better career! Do home improvement projects! Throw a party! Train a puppy! And of course, riding.

Aside from my very first horse which was a bad match to no fault of her own, I’ve never owned anything but a green horse. It’s been driven half by budget, half by this desire to chase big dreams. After all, I love a project in every sense of the word. Getting Simon from gangly, green, somewhat-lame six-year-old to my steady partner capable of winning remains one of the proudest accomplishments of my life. I had a lot of help with him of course, but I also put in countless hours myself.

When I bought Poet, I had that same sparkle in my eye that I did when I met Simon. I was smitten with him. He was, and is, so pretty! Even when we were learning how to steer, I had these big dreams in my head for both of us. In the early days, the green horse moments didn’t bother me that much. We had a long way to go, and although I am one of the least patient people in the world even I know that good things don’t come quickly. Through the first year I owned him, I worked on the basics but more importantly worked on building trust and a partnership with him. I don’t immediately bond to horses, even if I like them. It takes a lot of time, but he did slowly show me that he had my back in his own kind of way.

By year two, I was ready to go out there and do the thing. But I don’t have to tell y’all about horses and plans. For a long time, he’s been ready for a braver, scrappier amateur than me to go out and get him around a course. One that doesn’t blink at wiggles and innocent baby horse moves. But I blink. After so long not jumping anything over 18″, I’ve lost a lot of the belief that I can actually do it. The idea of getting around a course of anything more than crossrails on not-Simon feels as difficult as doing a Grand Prix right now.

Meanwhile, life and the big dreams I pursue—both in and out of the barn—continued. Taking on new challenges in my career means additional mental energy. Working a second job to pay for the privilege of having a show horse adds more hours to the clock. I’ve been spinning multiple plates for so long that I don’t even remember what it’s like to work 8 hours, have an easy, relaxing hack on my horse, and come home to watch TV with my husband before bed. Obviously the husband went away abruptly, but the rest has slowly shifted into my current life.

Therapy has helped me realize how the standards I hold for myself maybe aren’t the healthiest. Burnout is a frequent topic. And even though I take a lot of pride in how much I accomplish and all the things I’ve been able to achieve since Tim died, I have to admit some things needed to change.

I love riding. I’m never quitting. And I love owning a horse. But as I began to look at all the moving pieces in my day-to-day, I realized that I didn’t know if I loved owning this horse.

After I moved barns to a program I adore and feel like I’m thriving in, I realized that my idea of a horsey happy place may not be a perfect match with my horse’s preference. Though his flatwork is really quite solid and he’s had a lot of training put into him at this point, he’s still a green horse. For a while now, the green horse moments have felt like more of a chore to get through than an exciting journey. While I work on my own struggles, anything from equitation to high levels of stress and anxiety, I want something further along.

Still, I think I would have stayed the course if it weren’t for Simon. Poet is a character. He has a huge personality, and I love that about him. He’s cocky and confident. He’s a prankster, and a perpetual toddler—always getting into something and cheekily testing you. He’s made me a better, tougher rider and I’ve learned so much from him. But something is missing from our partnership. I love him, but I’m not in love with him.

Now that he’s six and I’ve had him for two years, I’ve been reflecting more on Simon at 6 and how I felt about Simon two years in. The mere idea of selling that horse brought me to tears. Even when we had a frustrating green horse day, I called him a knucklehead and thought he was the greatest creature on the planet. I don’t know if it’s the phase of my life that I’m in right now or just a different personality, but I don’t have that deep love for Poet. And he deserves that level of commitment.

Talking through all of this to trainer, she agreed that it was probably best for me and my horse to find a different situation. He’s not finished, so this was certainly not a flip situation to make a buck (no bucks were made, believe me). Before we listed him, I texted a few trainers in the area who often had clients looking for less expensive projects. My first hunter/jumper trainer in Austin, the one who gave me Simon, said she had a good-riding teen on a budget that specifically wanted a Thoroughbred project.

Monday night this week, I hacked, scrubbed off all the poop and grass stains (only to be replaced by more poop and grass stains I’m sure), and hand grazed him for a long time. I always watch horses when I hand graze. It’s mostly a safety habit, since Simon would panic if he ever stepped on the lead rope so I take special care to keep that from happening. But with Poet I just like looking at him. He’s beautiful. I’ve never owned a pretty horse that turned heads before. Poet is the real-life version of every horse girl dream I had as a kid.

Before I left, I hugged his neck in the stall. And that’s when I cried. They were going to pick him up for a short trial and vetting the next morning. Even though I’d been thinking about this for weeks, the reality of saying goodbye hit my heart with an unexpected whack.

I cried because I’d miss him. This being the right choice doesn’t eliminate the feelings. I’ve sold horses before that I couldn’t stand and immediately celebrated their departure, but that isn’t the situation here. If I had a farm and unlimited money, he’d be my pet. I’d feed him treats, let him lick my face like a dog, and tell him he’s pretty.

More than that, I cried because I had a lot of dreams attached to Po that now aren’t going to happen. I wanted him to be the talented youngster that I brought along (with lots of help!) through hard moments and bruises to eventually have as my lovely, winning hunter. I wanted to loop the reins on that floaty canter and cruise over oxers at Pin Oak. I wanted him to be a heart horse for me like Simon. Those dreams aren’t going to be realized, and that’s part of the sadness.

Just a little over 24 hours after he loaded up to go, I got sent a video of his new kiddo cantering him over some little jumps. She loved him. He vetted fine. Now he’s her horse. He gets to be adored and doted over (which he will think is fabulous). What horse wouldn’t want their own teenager? The family sent me the nicest note about how kind he is, and how excited they are. She’s already posted him on Instagram. I’ll be able to keep tabs on him, and might even see him at the show I’m judging next weekend.

I hope he’s good to her. I suspect he will be. Mostly, I hope together they make some of her dreams come true. Because we all deserve a horse like that, even if he isn’t going to be the one for me.

So—at least for me—this ends the chapter of Poet, Silversteen, Carateracho, my silly dappled creature. May he be her Simon.

By May, we’ve usually had a few days in the 90s. By now, summer is in full swing and we’re all planning all the air-conditioned and water activities we can to stay cool. But not this year. Noooooo.

I’ve lived here for over ten years, and I’ve never seen this much rain at once. For weeks now we’ve had extremely heavy thunderstorms, a day or so of sun, and then buckets of rain again. It feels like Louisiana. I don’t like it.

This has, of course, made equestrians and horses miserable around the area. Most people haven’t been able to ride hardly at all. Even having a covered doesn’t always help, since I know at least one barn in the area who had flooding and storm damage to their property.

I’m luckier than many, because we have incredible footing at my place. If there are close to 24 hours without rain, they can usually get it drug and rideable. So I’ve been able to sneak in rides here or there. I got to ride Sunday/Monday of Memorial Day weekend, and I got to ride last night. I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for some random hacks!

Of course, this is hard on the horses—especially Poet. Y’all know I love turnout and think it’s necessary for horses. My barn also prioritizes turnout, but is very careful about both the land and the horses. If it’s super slick and muddy, they keep the horses in so nobody gets hurt. With this much back and forth rain, that means Poet has barely gotten out at all in the past two weeks.

I hate it, but I get it. Horse life here isn’t setup for this kind of weather, especially if you’re on a smaller property that doesn’t have acres and acres of turnout (which most don’t). He still gets out of his stall pretty much every day unless it’s pouring. I’ll go out and handwalk/graze, or if I can’t they will get him out to stretch his legs. But still, it’s hard on any horse… especially a young Thoroughbred.

Unfortunately, we’re due for roughly another 8-10 days of rain. I get so down when I think about it. The weather feels apocalyptic. It feels like climate change is right on my doorstep instead of that scary thing I worry about for future generations. Mostly, I feel bad for my horse. Of course I want to get riding regularly again, but him being up this much feels awful.

Please weather gods, make it stop.

“Oh yeah, get back on the horse.” she said. “Like the saying!”

Because I am me, horses come up a lot. I try not to get too technical, because therapist isn’t exactly a horse person. But here, she found some common ground and smiled at me knowingly. That’s when I realized we weren’t on the same page.

“Um..” I filled the space.

“Wait—that’s a real thing?”

“Absolutely.”

“So what would happen if you didn’t get back on the horse, and went to go have a good cry instead?”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t do that. Toughness is highly regarded in the horse world.”

She stared at me.

“It’s a point of pride to get through hard things, and put your feelings in a box. People get praised for their war stories of riding through injuries and crazy situations. Literally yesterday someone told me how they got thrown into this huge jump, had an injury that probably should have been seen a doctor, and then went to compete in a horse show the next day. And we were all impressed,” I explained.

Through the zoom screen, her brain slowly broke into pieces.

“I mean, one of my favorite horse stories is the time I got thrown into a jump at a horse show. I hit this metal piece that holds the jump rails up, which tore through my breeches. So I safety pinned them together, showed the rest of the day, and still have a huge scar on my ass to show for it.”

“Okay,” she paused, processing. “Do you have any injuries that you maybe want to seek medical attention for this time?”

“Oh no,” I replied. “I’m totally fine. This is not a big deal.”

She kept a straight face, though I was fairly certain everything I just explained was against every self-care, “feel the feelings” training she’s ever had.

“Yeah, I’m not sure if I’m the way I am because of this sport or I like this sport because of the way I am.”

“Well,” she finally spoke. “I’m glad you didn’t go cry?”

Rainy days make for
a fresh gray baby hunter
with lots of feelings.

Not to exclude him,
I too have many feelings.
Equestrian spazz.

Watched taxidermy,
didn’t get my coyote
but that’s for the best.

Because now I need
new helmet, margarita
– adult ammy life.