Horses and Humility
How Humility and Faith Led Me Back to My Dream Career with Horses
If you were a child of the 1970s like me, you probably remember the Sunday paper. To me, the only section worth reading-aloud to the room, I might add-was the classifieds section. And not just any part of the classifieds-the pets-for-sale section. Because mixed in with all those fluffy kittens and cute puppies were horses. Ah yes, those magical, four-legged dreams for many a young girl. And in the Sunday classifieds, you could find all the descriptive information that could fit in a 1/2-inch by 1-inch black-and-white box of type.
"Bay Appendix mare, 15.1 hh, 7 yrs., sweet, $1,500, Ph. 123-456-7890." They all read similarly. And I read each one of them, one by one, to my mom, dad, sisters, brother-whoever dared to be in the room while I had the paper in my clutches.
I read those ads for years. A born horse lover, for most of my childhood I dreamed of someday having my own horse. I dreamed of a career with horses. From time to time, I had the opportunity to ride horses that belonged to friends or neighbors, but most of my time with horses was spent in the pages of books and magazines. I was a lower-middle-class kid stuck in suburbia. I read anything I could get my hands on.
A lower-middle-class horse
Then, on my 16th birthday, my dreams came true. Kids in my tax bracket didn't own fancy mounts at elite show barns. No, we didn't come from that type of money. But my parents decided that I had longed long enough, and they bought me a horse. A lower-middle-class horse. But a horse nonetheless.
Rooster was a classifieds horse. Sorrel Quarter Horse gelding, 16 hh, gentle, $700. And while he may not have been horse royalty, and I may not have been a princess, he was everything my heart had ever dreamed of, and he was worth his weight in gold.
He was a gentle soul. Such a great first horse. He took me on exploratory rides, sometimes just him and me meandering our way through the woods, and sometimes on long trail rides with other horse owners. He taught me patience. He taught me responsibility. I worked three jobs in high school to pay his keep and to buy myself a little used pickup truck so I could visit him at the boarding barn often.
Rooster got me through high school, relationships, breakups, family problems, and a difficult first marriage. He was just there through it all.
It was during that first marriage that my then-husband announced his displeasure with me owning a horse. When I got pregnant, I gave in and sold Rooster for $1 to the owner of the boarding facility because he was so happy there. I visited him over the years until one day I showed up to see him and learned that, in his old age, his knees had given out, and the barn owner had made the compassionate decision to put him to rest.
They were always my north star
I never gave up on horses. They were always my north star. Just out of high school, I worked at a Thoroughbred race-training barn as a groom and then as an exercise rider in training. In college, I mucked stalls and saddled horses at an eventing barn. When I remarried, my husband and I bought and restored a home on 3.5 acres. We turned the standalone carport into a two-stall barn with the help of my dad and got a few family horses that we and all our kids-birthed, adopted, and fostered-enjoyed.
It wasn't until I was in my 50s that I finally landed the career I had always dreamed of. I was the Chief Operating Officer at a therapeutic riding barn. This nonprofit provided therapeutic riding and equine-assisted therapy services for individuals with special needs and veterans. I was in heaven!
But what do you do when the career you've always dreamed of is suddenly ripped away?
It was just days after my 56th birthday. I had been in my dream job for nearly 6.5 years. And I was good at it. My staff loved me. My CEO often told me I was a godsend. I ran the organization effectively and efficiently, and things were humming along. But then, in an instant, it all ended. My CEO walked in and announced that I was being released from my job. No explanation. Just done.
I've considered many times over the years what may have led to that dismissal. Every time, I came back to this: it wasn't me. I did well. In fact, I did an excellent job. I put my heart and soul into that position. And when it ended, I had just one response to the pain and hurt that dismissal caused: forgiveness and humility.
Humility is the only thing that truly propels me forward
Over and over again in the course of my professional life, I've found that humility is the only thing that truly propels me forward and gives me footing when the waves threaten to pull me under. Humility is releasing those who wrong me, accepting the lessons life teaches me, and loving when others are unlovable. It helps me keep learning and growing and prevents me from falling into circular thinking. Releasing what I can't control takes humility. Continuing to hope when curveballs are thrown takes humility.
Humility doesn't guarantee an instant rebound. I walked through four years of grief and loss when, shortly after I was fired, my sister, dad, and nephew all died within a seven-month period. Two years later, I lost my mom. The only things that carried me through were my faith in God, the prayers of others, and returning time and again to humility. Not just knowing I needed to be humble, but fully embracing humility for everything it had to teach me and every needed change it revealed. Because when I can't control a situation, I lean into doing what I know is right and trusting the process.
Last year, three years after being released from my dream horse job, I was working in a position that humbled me. I was back to doing what I had done fresh out of college. It was not my dream. But I did that job well. I was humble enough to know that I needed to do what was in front of me. And I honored my employer by doing my best. And in doing my best, one day something miraculous happened.
I was editing the bio of a coworker and noticed that she served on the board of a local nonprofit I was familiar with. I mentioned that I knew the organization because it was closely connected to the work I used to do when I was COO of the therapeutic equestrian organization. A couple of weeks later, I got a text from that coworker: "Can you talk after work?"
I am the executive director of Freedom Ride, Inc.
It's now a year later, and I'm pleased as punch to say that today I am the executive director of Freedom Ride, Inc., a therapeutic equestrian organization in Orlando, Florida. It's a lovely place to be. With 25 oak-strewn acres, 20 stalls, 12 horses, and a staff of 12, we're serving an average of 600 individuals each year with disabilities, veterans, and those facing mental and behavioral health challenges. I'm in heaven on earth!
What brought me here? What led me to my dream job again? Destiny? Yes. Faith? Yes. Connection? Yes. Patience? Yes. Skill? Maybe. My, oh my, but there's one more thing: humility.
Being me in a place that wasn't me and waiting for the stars to align. Waiting on the God who aligns them. Doing well, even when my heart was not well. Even in sorrow and grief, doing what was right. Honoring my employer. Forgiving those who hurt me. Knowing that, in the end, humility is this: a place where all that we have been through rests in the quiet shadows until the path to our next place becomes a cleared road.
The road has cleared for me. I've stepped out of the quiet place of rest. And I've asked Humility to be my partner on this new, exciting adventure.
Giddy-up and Hallelujah!
