A Rock 'N Roll Religion

My first real love

I used to write all the time. In online journals, paper journals, word documents on my computer — for nearly 15 years now. I was a blogger before the term “blogger” even existed.   It’s always been sort of a passion of mine. I’ve never aspired to write a novel or anything, but I’ve always loved putting my thoughts and stories on paper, sometimes even for others to see. I stopped writing and sharing about a year ago. I landed my dream job and I no longer needed my love for writing that got me through middle school, high school, college, and life after college in retail hell.

While logging a few miles on the treadmill today, a song came on that brought back memories of my horseback riding days and I got the sudden urge to write about it. 

So here I am.

I have a pretty awful long term memory (maybe thats why I’ve grown to love to write — a way of reliving the past without actually having to remember) but a lot of my horseback riding days have always stuck with me. I remember my first time ever riding a horse… I was terrified and clinging onto the horses mane while hunched over and burying my head into its neck. As a 6 year old, I hadn’t experienced a fear that acute. After about 10 minutes I was lifted off the horse where I felt knee buckling relief. Later, I watched the older kids ride around the barn and felt an incredible sense of awe. The horses fled by in a flash with their riders clucking, sometimes yelling, and dirt flying everywhere. The horses seemed unrelenting and their riders confident. While watching them, I made a vow to myself that no matter how scared I was, I would become just like them. 

And I did. My trainer had a reputation for being ruthless. She trained not only her riders to be great equestrian riders, but more importantly, how to be fearless. Id get on any horse without hesitation. Whenever a horse reared up, I’d cling to its mane with one hand and take the whip and strike its behind with the other without my heart skipping a beat, without a flinch. And whenever I fell off (which surprisingly wasnt as often as you’d think — knowing me now) I got right back up and on that horse (just like that silly cliche) and fought back tears the rest of the lesson because of the pain. I could endure anything for 45 minutes and in my mind there was no way that horse was getting off easy the rest of the lesson. I was ruthless and fearless, just like Wendy trained me to be.

Having all that confidence and fearlessness and control over something 10 times my size was one of the most euphoric feelings I’ve ever felt. There was only one thing better than that. It came after a lesson, on one of those rare days where the spring or summer weather beckons you and your horse is still antsy with energy to dispense. We’d take off to the back field without the watchful eyes of an instructor. Just me and the horse. Horse and rider. And a big open field devoid of any trails or arenas. I’d relax my legs, lean forward, let the rains go slack, grab fistfuls of mane… And, takeoff. This wasn’t a controlled canter. It was a full on run and I wasn’t the least bit in control. The wind would burn my cheeks and my surroundings were a blur and all I could hear was the rythmetic stomp of hooves. I’ve never felt so invincible, never felt so free than i did  in those moments of letting go in that grassy, open field.  

When I became 16, cars and friends and boys took more and more precedence over riding. When college came, it was merely an old hobby I used to love. Sometimes I want to take it up again. Whenever I go out to the stables these days, the smell of the stables — manure, hay, and dirt — still smells like freedom to me. But it’s also not the same. When you’re 12 years old, you don’t worry much about broken bones and snapped necks. As a 27 year old, you do.

Visiting the stables is sort of like what I’d imagine having lunch with an old boyfriend would be like. Fun to reminisce about old feelings but an unnerving feeling of how much things have changed. It’s hard to stay friends with an ex — it’s equally hard for me to fall back in love with horseback riding or even pick it up as a casual hobby. I’ll never be able to reclaim those euphoric feelings. It won’t ever be as freeing or as fun as it was 10 years ago. 

I’ll always miss riding. And i’ll always love those humongous, gentle creatures and carry all those fond memories. And maybe eventually I’ll be able to accept that even though it won’t be the same, I can learn to enjoy it again. Just in a different way.

Also, one of my greatest flaws when it comes to writing (besides run-on sentences, hah) — I’ll never be able to end remininscings or strings of thought without wanting to wrap it up in a horribly cheesy way. I’ve never liked the way authors always end their stories in a neat and tidy way with a happily-ever-after bow, but I can’t ever stop myself from doing the same.