How to conquer your fear of abandonment (and horses)

Part two, by Séamus Anthony

Click here to read part one first

As we stood waiting in the mud to be allocated our horses for the trail-ride, my knees were knocking together in fear. Or at least they would have been if that was something that actually happens outside of cartoons, but suffice to say, I was s-c-a-r-e-d. Those horses looked big. Real big.

And sight of the trail-ride employee with her arm in a plaster and sling didn’t comfort me any, despite her attempts to allay out fears with some cock-and-bull story about slipping over in the mud while walking away from the stable. Yeah right.

My girlfriend was allocated a horse first and it warmed my heart to see her smiling happily as she bounced up and straddled her steed. I kept waiting; shifting my weight from foot to foot as ‘they’ (okay, let’s just call them ‘horse-people’) walked their irritated-looking animals over to the edge of the muddy corral and appraisingly studied the dwindling horseless, quickly choosing people for each horse by some kind of instinct born of long experience and intimate knowledge of their horses’ temperaments – or a desire to get this over and done with – I couldn’t quite tell which.

There were only two of us left waiting, and I was nearly going nuts, by the time they walked over a friendly-looking horse, slightly bigger than the others, and called to me to step up. After re-confirming that I had indeed never ridden before, they introduced me to my nag and I clambered up with such an absolute lack of dexterity that the horse-people all had a great chuckle at my expense. Hardy har.

I was surprised to find that I felt very comfortable on my horse. I was getting a great vibe off the beast and felt utterly convinced that we were going to get along just fine; that he was going to be gentle with me and my fragile bones. All my fear seemed to just melt away.

“Actually mate”, came the call from behind me, “I reckon we’ll put you on Aubie here instead.”

I looked over my shoulder to see that the bloke in charge was leading a second, much larger horse over towards me. Frankly I had never seen an angrier looking beast in my life (outside of cheap horror movies). All that fear that had just melted re-froze my stomach in an instant.

“A-a-are you sure?”, I stammered.

I was then informed, as they helped me struggle down from the first horse, that Aubie, currently stamping his foot, snorting and apparently trying to run away from his handler, was better for me because he had a different kind of saddle fitted, one that would make my ride a lot easier in consideration of my inexperience.

Saddle? Who cares about the saddle? This horse is obviously a psychopath! I liked the first horse! There was nothing wrong with him! I wanted to scream. But instead I just meekly allowed the fellas to help me again display my lack of grace attempting to get up on the great grumpy beast.

I mumbled a timid hello to Aubie, who briefly looked back over his shoulder at me with what was undoubtedly a look of pure hate.

Great.

Death, here I come.

We eventually began loping off on our way. The idea of spending the next three hours on this animal was now even less appealing than I had imagined. I had managed to get myself to actually do this with repeated mantras to myself that once I was on a horse I would instantly see that there was nothing to be scared of. Unfortunately this did not appear to be the case. Now that I was straddling up on high I was overwhelmed with the sensation of how easy it would be for Aubie to decide to fling me off into the stratosphere at any given moment. And, more to the point, with how likely he seemed to do just this.

The horse-people weren’t particularly mollycoddling in their initial training procedures. Seeing my nervousness, one of the blokes mumbled something about the horse just being trained to “follow the arse in front like he’s been doing for ten years”. This may well be the case, I thought, but it doesn’t account for the fact that I had absolutely zero idea of how to control the animal should it decide to revolt; that today I am the straw that’s breaking his back (which, I might add, was surprisingly camel-like in terms of ergonomic comfort).

Ten minutes later I was still coming to terms with staying upright as we walked slowly down the country lane, when the horse-people announced that it was time to “go for our first run”. First run? No running! That wasn’t part of the deal!

They divided the group up into experienced and first-timers. One of the blokes gave out a great shout and took off in front. This spurred the horses in the experienced group into a run (a trot apparently) and they were away. My horse Aubie wanted to join them, and began trying to, but I held that sucker back with the iron-grip-of-terror.

“Okay”, said the bloke left in charge of us newbies, “Are we ready to go for a trot?”

“No, I don’t think so…” I began, quite seriously.

“GETTUP!” the bloke roared before I could say any more and suddenly I was in hell. Aubie takes off and apparently thinks this is a race that he simply must win. I am holding on to the reins as tight as I can to stay on, and the saddle is thumping my backside like there’s no tomorrow. It’s fun, but very, very scary.

And so we go on. Walking through the bush on our horses; me whispering sweet nothings into Aubie’s ears in a vain attempt to stop him from deciding to dump me at the side of the path like he knows he should; Aubie repeatedly attempting to veer off the path to eat grass, which invariably places me in direct danger of losing my head to overhanging branches of the trees that line the rocky winding paths.

I begin to enjoy our intermittent trots, and eventually discover the joy that is the canter (faster but smoother on the behind). And in due course I remember to stop obsessing about the terrible things that might happen, and just enjoy the fact that I am riding a horse through some of the most beautiful scenery you could ever hope to find. I remember something that Buddhists teach: that fear is usually just the imagination left to wander undisciplined, and that if you concentrate on the fact that you are safe right now, then you will realise peace and joy in the moment. I go all Zen and end up having a wonderful time.

Eventually, as we are winding our way back to the stables through a beautiful, kangaroo-inhabited valley, I find that, despite my physical exhaustion (and pain), I am reluctant for the experience to end. Even though my horse has obviously been exasperated with me the entire time, I feel that he has at least begrudgingly admitted to himself that I am a nice guy and decided to put up with me.

That is, until the final run of the day.

“Okay, we are going to go for a gallop,”, announces the leader. “Those who don’t feel up to it can walk their horses with (one of the horse-people) back to the stables; the others stay back with us for now.”

A gallop! At first I am too scared. This sounds really heavy and my hands are barely able to hang on to the reins any more as it is. I opt to walk Aubie back to the stable with two other girls.

Then, just as I am leading Aubie away, I realise what a total ‘wuss’ I am being and change my mind. I turn my steed around and join the main group of horses, who seem to know what is about to happen and are all snorting and stamping restlessly.

They divide us up into two groups again, and the more experienced riders take off first. Aubie decides he wants to go with them, and I have to pull back hard on the reins to stop him. He reacts by rearing onto his hind legs in an attempt to toss me off his back. Not once but twice!

Whoa Nelly!

Somehow I manage to stay on and keep him from bolting.

Then we are away!

We are galloping up a hill at top speed! But Aubie and I are trailing behind. Aubie is simultaneously running forward while turning his head back and thrashing about at me in obvious irritation. What am I doing wrong, Aubie? I think. Suddenly the answer comes. I am holding onto those reins like grim death, pulling back, giving Aubie the signal to pull up when he knows that this is the time run as fast as he can. I draw a deep breath and let go my tight grip on the reins and just go with Aubie’s body motion. Suddenly it is all too easy; we are flying up the hill at a great speed and it feels great! The wind in my hair, wet turf flicking up into my face, I let out a ‘Yee-ha!’ of pure joy.

So my lesson was: Whatever you’re doing, and despite whatever fears you hold, the trick to getting the most out of life is to loosen your hold of the reins, relax, and just do it anyway!

Yee-ha!

Seamus Anthony is a musician, writer and entrepreneur from Melbourne, Australia. You can read more of his stuff at Rebel Zen.