Excerpt
How to Have Confidence
"It is easy to conquer the world from the back of a horse." Genghis Khan
I knew a woman who kept Icelandic horses, and one Saturday she invited me along on a group ride. We started at Waddell Creek, off Pacific Coast Highway, and rode through the giant redwoods and lush meadows of Big Basin State Park. I was riding a chestnut mare with a flaxen mane and tail whose name was Lutka, which is Icelandic for luck. It had rained earlier in the day and the skies were clearing in the lowlands, but the forest was bathed in fog so thick we couldn't see from one end of the trail to the other. It was misty and cool, and the horses were in high spirits. All of these horses had been born in Iceland and brought to the States. Perhaps the weather made them think they were back on their windy coastal island.
We rode through the dripping rainforest, passing trees furred with bright green moss, slick ferns unfurling delicate new fronds, black and orange caterpillars dozing on branches. We practiced tölting, the smooth fifth gait of Icelandic horses. In the afternoon we jumped over a fallen log, and one rider fell off her horse. The riderless horse bolted, and since Lutka and I were closest we gave chase, pursuing the runaway down the twisting trail until we were galloping side by side. I leaned out over my horse and grabbed the runaway horses reins, at a full gallop, like a trick rider, and gradually the two horses slowed to a trot, and finally a walk. We turned around and trotted back to join the other horses. All the riders applauded when they saw us, and when Lutka heard the applause she snorted and pranced sideways down the trail. She knew we were heroes. That was a great day.
I didn't realize it was one of my dreams to be a trick rider until quite late in life, when it was impossible, in a practical sense, to fulfill the dream. But I took pleasure in the knowledge anyway. I knew, in the way you just know some things, that if I had realized earlier in life that I wanted to be a trick rider I could have been one, and somehow, that was enough. Why did I not become a trick rider? Who cares? The reasons we haven't done the things we have't done are not that interesting. In Mongolia, where horses are cherished and children are put in the saddle from a young age, the measure of a gifted rider is someone who can pick coins off the ground at a full gallop. I've never had a chance to do that, but I think I could. In fact, I know I could, and somehow, that's enough.
Whenever my self-confidence is at a low ebb, I remember Lutka and our wild gallop through the forest. I remember that feeling of triumph when I reached for the runaway horse's reins and grabbed them on the first try. I remember the feeling of being perfectly poised in the saddle, as if Lutka and I were a single being, fused together. I think, I can do anything. And I know it's true.