I've been playing around with my blog a bit, and I added a new section there on the right that lists the shows I want to attend this year. I also included the ambitious word "Results" to the title. EEEEK! That makes it seem so public, so set in stone, so real. I truly do want to show quite a bit this year, and I'm working seven days a week to make sure that I can afford to do so. But, having those goals so...so...out there makes them seem so real.
Then, that thought triggers those little voices in my head that are attached to my performance. What if I don't do it? What if I go and fail? What if I can't measure up to the expectations that I just put out there for the world to see?
I know...I know. It doesn't really matter. In the whole grand scheme of things, my performance or lack thereof at these shows truly doesn't even make a dent in the universe. Only in my own little world and my own myopic vision do scores or performance at these shows really matter. I guess I just feel the weight of it a little differently - I've been wanting to do this my whole life. I remember being in high school and talking to my friend, Amy, on the phone for hours after she had gotten back from one hunter show or another. She would tell me every detail, and I would drink them in like a thirsty man at a desert oasis. As she told me of prepping for classes, braiding, bathing, warming up, and how her courses went, I yearned to be the one at the show. I wanted to be the one getting up at dawn, feeding the horses, walking my courses, getting nervous, and riding in the ring. I wanted to be the one who had ribbons on her stall door. I wanted to be the one who missed school not because of mundane sickness but because of horse shows. I wanted to be the one who had stories to tell and phone calls to make when I got home.
Fast forward to my adult life, working in Virginia for a dressage "trainer" (yes, I put it in quotation marks - WHY I put it in quotation marks is for a different blog post). I had Obe for most of the time I was there, but I wasn't able to afford showing. So, I traveled to the shows...I WAS the one to get up at dawn and bathe and braid. I did the stall cleaning, tack polishing, feeding and grooming. But when it came time to step up in that left stirrup and warm up to ride the tests, that person wasn't me. It was always someone else.
Now, I'm staring down the throat of everything I've always wanted. That's THRILLING, but at the same time it's terrifying. I know enough about showing that I won't be disappointed by the atmosphere, the hard work, or the details that go into making it happen. I don't harbor any grand illusions about it in that way. But this time, I WILL be the one swinging up onto my mare, warming up, riding in the rings, showing and having stories to tell afterwards. It makes me feel all shaky and funny. I can't wait, but at the same time I'm a little scared.
No comments:
Post a Comment