On learning

Not too long ago, I read that when we are ready, the teacher will find us.

My first thought upon reading these words was that I must not really be ready yet, because no matter how hard I thought I searched to find a teacher over the past few years, I felt I had none.

My second thought was that I don’t realize all the teachers I actually have. Sometimes, I suppose, teachers do not come in the form of experts, old wise men, clinicians, and professions. Perhaps teachers come in the form of any one or thing that can share a lesson with us, a lesson we are in need of learning at that time. And on this account, I have had many.

The last time I had a formal lesson with horses was almost 30 years ago. Since then, I’ve worked with horses, lived with horses, and even taught folks about horses. But a huge gap in my knowledge is there, and it seems to get more vast each year. I had taken to reading every book I could find by famous horsemen and clinicians. This began opening my eyes, which as I mentioned in an early post, is a frightening point to be at. That stage where we begin to see how little we really know.

Somewhere in my frustration, I figured the answers would lie within a relationship with a teacher. I had this preconceived notion of what that teacher should be. First and foremost, it was someone who cared about me and my progress, and wanted to share with me to help me improve. That was my dream.

I live on a ranch in just about the most remote location in the Lower 48 that I know of. And between running a guest ranch, having our herd, and homeschooling our son, I find it hard to leave. Being as shy as I am, too, doesn’t help. I didn’t want to go anywhere to learn. I figured, shoot, it’s so beautiful here, surely I could convince someone to come here to work with me. My husband never even flinched at the rates I quoted him that these teachers charge for daily rates of one-on-one instructions. He knew how important this is to me.

However, very few with busy schedules can find time to make it out to this mountain. No matter how I tried, no teacher, clinician or instructor I contacted for a year and a half could make it out here.

Finally, I chose to participate in a clinic. Let me tell you, this was a big deal for me. I am sure it’s not easy for anyone to take off for the weekend, but I made a real show of it. I packed up three of my horses, my husband, and my son, and we camped in a town down in the valley below our mountain, about 3 hours from home, for the weekend. Had a caretaker up here holding down the fort while we moved in down at the fairgrounds, cooking and sleeping in the trailer.

I chose the oldest, wisest clinician I had ever heard of, and was certain that after four days studying with this man, I was going to leave a new horsewoman.

I was wrong. Instead, I spent four days listening to him yell, insult, and cut away at the participants ego until finally, most left feeling more ignorant and incapable than when we arrived. Yes, I imagine each participant learned a few gems of knowledge to soak up and sprout later. However, confidence is an issue many of us went in there dealing with, and left in worse shape than when we arrived.

My next teacher experience involved me hitting the road alone, with two of my horses in tow, all the way to Texas to spend two weeks studying with someone I believe is probably the best living cowboy. This made my experience of camping in the fairground look like the back yard. Talk about out of your element. And from the get go, I was reminded that I was indeed far from my mountain. One fellow participant ever so politely explained to me that my gear was wrong here. Hmmmm. Time to learn. Just because it worked in the mountains, doesn’t make it right in Texas. My hand tied halter and old leather headstall repaired time and time again with copper rivets just wouldn’t cut it in this group. I hadn’t realized the importance of my “look” until then. Next, the teacher left for almost a week. That makes learning a bit difficult. But third, I just came to realize that not all teachers can care about all their students. And that thing I was looking for, of someone who would really help because they cared, was not there. I don’t know how to create that, or if you can. Enthusiasm and interest as a student are not enough.

Thus, I returned home in frustration. Not knowing how to learn all that I so desperately want to know. So, as so many of us women do, I went out to sit with my horses and cry. And in doing that, I realized: There are the teachers I’ve been looking for. 8 of them here right now, outside my cabin door, a whistle away. Ready to learn and to teach at the same time. And yes, they do care.

Not exactly what I was expecting to find in my search. Isn’t it funny how sometimes what we spend so much time searching for ends up right in front of us? Yes, I will still hope for and be open to any and all teachers to come into my life. Some will briefly pass by, and share with me just the right wisdom that I need right then and there. Others might care and commit to help me on my journey. Other times, I will play the role of teacher, and help others along the road of their journey.

Although I hope to one day feel confident again with learning, with my knowledge, with my skills with horses, I do hope that learning remains a never ending journey between me and the horses I am lucky enough to spend my life with.