Sydney Smith
A horse can gallop across a field in a matter of seconds, due to its 1,200 pounds of pure muscle, a vehicle for power and strength. Man broke the horse, and with that came a connection unmatched by anything else. People all around have depended on the horse for centuries, and rode them like the wind. Hundreds of hooves pounded the earth in unison as horse and rider flew to their anticipated destinations with eagerness and pride, or no destination whatsoever. For some, the horse is just a mode of transportation or business, but for others, it is a source of the purest moments of bliss that are given with the mere sound of a snort or a whinny.
When I was younger, I would pull out any excuse in the book to be allowed to meander down the dusty, tree-lined lane that led to my aunt’s barn. Whenever someone said they were walking down there, I was at their side, waiting to be asked if I wanted to ride, do chores, or simply sit and appreciate the view. I would spend hours upon hours sitting on old, wooden tack boxes, letting the hairy lips of my favorite four-legged friends nibble away at the red and white striped peppermints that rested in the palm of my hand. I would walk up and down the aisle with a well-used broom, sweeping away every little speck of dirt from every little crevice in the stone floor, just so I would not have to leave. The barn still has the same effects on me today that it did back in those days of childhood innocence. Now, I am a more mature version of that little girl who fell in love with horses, but the spark is still there.
When I hit the dirt road and hear the gravel crunch beneath the tires of my car, I know I am minutes away from the barn coming into view. Putting my car in park, my mind relaxes, while the horses show their enthusiasm, tossing their heads, the hair of their manes flying wildly. I take a deep breath in. The calm rushes over me, but the excitement of that little girl at heart will always be there, just itching to burst out. The barn, small and comforting, is my favorite place to wonder off to. I would be content with life if it was the only place I was expected every day.
Like clockwork, I pull on my grey and white polka-dot rain boots and unhook the gate that leads into the sloppy pasture. As if I expect anything else, my favorite red gelding comes trotting up, his entire being caked in mud. I give him a quick stroke down his beautifully slim face, throw on his leather halter, and we make our way back to the barn, traversing the small lakes that the rain likes to test me with every so often. The dust goes flying, as if on its own little mission, as soon as I bring the curry comb out and start running it in circles down his muscled back and withers. The muddy nuisance finds its way into his forelock and rabbit-like ears, every time. It does not bother him one bit, though. Delight springs into his eyes when the crinkle of a peppermint wrapper is heard; it is something that will never change even as the years pass by, and we both grow in age and experience.
We never truly outgrow our childhood passions, the things that consume us and make our hearts beam. We pretend like we can live without them. We struggle every day to convince ourselves that we are on the correct path. The righteous path. The path that will make everyone else proud of what we have devoted our lives to. We have to set aside our childhood dreams and aim for something more realistic, if we are to do what society expects of us. We put on our makeup, and we slip into dresses or suits or lab coats, and we pretend that it is what we truly want in life. We lie to ourselves every day.
It is only when we allow ourselves those moments of freedom, moments where nothing is expected from us and we can just be, that we remember where our hearts actually lie. Close your eyes and image where you would be in life if the restrictions, the pressures, the stressors, and the judgement all vanished. It is something that people talk about all of the time, but never actually pursue—reaching for the heart’s true desire. The point of life fades if you are not doing what makes you happy. For some of us, the point of life is not getting all dressed up to go to a sophisticated job, our lives revolving around the flow of money into our bank accounts. Some of us are perfectly happy just slipping on mud boots to go catch a 1,200 pound animal, and that choice—the choice of undying love and passion over superiority and refinement—is something beautiful that should not be looked down on.