There is one exception to the Goldilocks rule of “not too much, not too little” that serves us so well in every other aspect of good horsemanship. We can’t overdo harmony. Here, for once, more really is better. Harmony is what we all crave. It’s what we all want more of. It’s our drug of choice. It’s our holy grail. It’s the one thing we can’t have too much of.
Harmony is more than the absence of arguments with our horses. No, we don’t want to fight. Yes, we want our horses to be part of the conversation. But we, too, want to (and, for safety reasons, often need to) have a voice in that conversation. Avoiding disagreements by going along with anything and everything the horse wants is a shortcut to misunderstanding, and sometimes to the emergency room, not a shortcut to harmony.
Harmony is also more than obedience. Yes, we want our horses to do what we ask them to do - but not out of worry, tension, or because they are afraid of the consequences. Fear and trust can’t exist together. And trust is the foundation of harmony.
Harmony happens when my horse does what I ask him to do because he trusts my judgment. He does it happily, not grudgingly, because he knows I’ve asked him to do something he’s capable of at that moment - something he’s fit enough to do, something he understands, something that ultimately feels good to him. In moments of harmony, we want the same thing. I suggest a transition or movement, and my horse says “Yes! That’s a great idea!” with confidence, even enthusiasm. Harmony means we’re partners who respect each other, enjoy each other’s company. Our minds think as one. Our bodies move in unison.
We can’t
take harmony for granted. We can only build the prerequisites: balance, confidence, mutual respect, strength, and, above all, trust. Then, we have to get out of our own way, and out of our horse’ way. We can’t force harmony. We have to allow it. And we have to allow ourselves to enjoy it.
Harmony never lasts long enough. Distractions hover near those treasured moments: dust devils, a squirrel, people with questions. A spook, a stumble. Even if the outside world cooperates, my own head offers plenty of ways to kill harmony. “Am I doing this right?” the gremlin of self-doubt starts asking. “One more time, just to show off!” my ego chimes in. “I don’t understand!” my horse then says, or “This is too much!”
The bubble bursts. We start over. But oh, while it’s happening, it’s bliss. It’s nirvana. It’s worth living for.
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