September... this year, you win...

Dear September,

You've been the most important month in my life for many years now. I love you and hate you; anticipate your arrival and dread it, all at once. Like an unpredictable lover, you bring the impassioned rush of a new beginning. At the same time, you often arrive with heavy baggage - echoes of last year's teaching experiences, successes which I hope to live up to, mistakes that I'm still trying to forget. Always, September, I know our "special relationship" is not monogamous. I share you with teachers everywhere and while you may not be mine alone, it certainly feels sometimes as if I am your one and only.

Growing up as the child of a dedicated educator, I recognized early on in life that you, September, are more important than any other month. (Your only rival, Late June, is defeated easily by Sheer Exhaustion who tends to tag along then, a hopeless third wheel.) You, September, are the month of hoping for the best, of preparation and foundation, of first impressions and of student-teacher meet and greet. You are the month that matters - the month when the school year begins. The entire teaching year to come will likely depend on how well things go during our 30 day rendezvous. That's right, though eight other months of teaching will follow, you outweigh them all in terms of your influence on how the year will progress. You sweep me off my feet, September.

You have followed me through 13 years of teaching. In some ways, I suppose, you are more loyal and predictable than I give you credit for. Whether I was teaching English in Germany, tutoring at a literacy agency, instructing college writing courses or teaching therapeutic horseback riding lessons, you have always managed to track me down, show up, demand my full attention. You are just that way, September. (I bet you think this blog post is about you, don't you?)

It has always seemed unfair that you, and you alone, possess my favorite weather of the year: You are golden. You are crisp. You bring seductive relief from summer heat, with no hint yet of that inevitably lonely chill of late fall. You own "perfect horseback riding weather" - sunny, cool, dry, slight breeze - but you are almost always the month when I have the least time for riding (or walking the dog, or visiting friends, or cleaning my house, or blogging, or sleeping...). Likewise, you effortlessly ripen my favorite fruits to perfection - distracting me with seasonal gifts of tart apples and warm peaches that endear you to me, even as you kick the ass of teachers everywhere with concerns of scheduling, new student challenges, transitions and early-school-year confusion.

This year, I must say, you have come upon me with exceptional ardor. And you leave me, truly, breathless, bewildered. You brought with you not only many fantastic and fascinating new and returning students who I am excited to get to know better, but also a family celebration and publishing projects. Darling Month, you have outdone yourself. Now you leave me with the mixed feelings of this whirlwind romance ending, yet again. Along comes October, and things will surely be steady, judicious, established. September, thankfully a brief affair. October, the marrying kind.

While I am happy to be back into the swing of things at work, hopeful about inspiring teaching to come over the next eight months, I must say, September, this year, you win. I recognize your dazzling charisma; I accept that I must yield to your all-consuming power over me and plan nothing during this month except to devote myself to you and give the new teaching year my full attention. After thirteen years of working a teacher's schedule, I get it: you consume me, I should not even try to resist. I may tell myself I can escape you (a quick weekend get-away during the middle of the month may sound lovely and restful) but you and yours will haunt my inbox, sneak somehow into my away bag, and even - at your finest - invade my mind, keeping me from sleep and controlling my psyche. Yes, you do that to me September - I know, you can't help yourself.

Good-bye for this year and I cannot say I'm sorry to see you go. There may come a day in July when it's way too hot and I'm a little bored that I will even yearn for you, forgetting the turmoil that always accompanies your stay. Of course, we will meet again then, towards the end of next summer, when the fruit ripens, the days shorten and the breeze turns cool.

Love,
KB

On Entering the Field of Equine Assisted Activities & Therapies...

In December of 2009, I participated in a PATH Intl. On-Site Workshop & Certification (OSWC) and became a certified Registered Level Therapeutic Riding Instructor. It was the weekend I turned 31. During the then-three-day training and test, I remember feeling a mixture of nervousness, performance anxiety and over-the-moon excitement about entering the field of Equine Assisted Activities & Therapies (EAAT) in an official sort of way. When it was over, I wrote this in my journal:

After everyone tested, I got the Evaluators’ feedback. On a document titled “Evaluator Recommendations,” they checked the box next to “Recommend PATH Intl. Instructor Status.” I’ve passed and just like that, I feel part of a new professional world. More than a certification, I have forever changed the way I will define myself and my life. My identity has shifted and from here on, I see part of my life’s purpose as continuing to learn all I can about horses and disabilities, as well as how to maximize the profound potential of the horse to improve human lives. It’s funny to me that I’ve just turned 31 and only now become a therapeutic horseback riding instructor. It seems like all I ever really wanted to be. 

It was a great moment in my life, which came after several years of emotional and financial hardship. About a year and a half before the certification, I had finally owned my life-long love of horses and riding in a way that meant I had to have and keep horses in my life. I had also understood that being a teacher, and supporting those with unique challenges, is part of who I am. Teaching therapeutic horseback riding seemed the natural merger of these two realizations. The year of training had its ups and downs, but the OSWC felt – for me – like a joyful experience of learning and succeeding.

Not to say I wasn’t stressed! Testing in the EAAT field essentially means doing what we do everyday - teaching individuals with special needs (who may or may not have "impulsivity" as a very real component of their disability) on horses (large prey animals with a flight reflex) - but undertaking this already somewhat stressful endeavor under the scrutiny of evaluation. I think one would have to lack awareness to not be at least a little nervous. Also, back then, I didn’t get to ride as frequently as I should have to prepare for a career as a riding instructor, so I was particularly nervous about the riding test.

 

A funny thing happened, though. At the OSWC, I was sitting in a quiet spot at High Hopes (the center where I did the test), dressed in my breeches and waiting to be called to ride. I felt like such an imposter. (I was really an English teacher, dressed up as a riding instructor!) To distract myself, I leafed through the training materials that had been distributed at the OSWC and happened upon an essay titled “On Mentoring,” which had been written by none other than Bonnie J. Perrault. The name Bonnie Perrault may not mean much to you, but to me it meant everything - Bonnie was my riding instructor for about two years, from when I was 13 – 15, and helped me work through some very challenging horse behaviors with the first mare I owned. She was tough, but she had exceptional integrity and was always both super kind and firm with the horses. Bonnie taught me what I consider to be the foundation for all future success I would have with horses (specifically, to ride from my seat instead of my hands, and the power of knowing my own physical, mental and emotional intention – clarity – when asking something from a horse). I hadn’t seen or spoken to Bonnie in years but sitting there, I was filled with confidence as I read these words from her essay:

At a seminar given for dressage instructors, the participants were asked what attributes constituted a good instructor. The answers were: knowledge, understanding, sensitivity, patience, ability to communicate, imagination, creativity, open-mindedness, professionalism, manners, honesty, humor, humility, flexibility and organization… another attribute is commitment, which constitutes a deep love for work and the willingness to meet the challenges of work… that they never stop learning, and never stop caring.

Making a living as a riding instructor is not easy. I know it now. Looking back, I’m very sure Bonnie knew it, too. But when I look at this list of attributes, which she embodied, and which I hoped to, I knew that doing this work meant more to me than a piece of paper from any organization (which is not to say I didn’t want that piece of paper!). I hadn’t seen or spoken to Bonnie in years but sitting there, I felt like I could hear her saying: Of course, you can do this. You could have ridden this test 15 years ago! And if you fail, you’ll just have to decide if you want it bad enough…. Then just go and do it again. (Bonnie always had just such a way of pointing things out that made you realize they were oh-so-obvious and logical – how could you have possibly missed that?) A lot of work with horses is about commitment. Bonnie helped instill that in me when I was young; in many ways, the process and testing for instructor certification was no different.

So… why the nostalgia? Well, one reason is attending the Evaluator Training really got me thinking about what brings people to the EAAT field, what keeps us in the field and what I truly want most in my working life. There is the ever-present challenge and reward of teaching people with unique challenges to ride horses and hopefully facilitating their safe enjoyment of this activity and its many benefits. But beyond that, there are many questions about how to earn a living, how to keep work fresh, how to keep learning in the field and expanding one’s own potential and contributions.

A second reason for reflecting on my own Instructor Training is that I have several friends who are testing next week at the OSWC at Little Bit Therapeutic Riding in Woodinville, WA. They are great teachers, horsewomen and people and I know our field and their many future students will be lucky to have them.  (Other friends are doing the Advanced Level On-site that same weekend… when I did mine I went home from the first day of testing and caught my kitchen curtain on fire while cooking dinner, so stressful and distracting did I find the process. Not to mention that it took my stomach a month to quiet down after all the nerves!) So, I guess, thinking last week about what it means to “pass” instructor certification at any level got me thinking about what the process meant to me, and what it hopefully has meant to my friends – a chance to formalize a lifetime of interest in horses, riding and helping others into a professional career path. (Again, the pun… I really didn’t mean it this time.) Each of the friends who is testing is so special – brings such a unique and fascinating background to the field. It’s incredibly exciting for me to think about the contributions these instructors will make to the field and the insights they will bring. They just have to get through that nerve-wracking testing and I feel so sure they can do it! Very confident these great teachers will show their best stuff (and maybe even relax and enjoy) their OSWC! They will be awesome!

And don’t forget what Bonnie said: Of course, you can do this. You could have passed this test years ago! And if you fail, you’ll just have to decide if you want it bad enough…. Then just go and do it again.