By ARIEL UNIVER
I grew up in New York City–Brooklyn, to be exact. Although I was obsessed with horses from the time I could speak, finding a barn for beginners in the city was no easy task for my parents. At 9-years-old, my mom started me in lessons at a tiny barn in the middle of the city. When I say the place was bare bones, I mean it. The arena was basically a round pen. The stalls were straight load style, barely enough room to stand and certainly no room to lay down or turn around. Most of the horses boarded there were police horses or retired police horses.
At the time, I had no idea that this was a meager start in the riding world–to me, it was Heaven on Earth. My lessons were very basic. Steering. Stopping. Checking diagonals. And I learned the art of falling off pretty quickly. By the time I was 11, I’d already broken my collar bone from when a chunk of snow fell through the “arena” roof and spooked my lesson horse, Spice (a chestnut mare, no surprise there!).
The summer I turned 12, we moved north of the city to a suburb of New York and my mom found me a new barn for lessons right away. This experience was completely different. I was shell shocked at the huge rings, pastures, and fancy horses. My first lesson there, however, was a disaster. The instructor put me on a little grey pony and no matter what I did, I could NOT convince this pony to move. By the end of the lesson, we hadn’t even made it to the rail, and I was in tears.
I found out, years later, that the instructor later told my mom that riding possibly wasn’t for me, and that she should look into “Finding me something more cerebral.” As an adult, this story still makes me laugh, because I was an incredibly average student. I would have been equally inept had I been enrolled in chess club.
What this instructor was (not so tactfully) trying to say was that I was not a talented kid. And as hard as that is to hear as a parent or kid… she was not wrong. I wasn’t a talented kid. Admittedly, talent is something you’re born with, and I was not born with it. However, what I lacked in talent I made up for one thousand times over in determination. I rode all the time. I fell off… a lot. I sweated, I practiced, I read every book on horses and riding that I could find. Every moment I wasn’t in school, I was at the barn. I worked hard.
My parents eventually bought me an OTTB, and my lack of talent mixed with his determination to end my life was a horrid combination. I was on a first name basis with every paramedic in the area. They cut off more pairs of boots that I can count during ambulance rides, before those dang things came with zippers.
But, I never gave up. Nothing ever shook my blind determination to improve. The saying “hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard” mirrors my exact journey in the horse world.
When I began my career as a trainer 20 years ago, I was mature enough to know I wasn’t going to be a grand prix rider. I didn’t have the right skill set or financial background to get myself there. At that point in my life, I was a good rider. I’d worked tirelessly to get to that point. I could ride a young horse, I could work through training issues and problem solve the tricky ones, and I could sit a buck… most of the time. Most importantly, I had an incredible work ethic, and I was good with people.
What my experience as an amateur taught me was this: if I tried to force myself professionally to be something I wasn’t, I’d be miserable and unsuccessful. I think that most professionals quit because they’re trying to force a square peg into a round hole. You won’t love what you do or succeed at what you do if you’re pressuring yourself into being what you aren’t. I knew that I had to build my career around my strengths, and that’s just what I did.
I worked with clients that wanted to gain confidence in the saddle, because that was me as a young rider and I related to it and understood it. I worked with young horses because I loved the basics. I loved fundamentals and foundational work, because I had to nail those things over and over when others breezed through them to raise the jumps or show the bigger classes. I loved teaching riders and horses how to create and strengthen their bonds with one another, because that’s what I fell in love with as a young rider. Working with horses to me was a thing of the heart, not a means to collect ribbons or accolades.
I’m not saying my career didn’t have its bumps and road blocks. There were plenty. But I persevered through those struggles because I was able to maintain my passion for what I was doing. It was my niche–it’s what I was really good at.
Had I tried to chase what other professionals were doing, I would have failed, and ultimately lost my joy in the sport. After all, it was ok to admit they were better than me at those things, and the industry needed them in those roles. But I’ve seen grand prix riders struggle and fumble their way through teaching an adult amateur lesson. No clue what the rider needed or how to explain it to them. And in that situation I would absolutely shine.
My experience isn’t unique. There are incredibly successful equine massage therapists with a vast clientele base who wake up every morning excited about going to work. Had some of those people tried to be veterinarians, they wouldn’t have lasted. I know farriers who can fix any foot, and have a gift for seeing exactly how a horse needs to be shod from watching it walk down the aisle. Those same farriers would probably be miserable if they’d been pressured into pursuing body work or colt starting. They found their place in the industry that provides them longevity and a sense of purpose.
The rule of “find your niche” transcends the horse world. This can be said about any career. As humans we need to chase our dreams, of course, but we owe it to ourselves to align those dreams with our natural abilities and strengths in order to feel fulfilled.
All those years ago when that instructor pulled my mom aside and suggested that her child lacked talent as a rider and should try something else, she was actually touching on something incredibly poignant (completely by accident). And the hard truth is, she was right. I did end up taking up something “more cerebral” and was wildly successful at it. Customer care. Horse care. Training. Equine education. Confidence building. Marketing. Writing about horses and equestrianism. And yes, also riding.
Now, many years after that little grey pony planted its feet and refused to move for a full 30 minute lesson, I’m handing out the same advice that the instructor handed my mom. But, with a bit more of an enlightened view. Follow your passion, and cultivate your strengths.
