BY HILLARY MORROW
I sat in the dirt, looking up at Patch. Jump one of our medal round, and I had leaned up the neck and dropped him; I had done “the thing” as my trainers have come to call it. I didn’t have enough canter. I didn’t have my head on straight. I had spent the five minutes I selfishly needed to get focused trying to amuse and entertain friends and family at the show. I wasn’t selfish enough, and I had let Patch down.
Selfish. It’s a word that carries a lot of weight. So often, the connotations are negative, but I have worked hard to remind myself of the positive side of being selfish, to maintain my equestrian hobby.
As a teenager, my time at the barn was considered selfish. I would spend hours grooming, mucking, watching lessons, and doing working student duties for my trainers. I’d roll home later in the afternoons, and my friends and boyfriend would insinuate that there were better things I could do with that time, that I was selfish for prioritizing my riding. I suppose I would have gotten more invites to weekends at lake houses and parties, but in addition to days at the farm, I spent most of my weekends in bed by 9 PM so I could braid and show Saturdays and Sundays. Selfish, maybe, but I was following my passion and working hard to be the best rider I could be.
In college, I heard it mumbled by hallmates and friends that I was selfish for skipping shared experiences to head to the barn after class a few days a week. I look back and don’t see myself as selfish, but as driven academically and as an equestrian. I am proud of my ability to balance a part-time job at a tack shop, showing my Amateur Owner hunter, and excelling in my double major at Bryn Mawr College. I am aware that I was also lucky to have parents willing to support my dreams so I could afford to ride in college, and I am grateful. I didn’t want to throw away the opportunity.
As a young adult, I found myself struggling again with balance. Two horses, the need to muck stalls to afford to keep them both, and grad school at GW meant a lot of time driving up and down 66 to Centerville, VA, several days a week. Again, it was suggested (this time by my mom) that maybe it was selfish to try and keep horses in my life. It was hinted (by lots of people) that it was time to put away my “toys”, grow up, meet a nice boy to marry, and have kids.
So, I tried to do the non-equestrian, normal thing and sat for the State Department exam. I passed the exam and realized, as I contemplated my future, that I did not want to live abroad because I couldn’t take the horses. I named my barely broke three-year-old “Forget Paris” and moved on, still enjoying riding, learning, and showing.
Those years in my 20’s may have been selfish. I explored my desire to be a horse professional and taught lots of up-down lessons. I leased my made hunter to several kids who learned everything they needed from him to make ends meet. I brought my baby horse along, making sure I was in charge of all his “firsts”. I worked more hours in the barn than felt possible, but I loved everything about it.
My mom began to make noises (again) about my future, about playing ponies, about the money I had wasted at Bryn Mawr and GW if I was just going to ride. It was selfish to not use my degrees, selfish not to focus on marriage and a family. My love of and dedication to my hobby made me selfish in the eyes of many adults trying to help me grow up. It was selfish to make my hobby my job when I was made for more, for better, in their eyes. It did not feel selfish; it felt like finding myself and figuring out my priorities.
While I scaled my riding back as I built my business and raised my family, I heard the word “selfish” echoing at the back of my head every time I spent time with my horses. When my kids were two-ish and four-ish, I watched friends who had had kids in their 20’s or early 30’s get lost and lonely as they weren’t needed as much at home. I saw marriages that were rock solid fall apart as kids left for college and my friends had nothing in common with their spouses. I vowed to myself to remain selfish, and encouraged my husband to maintain his own hobbies.
My selfishness makes me a better mom, wife, businesswoman, and rider. As the oldest child and a consummate people pleaser, pushing to protect my peace through horses hasn’t always been easy. Recently, as I’ve been showing Patch more regularly, I’ve discovered another important use of the word selfish.
I take my time going to the ring, blocking out everyone but my trainer as I find my zen. The last time I allowed outside voices in, I had arguably my worst show day in several years. As I stood mounted next to the ring, trying to socialize with friends, talk to my husband and youngest child, and wave at other acquaintances, I lost my zen and my focus. I went in the ring and let Patch down by not having my head in the game. Selfishness is not a negative; it’s how I protect myself and the life I have built. By being selfish some of the time, I can find more of myself to give the rest of the time. It’s ok to reframe words as their meanings change in our lives.
Hillary Morrow lives with her husband, sons, dogs and cat in Columbia, Maryland. When not at the barn riding her TB hunter, Patch, or grooming for her son and his IEA teammates, Hillary runs Fairchild Educational Services, a full-service tutoring firm.
