I have always loved horses and horseback riding. Even as a young child, I would much rather watch Black Beauty or Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken than anything else. For me, there’s something very special about these wonderful animals. Their strength. Their power. The way they learn to trust you. The way you can learn, even as a child, to control them. The way they learn to depend on you, to treat you as an equal even though the fact is that in many ways, you are not. I loved riding before I was kidnapped, and I loved it even more once I got back.
But horses aren’t like cars. You don’t just get on, throw the horse into gear, and go until you stop. Even a good horse might spook at a shadow, a tree, or a rock, even if they have walked down the same trail a hundred times before. Maybe this time the sunlight hits an object a little differently, or maybe there’s a different scent in the air, a different wind, or maybe you are sitting a little forward in the saddle. You always have to be on your toes with horses, never taking them for granted, and for me, there is just something therapeutic about being around them. Riding them. Feeding them. Brushing them and currying their manes. Going into nature and forgetting all the worries of this life.
I also think that if you take care of your horses, and are gentle with them, and work with them through their moments of fright, horses become a pretty accurate mirror of what kind of person you are. I have learned that a horse isn’t going to treat you any different than you treat them.
So I have always loved horses. But more than anything else, I loved riding with my Grandpa Smart.
Grandpa Smart, despite being an oncologist, was a true cowboy. Not the city kind, with smooth boots that had never stepped in a corral and button-down denim shirts. He was the real kind; the kind who grew up taking care of animals, who loved them and related to them. If some men are all hat and no horse, my grandpa was all horse and a well-worn hat.
I loved riding with him, but it was always a challenge. He’d lead me bushwhacking through the forest, over the face of what felt like sheer cliffs, wading through ice-cold rivers. There was something simply wonderful about horseback riding with him. And we did a lot of it after I got back.
Grandpa never pushed me or pried. He simply brought me along to enjoy the ride. He used to say that some people talked too much. Ride more, talk less. That was his approach to life. Going with him, you always knew you were in for an adventure. But at the same time, you knew you would be left alone to your thoughts.
From him, I developed a true appreciation for the beauties of nature, silence, and being able to step away from the immediate and look at the big picture. This helped me to make decisions, and to see my life, and to see my problems with a little more clarity.
And again, I’m not alone. Horses, and riding, have been credited with helping many others through some of life’s most difficult challenges, including serious illness. Ann Romney said that horses gave her the energy and strength to get out of bed, helping her to deal with her multiple sclerosis. Other treatment programs have been designed around the care of other animals.
I suppose that riding was my therapy. And it was very effective.
My Grandpa Smart passed away in January of 2006. I miss him a lot. But the things that he taught me absolutely changed my life.
*
I had another source of therapy that has helped me throughout my life.
One December when I was five years old, my mom took me Christmas shopping. While we were downtown, I saw a huge Christmas tree with an angel on top that was playing the harp. I remember looking up and thinking, “I want to be put on the top of a Christmas tree! I guess the only way to do that is to play the harp.” That was the beginning.
I can’t say that I was the perfect student who lived to practice, because I wasn’t. There were plenty of times that my mom or dad had to physically come in and sit with me for the duration of my practice session. But I got pretty good. And I developed a great love for playing music.
When I came home, nothing could speak my feelings better than the harp. I know this sounds clichéd, but I think that every musician feels the same way. Music is the unspoken language that can convey feelings more accurately than talking ever could. So playing the harp became extremely therapeutic for me. If I ever felt sad or angry or frustrated, I would sit down and start playing. Once I had submerged my heart into my music, my feelings evaporated and I could go out and face the world again. Besides that, if you have ever heard the harp, then you understand that it is not possible to stay upset for long while playing such a beautiful instrument. Clearly, there is a reason that heavenly angels are depicted playing harps!
All of these things have helped me. But ultimately, to get better, I simply made a choice.
Life is a journey for us all. We all face trials. We all have ups and downs. All of us are human. But we are also the masters of our fate. We are the ones who decide how we are going to react to life.