Quitting riding, then quitting riding.
As so many of us know, the equestrian world is a messy, passionate, all encompassing place. And once you’re in, it’s hard to ever leave. Your social circles, free time, passion, expendable cash and daydreams all go to the same place: the barn.
Quitting is easy on a few things: your wallet, your joints, your social life, and your ankle blisters. Mostly your wallet. But quitting takes a bigger toll than I could have ever forecasted. The passions you chase tend to define who you are. Until now, I’ve been “the horseback rider”. Riding was the defining fibers of my persona, as it is for so many fellow riders. From my social circles to my personal style, so many facets of me orbited around my equestrian life. Quitting changed that – I became the copywriter, the wanna-be chef, the friend, the creative person, the music lover, the coffee addict, the ceramic artist, the me. Different parts of what makes me me were able to shine. But there will always be a hole where horseback riding once was.
For a long time, I denied the facts. My hips were so damaged from riding that surgery was inevitable. But for that year before surgery, I continued to injure myself further by holding onto the sport. When I finally came to my senses, I still couldn’t bear to part from my riding gear. I cried when I threw away my gel pad, I cried when I sold off breeches and show shirts, and I could never get myself to sell my favorite Parlantis. The transition out of the equestrian world was absolutely brutal. I felt lost; I had no real memory of my life without horseback riding. But somehow, every day got a little easier. Eventually I became Lindsay the creative, not Lindsay the horseback rider.
Leaving the riding world gave me a better perspective of the sport. Equestrians can be so engrossed in the lifestyle that there’s no opportunity for peripheral vision. When a sport becomes the defining element to ones psyche, it limits a sort of necessary personal growth. I don’t need to dive into the cliquey, judgmental, spoiled, messed up elements of this world – we all know it. But I will say this: such an all-encompassing passion can sometimes create one-dimensional people, neglecting other passions, hobbies, experiences, and defining parts of oneself, which makes quitting unbearable. In part, I believe this is why so many riders say, “I couldn’t imagine life without riding.”
Am I thankful that I quit the sport? Absolutely not. Quitting riding because of an injury was far harder to cope with than the injury itself. I miss hacking naughty horses, cleaning leather bridles, watching horses happily turn apples turn to sloppy goo, learning new things in each lesson, chatting with friends on early morning rides, and I miss the unspoken horse and rider bond. But my newfound free time has shaped me into a different version of myself, and that’s not a bad thing. I’m thrilled to see so many of my friends continue with the sport after college (and yes, I'm jealous). But I’ll end with this: there’s a great big world outside of the barn, full of passions and hobbies yet to be discovered. And that makes moving on from the riding world not quite so bad.
Alinea: A new chapter; the start of a new train of thought.
Quitting isn’t the end, it’s just an alinea. And maybe someday I’ll get back on, when my body and paycheck allows. Until then, I’ll be finding all the other parts of what makes me me.